1963--Escape

Acacia hovered over the table of cheap cosmetics in the pharmacy. She had been charged with choosing make up that would be suitable for both herself and Naresha, and considered it a heavy responsibility. A female clerk had watched her shrewdly for the last few minutes, but finally decided that the girl wasn't going to start scooping lipsticks into her purse. She came over and said solicitously, "First time buying, honey?"

Acacia studied her, and decided that she wasn't trying to be condescending. That was fairly rare among adults, and to be appreciated. "Yeah. There's just so many to choose from."

"Ain't it the truth? And we don't even carry the premium brands. What are you lookin' for?"

"That's the problem. I don't know. Y'see, I'm buying for me and my little sister. We both need it all."

"Well, honey, it ain't really a good idea to buy for someone else unless you know exactly what you want. Coloring is such a tricky thing."

The teenager's spectacular blue eyes glinted at her. "We look exactly alike."

"I'm sure you're close, but shading..."

"No, believe me. Exactly alike."

"If you say so. Twins, huh?"

The girl's smile was a little pointy, but not unfriendly. "Even closer." She waved a hand over the table. "Got any suggestions?"

"You're risking your pocketbook asking me that," she warned. "The more I sell you, the better I look. Everyone's out for something, kid."

The expression on her fresh young face was suddenly very old. "Oh, I know that. I can deal with it."

"All right, then. You want the whole shtick, right? Let's see, base, powder, rouge, mascara, liner, pencil, shadow, lipstick..."

Most of the stuff was all right for both Naresha and Acacia. The major difference was shades of lipstick and eye shadow. Acacia favored much more vibrant colors than her sister.

Before she left the pharmacy, she also bought a toothbrush, toothpaste, sanitary pads rags, a brush, and hair dye. Velvet Midnight. The hygiene products were because they would be traveling, probably for several days, without stopping, and a clean traveler attracted less attention than a funky one. Besides, her own naturally fastidious instincts wouldn't let her stay grubby long.

The dye could not, of course, be used now. But the first time they had access to a private room and a little time, the hair was going black, at least for a while. She'd be much less easy to find with her appearance sufficiently changed.

At the bus station, she took the suitcase into the ladies' room and loaded her new purchases into it. Acacia almost had to sit on it to latch it, and she reflected that this was probably going to be her last purchase, unless they decided that it was all right to get an overnight case, too. Acacia didn't think so. The lighter they traveled, at least at first, the better.

Mrs. Logan found her waiting on the steps of the library, as usual. The housekeeper reflected as they drove home that Miss Kathy was looking awful pleased with herself of late. It might make one think she was up to something, but Logan had no idea what it might be. They kept such a tight rein on the child. The only real time she was away from an adult supervisor was the time she spent at the library, and really, what could she get up to there?

Once home, Acacia ran lightly up the stairs to her room and dropped the books on the table. Naresha, lounging once again on the bed, held out her hand expectantly. "The Vanity Fair, Acacia?" Her sister brought it to her, flopping on the bed beside her. "Dunno why you read that. Those clothes in the fashion spread aren't your style." She grimaced. "All those pastels they've had lately."

Naresha serenely flipped pages. "I do it to laugh at their affectations, of course."

Acacia bounced on the mattress. "Can I dance?"

"Of course you can, silly. Very well."

"Naresha..."

"All right." Naresha arose and went to the record player, loaded the spindle, and started it. "Happy?"

As the music started to throb, Acacia grinned. "Ecstatic." Hopping up, she started to move. Naresha, in a fit of amusement, had put 'Running Bear' on first, and Acacia had a grand time doing a stomp around the room, complete with hand over the eyes to scan the horizon, and tomahawk chops. Naresha went back to the comfort of the bed, leaving her sister to her amusements.

The record had moved on through 'Walking to New Orleans' and was moving into 'Runaway' (a particular favorite of Acacia's these days) when the door crashed open. It hit the wall so hard that the records began to skip, Dion chanting over and over again, "runaway...runaway... runaway..."

Wallace Bernard stood in the doorway, face almost purple with rage. In one hand he held a torn envelope, and in the other, a small, stiff square of plastic coated paper. Naresha was not a coward, but she suddenly felt an almost overwhelming need to pee. She knew immediately what had happened. The identification card had come in the mail, and somehow they had missed it.

Wallace glared at his stepdaughter. The little slut was stretched on the bed that he had bought for her, the bed HE had fucked her in innumerable times, and daring to look as if she didn't know what he could possibly be so angry about.

He stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. Kathleen's eyes flicked toward the record player, as if she expected to see someone there who would step between her and Wallace's wrath. But Margaret was in town, and Mrs. Logan was in her room, far away downstairs. There would be no one to interrupt the punishment he knew he had to give her for this transgression.

He walked to the bed and silently held out the card. "Can you explain to me, Kathleen, why this card, which I have no recollection of ordering, has your picture on it, but says that your are Danielle Ballard?"

Naresha held out her hand for the card. Surprised by her coolness, he allowed her to take it. She surveyed the card, then looked up at him blandly. "It turned out rather well, don't you think? Usually these photos make one look absolutely ghastly."

He slowly crumpled the envelope he held in his fist. "I want an explanation."

She shrugged. "I don't like what you've been trying to make me. I decided to change."

"There can be no good reason for you to have a false I.D."

"On the contrary, there can be many very good reasons, just not ones that you'd necessarily agree with."

"Why did you want it? To buy cigarettes? Alcohol? I told you, I'll give you wine, if you want it."

"Yes, for the added fillip of having me while I'm drunk, I know." Her voice was cold. "That isn't why I wanted it."

Acacia had prowled closer during the exchange, bright blue eyes darting between the girl and the man. Wallace ignored her completely. She might as well not have been there. This tendency always puzzled Naresha. It was so obvious that Acacia was not the type of person it was safe to ignore.

"Then why else?" His face grew even redder. "It's to check into motels, isn't it? You're planning on sneaking off to fuck some high-school jock."

"For God's sake, you fool! When would I have met someone like that? I haven't even been allowed to start school yet." She angrily tossed the magazine on the foot of the bed. "Anyway, isn't that what you want?" "What?"

He looked so dumbfound that she laughed. It was a surprisingly old sound, from such a young girl. "Oh, really, Wallace! You think I didn't guess? You want to go bareback when we tussle, but you haven't been willing to risk giving me a tadpole. You figured if there was at least a suspicion that I'd been with some boy, you'd be safe. Isn't that how your mind was working? In any case," Her pretty face twisted, and her tone was pure, pissed-off bitchy. "You've pretty much ruined us for other men for the time being, but not in the manner you'd like to think. It's going to be awhile before I can really enjoy having anything with a Y chromosome lay a hand on me."

He backhanded her. He usually didn't hit her in the face, it was too hard to explain. But he was too furious now to think clearly. Naresha fell back on the bed, and he was on top of her before she could get away. He was ripping at her dress, pulling it up, and she felt the hard nudge of his erection against her thigh. He was going to rape her... again. And probably beat her afterward. And now that his suspicions were roused, he'd be watching them more closely. She wouldn't even be allowed to go to the library alone anymore. Where did that leave their plans.

Naresha could hear Acacia hissing to her, "Let me, sister! Let me, let me!"

Wallace was pulling at her panties, calling her a slut and a whore, but his whore, and Naresha couldn't bear it anymore. It was time. She screamed, "Acacia! Now!" With a growling snarl, Acacia grabbed the heavy glass bodied lamp on their bedside table.

Wallace was used not to Kathleen fighting back, but she had never sounded so animalistic. She twisted under him, body all lean muscle instead of soft girl-flesh, arms stretching. He didn't realize she was going for the lamp till she was jerking it, ripping the cord loose from the wall. Even then he wasn't alarmed. He reached to knock it from her hands...

and she brought it down on his head in a shattering crash. He went limp instantly, dropping his entire weight on her. She struggled to push him off, losing her grip on the lamp. It fell against the night stand. Already weakened, it shattered, spilling spiky shards on the table and floor.

Naresha stumbled from the bed, trying to jerk her clothes back into some order. Looking back, she saw Wallace on the floor. His eyes were closed, his face pale, and blood ran in a thick stream from a cut in his scalp. Acacia was crouched over him, a jagged shard of glass gripped tightly in her hand, holding the point over his throat. Her lips were drawn back from teeth that, to Naresha's dazed eyes, looked far too sharp.

"Acacia, no!" Her sister looked at her, the low growl rumbling in her throat. At that moment, Naresha was almost overwhelmed by love and pride. Her sister, her protector, ready to slay the one who had hurt them.

"Why not?" Acacia moved her hand, and the glass dimpled the skin directly over Wallace's jugular. "Tell me he doesn't deserve it, Naresha. Lie to me."

"He does deserve it, many times over. But you must not, Acacia. If you let him live, we're just runaways. If you kill him, we're murder suspects, and fugitives. Which do you think they'll try hardest to catch?"

Reluctantly, Acacia lifted the impromptu weapon. Then suddenly her hand slashed twice, opening a gash in both of Wallace's cheeks. Then she threw the glass across the room and got up. "So we can't tell anyone. Some of them will know he was marked like that for a reason. Can we go now?"

"Yes, sister. We go now." Naresha picked up the I.D. from where it had fallen. "Come on." It was the only thing they were taking with them from this house.

Well, one other thing.

In the kitchen, they found the keys to the station wagon in the little basket on the counter near the back door. Acacia handed the keys to Naresha. "You drive. I'm to hyped right now. You might be able to get us to town without running us into a ditch."

They slipped out to the station wagon and got in. Naresha slipped the key in, and turned it. She studied the pedal arrangement for a moment, fingering the gear shift. "Can you do it?" Acacia asked.

"Oh, of course I can, darling. I've watched that bitch Logan do it often enough. It isn't rocket science." She put the car in gear, and it stalled. She sighed. "All right, it might be calculus, but it still isn't rocket science."

The next try she got it running smoothly, and they started down the drive. When they came to the road, she turned toward town. "Acacia?" she said softy.

"Yeah, sis?"

"We've done it."

Acacia grinned. "Yeah."

The first stop was the bank. Naresha didn't even attempt parallel parking, just leaving the wagon in a fire zone. "Let them tow it," she said to Acacia as they entered the cool, dim bank. "I like the idea of costing The Bastard a little extra, and getting a ticket on his record."

At her age she would have had to have a guardian's permission to open an account. In this institution, though, that didn't apply to having a safety deposit box. When they were left alone in the little room,Naresha unlocked the box. Inside was a thick wad of cash, in all sizes of bills from twenties, down. There was also a small velvet bag that contained the jewelry that Wallace had been giving her over the last few years.

It was all semi-precious stones. He had promised her diamonds for her 'coming out' when she was seventeen. But there was a rather nice string of peals, and some garnets, amethysts, and topazes that would come in handy at the pawn shop when they needed a little extra cash. As much as she loved jewelry (more in an aesthetic way than as a personal adornment) Naresha was not going to keep a single thing The Bastard had provided.

She cleaned out the box, and they headed over to the bus station. Going to the ticket seller, she inquired, "What are the next three busses?"

He consulted a schedule. "We have one in ten minutes for New York, one just after that for Las Vegas, and one in twenty minutes for Akron."

Acacia clamored for New York, Naresha would have liked Las Vegas, but they chose Akron. Why? Because that was the least likely place for a runaway. They only purchase one ticket, knowing from long experience that the second sister just wasn't going to be noticed. People were so unobservant these day.

As they sat on the bus, waiting for its departure, they discussed their plans. "We get off at, like, the second or third stop, and poof! Go up into thin air."

Naresha nodded agreement. "That idiot at the station is sure to remember us, and they'll head to Akron to look for us, but we'll be off to points unknown. A brief stop at a hotel, wherever, to take care of cosmetic consideration, then another bus. I think two more destination changes should be sufficient to throw the bloodhounds off the scent."

A soldier traveling home on leave had considered sitting next to the pretty young girl with the unusual hair and eyes, and striking up a conversation. When he saw that she seemed to be having a conversation all by herself he thought better of it, and sat near the front.

The second stop was in a little town called Bristol. Acacia liked that. She enjoyed doing the 'Bristol Stomp'. In the ladies' room, Naresha applied make-up in a demure, scanty manner. When Acacia snorted, she said, "We're trying to look respectable, dear, not be a spectacle. The object is to get checked in somewhere with as little notice as possible, right?" Acacia agreed grudgingly.

She also let Naresha go in alone to rent the room at the little motel a block away from the bus station. There wasn't any trouble. Naresha looked a bit young, but she was neat, respectful and respectable looking, and she had I.D. and luggage. Most important of all, she had cash.

In their room, she quickly stripped out of the clothes that The Bastard had paid for. There was a large pair of shears in the suitcase, and she sat cross-legged on the bed and spent a pleasant twenty minutes cutting the clothes into rags too small to be used to piece a quilt. "I only wish," she told Acacia, who sat watching her and popping her gum (an activity strictly forbidden in the Bernard household) "that I dared burn them."

At last Acacia said, "Can we get rid of this mop now?"

"Yes indeed."

They went into the bathroom. Naresha stood naked before the flyspecked mirror, studying herself, as Acacia stood behind her, peering over her shoulder. Naresha saw herself with short, sleek, jet black hair. The style was very like Acacia's, if a tiny bit longer. "The thing to do," she said, gathering her long fall of dark gold and cream hair into a fist in back, "is to try to make the outside as close to the inside as possible."

She set the thick hank of hair between the sharp blades of the scissors, and slowly closed the handles. They were sharp. She had paid a good price for them, wanting the best. In the back of her mind had always been the tempting thought of burying them in The Bastard's left eye, or possibly his heart, if she could find a way through the rib cage. But being a practical girl, she had known that this was nothing more than a pleasant daydream.

The scissors sliced through the great wad of hair slowly, making an almost purring sound. Naresha could feel a tiny tug as each hair was severed. Finally it swung free in her hands. She examined it for a moment. It had been a long time since she'd had a real haircut. The Bastard had banned anything except a trim to remove dead ends when she was nine. Her hair had flowed over her shoulders, but he'd always wanted it to get longer. She had the suspicion that he would have liked to tie her to something with it when he assaulted her, but for some reason it would grow so far, and no farther.

"Should we save this?" She shook the hair at Acacia.

Acacia's voice was cold. "No. It's part of who he tried to make us. Dump it." Naresha dropped the hair into the toilet, and Acacia flushed. It took two tries, but the last of it finally whirled away down the stained porcelain maw.

Then Naresha went to work again, standing on a towel to catch the snippets of hair. She cut, studied, cut some more. When she was done, she'd come up with a haircut that was ahead of its time. Three years ahead of its time, in fact. A sixteen year old English model who went by the single name of Twiggy would 'introduce' the close-cropped look, and become 'The Face of 1966.'

The stubble was shaken into the toilet and flushed away. Then the sisters took a good shower, scrubbing away even the scent of The Bastard, The Bitch, and The Hell Hole. Naresha, after carefully reading the instructions, washed her hair and applied the dye. An hour later, Kathleen had pretty well disappeared off the face of the earth. And, as contented as she was in the grey, foggy nowhere, it was doubtful that she would ever be back.

The next morning, the manager's son, who worked mornings, checked out the young girl who had stayed in room 12. His father had been right, she was a looker. She had bright, bright blue eyes, an athletic figure, and a flirtatious attitude. He had to wonder about the old man's eyesight though. Maybe it was the lighting at night, but he couldn't understand why the old guy had called her a blonde when she had the most midnight black hair he had ever seen.