Page 11 of Nyx

I take a different route home than the one I took to work this morning, my eyes searching my surroundings and the rearview mirror for anything suspicious.

Ever-present exhaustion builds as I pull into the duplex I've called home for the last ten months. It's nothing compared to the luxuries of life I had growing up and in my marriage, but it's in a safe neighborhood. I don't feel any connection to it, but the idea of packing and leaving on such short notice only deepens my weariness. I'll be driving all night.

The walk to the front door is made with as much vigilance as I can manage.

The sparsely filled apartment welcomes me without fanfare, the black bags at the front and back door mocking me like they always do. I've never had to grab and go, but I'm always prepared in case that situation arises.

I have a little time to pack my belongings, but I don't waste a second getting my things together.

I'll email the shelter director at some point, but I know I'll have to backtrack from where I'm really going so as not to leave breadcrumbs to my new location in case someone is trying to track me down. I won't explain myself. I never do, but I don't want energy wasted on them wondering where I've gone. I don't need a missing person’s report filed and risk the chance of a news report.

The furniture stays with the apartment because I've always managed to find places that are at least partially furnished, so I don't have to worry about that. The deposit will be lost because I won't make a stink about getting it back, and it would no doubt be lost anyway since I'm technically breaking my lease two months early.

I hate inconveniencing other people, but some things just can't be avoided.

I know where I'm heading, but New Mexico in the summer wasn't in my plan. Leaving in five months, when it was cooler, made more sense.

I push back the threat of tears as I carry my minuscule belongings out to my car, making only three trips. This part always makes me realize how little I have.

At first, I argued to myself that I had my freedom, but if that were actually true, I wouldn't be leaving another life behind, because Graham Whitmore would eventually start looking for me again.

I wonder how many moves I have before he actually tracks me down.

Chapter 3

Nyx

Things around the clubhouse since my arrival a few weeks ago have been super quiet.

The clubhouse itself hasn't been quiet. There are so many people around, and the gatherings they have get pretty loud. It always looks like a party, but in fact I've discovered they're just having a meal and socializing.

The kids run around and play without a care in the world, and the club members and their extensive families genuinely just like being around each other.

It was a lot to get used to at first, but I always make a point to at least be in the same room or general area when they're all together.

What has been quiet is the work.

There hasn't been one mission taken since I arrived, and I don't know if it’s because of me or if there's another reason for the lack of work. I know there's no shortage of people who need help, and I can only imagine how many requests the club gets for assistance.

It's starting to feel like we're just a group of people living together, simply existing. It's making me feel itchy and more out of place than I normally do.

Getting together and hanging out by the pool, drinking a couple of beers, and chatting is all well and good, but at the same time, how many people are falling victim to abuse when we could be helping them?

I arrive at the scheduled meeting earlier than most, noticing a few new faces in the room already.

The meeting notification came through the Cerberus app Max created. It's the easiest way to send information, given how many people need to be informed and how spread out everyone is on the property.

As usual, Kincaid, Shadow, and Hound are front and center at the head of the table, chatting about something. Max is in his corner, most of him hidden behind his massive computer setup.

I dip my head in his direction before taking a seat at the table.

Cerberus New Mexico has so many members, I wouldn't be shocked to walk into this room one day and see they've transitioned from the massive conference room table to stadium seating. It doesn't seem to bother the latecomers to stand around, leaning against the wall for the meeting. They're never really that long, although a lot of the information given is usually heavy shit.

Folks trickle in over the next ten minutes, but everyone is inside the room two minutes before the scheduled meeting time.

Unlike myself, others approach the new people at the table, greeting them and welcoming them to the club.

This isn't the first time I've felt like I did something wrong by not reacting the same way most people do when they notice someone new. It makes me wonder what other club members will tell them about me if they ask later.