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And then I’ll kill her too.
If I can’t have her, nobody can.
Chapter 9 – Anna
Four months later
The ends of my hair dust against my collarbones as I fit the hat over my head and dip the brim low. Its shadow hides my face as I step into the elevator. People call their goodbyes in the hallway behind me, all of them responsive to each other.
I’m starting to forget what it feels like to be friendly with other people.
I’ve been alone and hiding too long. Something has to give soon. I need to get out of here.
I sigh and adjust the hat again, as the doors open on another floor and two people step on, too lost in their conversation about plans for this weekend to notice me.
In moments like these, it’s good to be able to pass as invisible.
I learned how to do it while I was working on the private planes, and it’s become an invaluable tool on my run from the devil incarnate.
The doors slide shut, the mirrors on the inside chasing the person I used to be with the image of the woman I am now.
Cutting my hair short and lightening it with highlights was just the first step in hiding my identity. The oversized clothes that disguise my frame are the second.
I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me which is a good thing.
Even though I’ve moved to a small city in Pennsylvania, there is no telling who works for Sergey. Bellefonte may be tiny, but there are still connections to New York here.
One of the people in the apartment across from mine moved to Bellefonte when they were looking to slow down their lives. If the woman and her husband weren’t ancient, I would have suspected them as part of the mafia.
However, both have spoken to me several times since I moved here.
I pull the hat lower as the doors slide open to the bottom floor.
I mumble goodbyes to the other people who work in the old stone building. None of them looked at me for longer than a few seconds. Just long enough to figure out it’s the woman they know very little about.
The same woman who comes here every day to clean their offices, earning money under the table.
Even if my fake identity is good, it is better if fewer people know that I exist.
That’s how I want to keep it.
People who start to notice me will start to ask questions. I went through that in the last city I hid. Which is why I ran from New York to New Jersey, and from New Jersey to Pennsylvania. The fewer lies I have to tell people, the easier it will be to stay hidden.
It’s been a long couple of weeks, but at least I’m alive.
The sun is hot overhead as I step outside the building. I glance both ways down the street, looking for anyone who looks like they belong to the Russian mafia.
When there are no signs of anyone who looks like they could crush an entire city block with their pinkie finger, I jog down the stairs and turn left.
I take a different route than I normally do, cutting through an alley and looping back around through a shaded path.
People pass me with their dogs, but none of them pay me more than a passing glance. I nod to a few.
The pleasant stranger is easier to forget than the woman who glared and ignored everyone around her.
I walk down the street to my apartment, keeping my head lowered and turned slightly away from the street.
As I pass the building beside mine, I nearly collide with a young boy. He gives me a grin, a gap where his front teeth should be.
