A/N: Hello! I'm back with a new chapter. I hope you all like it. Thank you for your wonderful comments. They mean lots.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

-CHAPTER 5-

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know. I know that I screwed up. I know that you're worried sick. I know that I'm hurting you. And I know that there's nothing I can do to make up for it, either. But I need you to know something. I need you to know that I'm safe. I wasn't kidnapped. I'm not dead, and I'm not going to die, either. There's no need to drag the police into this (I realize that you probably will despite me telling you this).

I can't say for certain when I'll be back. I can say I won't be for awhile, though. In fact, you'll probably find me before I choose to come back willingly. I needed answers, though, and I couldn't sit here and wait anymore. It was nauseating. Please, understand that.

I know that this isn't much of an explanation. You've probably got lots of questions with not many answers, right? And that's how I feel now: lots of questions without many answers. But you'll get your answers with time, and with luck, maybe I will, too.

Love always,

Rachel

She folded the loose-leaf sheet of paper and set it neatly on the dining room table out it plain sight. Rachel thought it was a good letter. She couldn't tell them everything, but they deserved to know that she was alive.

Sighing, she glanced into the mirror and tried to suppress a giggle. She was a sight. Her lashes were darkened with blue mascara and eyeliner, which accented her glittery sapphire eyes nicely. Her lips sparkled with a pretty, rich crimson color that she had hand selected from her mom's makeup bag. She even took the time to coat it with a clear, glossy substance that made her lips stick together as if sealed with tape. To tie the look together, she added a subtle layer of blush on her cheeks. As much as it pained her, Rachel had spent twenty agonizing minutes perfecting the display.

Even her hair was done just so. She curled every last auburn lock and positioned them so that they framed her face nicely. She had even bothered to glue the style together with strong hairspray.

With her left hand, she scratched absently at her black suit coat. It had three round buttons that closed over a white camisole. The matching skirt was hemmed with a pretty fringe. She wore black, one and a half inch pumps, and her feet were already killing her. The outfit was plain, but very professional looking.

Rachel thought it was a good idea, and looking in that mirror, she knew it was, indeed, an ingenious, foolproof disguise. A thirteen-year-old walking the streets of Philly and DC, jumping trains, and riding subways all by her lonesome would look more than suspicious. Dressing as an attractive twenty-year-old with a high-class job would serve to deflect the eyes of both authorities and criminals alike.

Rachel gave the kitchen a once over. She checked the yellow clock that dangled above the stove. It read 5:02. Swiftly she opened the back door and locked it behind her. Soon her heels were echoing against the cobblestone walkway as she made her way to the yellow taxicab that waited for her arrival patiently. It was a good thing she had remembered to call for a cab before she hopped in the shower.

Hesitantly, she flung the door open and scooted over, suitcase still in hand. The driver seemed to be a nice, old man who was probably retired.

"Where to, Miss?" he asked is a hoarse voice that was obviously run down from years of smoking cigarettes.

"30th Street Station in Philly, please," Rachel said.

The driver mumbled a gruff reply and stepped on the gas.

Rachel let go of a breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding. I made it, she told herself. You're out of the house. The thought reassured her, even if only for a few minutes.

Already her mind had concocted several unpremeditated scenarios in which her quest was put on hold. Maybe the family van was already veering the tail end of the cab, with her wild-eyed mother at the wheel, driving like a maniac, trying desperately to stop her daughter's escape.

In a rush of panic, Rachel craned her neck to the back windshield. She sighed relief when her eyes revealed to her only a few lone leaves scraping against the dusty pavement. Rachel's mind was set at ease momentarily.

But not seconds after, her inventive mind was already at work creating another compromising circumstance. She fluttered her eyes shut against the image of an angry cop running along the sidewalk, hollering orders for the cab to pullover.

In a cold sweat, Rachel urged her eyes open and shifted them to one of the windows. There was no cop shouting. In fact, there was nothing but the blended, blurry images of green grass and cheap house paneling. Her heart quieted once more.

Enough of this, Rachel told herself. You're being irrational. There is no way for your parents to know what you're up to just yet. Then she gulped. Yet. There was no way for them to know yet. By using the word yet, she was implying that at one point, her flimsy plan would fall flat on its face. Rachel shuddered at the thought of the many consequences that would undeniably ensue when it did.

The curt voice of the cabdriver interrupted her thoughts. "What'ya doin' down in Philly, Ma'am?"

It took a moment for the thought to register with Rachel. "Oh, well, I'm meeting someone." That much was true. Kind of. Okay, so it wasn't even remotely true, but she couldn't just pour out her life story to some second-rate cabdriver.

"A male someone?"

Rachel knotted her brows together in confusion. A male someone? What was that supposed to mean? She racked her brain for a clue, and was left disappointed when she came up dry. "I don't know what that means," Rachel replied, still somewhat mystified.

The man chuckled deeply, and his rough, throaty laugh filled the walls of the cab. "Are you down in these parts to meet a boyfriend, Missy?"

Then realization dawned on Rachel, and immediately her cheeks colored crimson. She mentally slapped herself. How could she be so naïve? Was she that dense? Rachel had always hated how people needed to explain the simplest of things to her. It was definitely not one of her finest attributes.

"Oh, no. I mean…well…no," Rachel answered quickly. She decided to leave it at that with the intention of warding off anymore conversation with the man.

Again he chuckled. "Alright then, Ma'am. Get comfortable. It'll be 'bout a half 'n hour 'er so, 'pending on traffic."

As Rachel had hoped, the next thirty minutes were spent in comfortable silence and deep thinking. Her thoughts were too scattered to focus on reading anything from her mother's books. Besides, she didn't really want to, anyway. Instead, she tried to rationalize what was going on again.

Rachel silently cursed herself for acting on an impulse. She had barely planned this whole thing out. What if she got there only to find out that the squints didn't want her? What if she was stopped on the way by the cops? What if she was kidnapped in the middle of downtown Philadelphia? Rachel tried to shake herself free of such thoughts. There were too many 'what ifs.' If she chose to dwell upon those, she wasn't going to make it past the train station.

Before she could think any further upon the subject, the city of Philadelphia soon wormed its way before Rachel's eyes. The closer the cab approached the city, the tighter the space from bumper to bumper seemed to get. She hadn't anticipated that much congestion, especially considering it was only early morning.

A few skyscrapers came into view, and billboards shouted different praises for various products, ranging from grocery stores to beer. The blacktop already illuminated the morning sun: some of the individual grains even sparkled.

Rachel tried to remember her last visit to the city. It was over a year ago, and soon she came to the bitter realization that she could count the number of times she had been to Philly on just one hand. Rachel scoffed at the idea. Was her life that pathetic? She was thirteen, living not thirty minutes from Philadelphia, yet she had only actually been there three times tops.

The taxicab sped down one of the many exit ramps and began crisscrossing its way down the scattered city blocks. Rachel's mother had always told her that the city was no place to raise a young girl, and the second-rate display of the city confirmed the worst.

A few scantily dressed people sat slumped on curbs eating sandwiches wrapped in crumpled foil. Dark alleyways separated one rundown building from another, and occasionally, the brick walls displayed colorful works of curvy spray-paint. Dumpsters and tin trashcans lined the ends of most blocks, and sometimes the metal caught the light of the rising sun and shimmered. A few clusters of black flies swarmed together at the lids and danced around the foul mixtures. Rachel grimaced. Surely there was more to Philly than these backstreets.

The cab reached a clearing and sat idly at a red light. Rachel glanced sideways at the surrounding cars. A rusted, junky pickup truck sat to the right. Thick clouds of exhaust spewed from the metal pipes that jutted from the back. The man driving the disgraceful vehicle had a cigarette wedged between two teeth, and he was drumming his fingers against the rim of the wheel. Shifting her eyes to left, Rachel noticed a shiny, red car. A plump, blond woman sat at the wheel, mouthing the words to a song. She had to stifle a laugh; Rachel realized that diversity was inevitable in cities, but this was rather comical.

The cabdriver slammed his foot on the gas, jerking Rachel forward with a thud. The cab continued to weave its way through the town, and when the conditions improved considerably, Rachel realized that they had arrived in the touristy sections of town. Clusters of people were already beginning to gather around the outsides of closed antique shops. A few business women shoved their way through the crowds wearing pumps and carrying leather bags that were dangerously close to sliding off their shoulders. Some lovers walked aimlessly around the streets, holding hands and sipping coffee.

A few minutes later, the cab screeched to a halt. "You're destination, Ma'am. That'll be forty-two dollars and twenty five cents," the cabdriver called to the back.

Rachel fiddled around with her purse for a moment before retrieving a fifty dollar bill. Rachel had her whole savings tucked away in there. All four hundred and twenty-eight dollars and sixty-two cents had been earned through various baby-sitting jobs and years of collected allowance. She stuck her hand through the plastic that divide. When the bill was lifted from her palm, Rachel retracted her arm gingerly and pulled the door handle open. She planted her heels on the rough pavement with two, clumsy clunks.

"Thank you, sir," she said softly before slamming the door shut behind her.

The man tipped his head in a gesture of thanks, and Rachel watched as the cab sped down the cluttered streets until it was indistinguishable amongst the other automobiles.

Rachel inhaled a gust of the stale city air and braced herself for the terminal. Clutching her suitcase closely at her side, Rachel proceeded to make her way through the automatic doors of the train station.

A whirlwind of people huddled around the corners and corridors of the terminal. It was diversity at its best: old, pudgy men with white beards, clinging to their canes…young, inner-city kids giggling and sipping sodas…busy men in suits balancing a briefcase or two and a thermos full of coffee…average families down in Philly on vacation.

Rachel brushed off the mobs of people and made her way to one of the main desks. She tapped her foot impatiently as she overheard the conversation one of the clerks was having with the rude woman ahead of her.

"Again, we apologize for your inconvenience, Ma'am, but there's nothing we can do."

The young clerk seemed desperate; his forehead was already sleek with sweat, and he was fiddling with is hands nervously. Rachel wagered this was his college job.

"I don't see why you can't just get me another ticket! Isn't there a way where you could just boot someone off?" the woman persisted.

"I'll check again, Ma'am, but I don't warrant that anything is going to change." The clerk typed some data into his computer and wiggled the mouse around a bit. He sighed once his search was completed. "The train to Chicago has no more seats available. I'm sorry, but—"

The woman scoffed at his response. "This is ridiculous! I need to speak with the manager of this establishment. This is inexcusable—"

Rachel had seen enough. "Excuse me, Miss," she said with a slight edge in her voice, "but this nice man here has obviously done all that is possible to make your travel more accommodating. It would be quite the pity if you were unable to extend the same courtesy."

The woman shot a hostile look at Rachel, but softened somewhat. "Yes, well…Come, Wendy dear," the woman said, taking the hand of the frightened child at her side. "We'll see if we can't get a flight." Soon the woman and her unfortunate daughter dissipated into the congested crowds of people.
Rachel took a step forward and smiled meekly at the young man. "Hello." Setting her purse down on the counter, she continued, "I was wondering if I could book a passage for the 6:55 A.M. run to Washington D.C."

The man smiled back at her, and she was surprised to see that his cheeks colored slightly. Rachel was mystified. Was he afraid of a thirteen-year-old girl? Likely not. Working in a city terminal probably left plenty of opportunities to meet some strange people.

"Sure thing, Miss." He typed in a few words and brought his hand to the mouse and clicked. "Not a problem. Coach, I presume?"

"Please."

"Okay, cash or credit?"

"Cash."

"That'll be forty-eight dollars and twenty-two cents, Miss."

Rachel extended a fifty dollar bill and a quarter. "That should do it," she added wistfully.

The boy smiled and counted out two dollars and two pennies. "Here's your ticket." Rachel accepted the enveloped slip with her hand happily. "Gate number 32B. Make sure you've been through security first. They're pretty picky 'bout stuff like that."

Again, Rachel smiled graciously. "Thanks. Have a good day."

The boy nodded, and once again, his cheeks flushed.

Rachel suppressed a giggle as she made her way through the masses to the security check point. It was only then did she realize why the boy was blushing. Her disguise had merely proved to be rather effective. In his eyes, she wasn't a thirteen year-old runaway, rather she was a twenty-something year old woman who had been flirting with him.

As she made her way through the metal detectors, Rachel was suddenly struck with the gravity of the situation. She had made it all the way to Philadelphia without getting caught. She was off to meet her famous mother and FBI agent father. This was nuts! It was like a story straight from one of those reality shows on television.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the deep voice of the heavy set security guard handing Rachel her suitcase back. "Miss? Here's your suitcase and luggage pass. Present it to the conductor, and he'll let you pass."

Rachel nodded and took her belongings over by a bench. A glance at the clock told her that her train wouldn't leave for another twenty minutes or so. For awhile, she was content to sit and watch the clusters of people passing through. Soon she got bored of that, so she began to twiddle with her ring idly. It was a peculiar little thing: the way it was sculpted into little swirls. She felt a sort of connection with the piece of silver. She knew it was crazy, but Rachel felt as though it was protecting her in some unfathomable, crazy way.

Sighing, Rachel slipped out the Polaroid of her parents from her suitcase. It couldn't have baffled her more. They seemed so happy, so carefree. Suddenly she was sobered. Why aren't I standing between them? she asked herself. Why was I given up?

She let the question linger as she blinked back her tears. It was going to be a long day.