Wet feet did not stop Janelle from running. Not even the sores on her ankles from the bramble were enough to stop her. She knew she couldn’t give up. Her dress was ragged, her hair was matted to her face from the sweat she gained along the way, and now the drizzle that fell chilled her to the bone. But this still didn’t stop her. Miranda Janelle Thames knew she couldn’t turn around, and she knew she couldn’t get caught. Not if she wanted to live. There was no way she could go back to him. Derek was dead. She was all in now.
Janelle’s mind reeled, because she couldn’t help but think she was responsible for Derek’s death. She should have left Derek out of it, but she had arranged for him to pick her up and they had been caught, and now Derek was dead. She didn’t think the man she had married 17 years ago had the capacity to kill. But Derek’s face exploding from the 40 calibre gun that Jordan Thames fired proved that he did.
Confusion crowded her brain as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Janelle had barely gotten away. She had hastily packed a suitcase when Derek arrived, and he was helping her put her things in the trunk of Derek’s car when Jordan appeared. Jordan had caught them off guard, just as they were about to leave for the airport. Neither of them saw or heard his car pull up. Although Jordan’s 6’4” frame was silhouetted in the driveway, the gun was unmistakable in his hand. Janelle thought he sounded too calm when he said, “Hey? Where do you think you’re taking my wife?” Derek Gill didn’t answer; he only reached for Janelle, and that was when his face exploded.
Janelle didn’t stay to see his body fall. She only ran. Ran for her life. All she knew was her husband was crazy and she had to get away. She ran in the woods behind her house, and after what seemed like hours, her aching legs finally made it to a clearing in front of Columbus Avenue. All she had to do was cross Columbus Avenue and make it to Anastasia’s house on Dunbar Road. Anastasia was so smart; she would know what to do. Anastasia was the best friend she had.
Janelle had stayed in the shadows as the dusk-dark cloaked her. There wasn’t much traffic as she crossed the street and labored toward Dunbar as quickly and quietly as possible. When Stasia’s house becamse visible, it seemed to give Janelle a quiet energy that fueled her. Janelle wished she had her phone; she would call and let Stasia know she was coming. But the lights were on, and even though she lived alone, the house looked lively. Janelle’s heart beat a little faster as she was almost at her temporary destination. She was gonna make it. Anastasia would get her away from here and her lying, murdering husband.
Janelle tried to fix her hair and dress a little as she turned to walk up to the carport to Anastasia’s house, but she realized it was no use because Stasia would take one look at her and realize she had been through hell. She looked at her bloody ankles as she stepped on the welcome mat.
She reached and hit the door bell. “Anastasia! It’s me, Janelle! Please, open the door.” Immediately, Ana’s voice was heard along with television in the background: “Come in.”
The door opened, and Janelle’s friend since fifth grade stood with a worried look on her face. “Come in, come in, Janelle. Good god, girl, you look a mess!”
Janelle stepped inside and collapsed on the couch in the den. “Are you okay? Let me get you some water.”
“Great. Good,” was all Janelle was able to say. She was obviously exhausted.
Janelle only sat there on the couch when Anastasia left. After a moment, Janelle thought she heard another voice in the house. Every hair on her body stood up as she recognized the voice. It was a voice she didn’t think she would hear again soon. Her entire body stiffened when she realized who the owner of the voice was. And she stayed frozen in panic when Jordan Thames came into the room, holding a cup of water, and said, “I’m sorry, Janelle. I’m gonna make sure no one tries to take you from me ever again.”
