Page 3 of An Anomaly of Sunlight

Stepping inside, the high vaulted ceilings never cease to draw my attention. Following the tiers of the chandeliers downward, the foot traffic is much less than I anticipated. Thank the Creators for that good fortune.

I slip into the bathroom and drop my broken phone into the trash before allowing myself one quick glance in the mirror. I take a deep, steadying breath, telling my reflection; you’ve got this. Just running away from my murderer, no big deal.

As my shoulder pushes against the door to open it, I bite the tip of my thumbnail, looking back toward the trash. Swiftly, I peek back into the can to make sure the phone isn’t visible amongst all the waste. Satisfied to see only crinkled, brown paper towels, I let the lid swing shut and return to the lobby.

There would be no way to track me. I made sure of that. Then why, as I stand frozen, eyes locked on the ticket sales counter, does a chill still snake down my spine?

Gliding across the black tiles, I come to a halt at the counter. “Evening.” The woman behind the desk greets me curtly. She lazily glances up, one eyebrow raised, before turning her sight back to the screen in front of her.

Clearly, she wants me to say what I need without her having to ask. I’d become fixated on the curled horns atop her head — a demon. Fuck, I’m being weird. The paranormal are allowed to exist.

Clearing my throat, I find my voice. “Hi, I need a one-way trip to Quartzville.” Glancing over my shoulder on instinct to make sure no one is following me, or noticed who I am, I add a bit more urgently, “As fast as possible, please.”

Without a word, she rapidly clicks on her keyboard. After a few moments, she leans back in her chair, giving me her full attention. “Had a cancellation on the next flight out. Departure is in thirty. Just need an I.D. if the price on the screen works for you, the seat is yours.”

She may be a woman of few words but in this moment, she’s my hero. “Sure thing!” I practically sing as I reach into my wallet and pull out my I.D. for her. The price on the pin pad could have been anything, and I would’ve paid it.

I tap a card to the middle of the screen, not caring which one I had grabbed, or which account it was pulling from. The only thing that matters at present is that I’m going home!

The woman nods her head a few times while typing my information. Then she swivels in her chair, grabbing a paper off the printer and adding a stamp to the bottom.

“Here you are, Miss Owens,” she grins slightly, handing me the paper ticket along with my I.D. “Hope you have a safe flight, gate 6A.”

Clutching the paper to my chest, I beam, “Thank you, have a wonderful night!” I toss the last words over my shoulder, hurrying off toward my gate. Despite this giddy feeling of success and good luck, I’ll breathe easier once I’m on the plane.

I breeze through security thanks to my lack of luggage and slip past the stocky man in the middle seat and into mine by the window. He is sprawled, a sleep mask covering his eyes, achieving a level of comfort I could only dream of on a plane.

A sigh of relief leaves my lips as I stare out at the endless twinkling lights. Soon, the city’s glow will be replaced by starlight and miles of empty sky.

Moving away only solidified a truth I’d always known — Tennessee is my home. Since coming to California, I’ve never stopped looking in the rearview.

Finally, it’s time to turn around.

The plane jerks as it hits the runway, jostling me awake. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but at least with a little rest I’ll be able to make the drive home easier.

My groggy mind wanders back to the blood-stained clothes and fang-shaped scars, but I quickly shake my head to clear it. Inhaling a long breath in my nose and blowing it out through my lips, I force my brain to change the subject.

I’ve arrived in Quartzville. Now nothing but a mere three hours, give or take, stands between myself and freedom. Mom will be ecstatic to see me. As will my faded white jeep, Delilah. I imagine how the cool breeze will feel gliding over my skin as it shakes the last rusted leaves from their branches.

As I shuffle off the plane, my mental check list begins falling into place. The first order of business is, without a doubt, visiting Meisha, my beloved hair stylist. I’m eager to return to my roots; in every sense of the word.

Stopping a bit too abruptly, the man behind me clips me with his shoulder. “Sorry!” I call out, but he’s gone by the time the last syllable leaves my mouth.

With a shrug, I turn back to the airport map, tracing a line across the board from the “You Are Here” star to the vehicle rental center. Naturally, it’s the farthest location from this terminal.

Brushing my hair behind my ears and straightening my shoulders, for the first time possibly ever, I realize that doesn’t matter. I am on my own time now. There’s a newfound peppiness to my steps as they carry me toward the shuttle stop, and I revel in the tranquility of being alone.

By nothing short of divine intervention, renting a car goes smoothly. I sit in the blue sedan much sooner than I expected, flipping through the options on the built-in screen.

Navigation is included, thankfully. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been home and I’m not sure that I could’ve found Tarot Lake without it. There’s one turn in particular that always sneaks up on me. I can’t count the number of times I’ve almost missed it.

Still, even being lost would be vastly preferred to being followed by my attacker. With any amount of luck, my phone is being smashed in a garbage truck right about now. I click on the radio not bothering to find a station I like, eager to get on the road.

The GPS cuts through the lively tune to alert me that my exit is in one mile and quoting my arrival time at 5:02 a.m. That pre-dawn hour is now my salvation. A thought my sleep-till-noon-self has never had before.

Fighting the heaviness of my eyes, I decide to test my luck and press harder on the gas. At least now I have plenty of ticket money. It seems like no time before the scenery begins to grow more familiar.

With around twenty minutes left in the trip, the soft glow of Tarot Lake graces the windshield. My mom and I have always lived in the countryside but passing through the main part of town is the only route.