Discarded by M. Hunter (fantasy books to read .txt) 📗

alone, and that she really did want to stay at home, then maybe they wouldn’t return her to Grey and Mr Brown.

The curved bridge had metal netting across its base, giving her added grip as she tore up and over it, only stopping momentarily once she was on the opposite bank to look for any sign of Grey or Mr Brown. She could no longer see the break in the trees she’d come through, and the light was rapidly fading, but their absence gave her renewed belief. She didn’t like to think what kind of punishment Chez would receive for aiding her escape; she wished he’d come with her, but he’d made his choice for whatever reason, and now it was up to her to make the most of the opportunity. If she could show the police where she’d been held, then maybe they could rescue Chez and he’d be safe too.

Continuing along the narrow pathway, which was so overgrown she couldn’t be sure anyone had stepped foot on it in the last ten years, she eventually spotted a tall, thin post, with an arrow sign indicating the town centre was 500 metres further along. Checking back the way she’d come, she could no longer see the footbridge in the darkness slowly enveloping the entire landscape and she certainly couldn’t hear the sound of anyone giving chase.

The pathway beside the stream ended at a rusted wire fence, beyond which the pathway quickly disappeared into the stream. Bending to the left, she followed the even narrower cutaway out to a quiet road. More dark forest stretched out across the road, suggesting the strip of concrete had been built to bisect the trees. The road sign here indicated parking and the town centre to the right, and although her legs didn’t want to move any further, she swallowed the pain and placed one foot in front of another. Chez hadn’t mentioned a police station in the town centre, and since she had no idea what time it was, she couldn’t be certain she’d find any open shops along the way.

The road lit up as a car approached from behind, and in sudden panic that Grey and Mr Brown would know where the stream pathway came out and might have pursued her in Grey’s car rather than on foot, she looked for anywhere she could hide out of sight until the vehicle had passed. Darting back into the trees that lined the pavement closest to her, she ducked her head and squashed her body into the ground, desperately hoping they hadn’t seen her last-minute decision, and breathed out a huge sigh of relief when the car continued without stopping.

That was close, she told herself. She couldn’t risk being seen again, and so would have to find a way off the road. Waiting for a second car to pass in the opposite direction, she once more forced herself to her feet, now limping, such was the fatigue in her legs. It felt as though her prayers had been answered when she spotted a small chapel a few hundred yards ahead. She hurried towards it, ducking in through the arched entrance and hammering her fists against the small door of the property at the rear of the building. She was now out of sight of the road so she didn’t care how much noise she made, but at first it didn’t appear anybody was home. She hammered the door again, this time daring to call out.

A light flashed on inside, and a moment later she heard the door being unbolted. She practically fell into the arms of a kindly, old man with hair as white and fluffy as clouds. The dog collar around his neck was a sign of salvation, and she hurried to get the words out of her throat: who she was, where she’d come from, the fact that men were chasing her.

The kindly old man, Reverend Peter Saltzing, listened attentively, even jotting notes on a piece of paper so that he’d be able to accurately relay the message to the police.

‘You look exhausted,’ he told her. ‘And I bet you’re hungry too.’ He smiled. ‘I was just heating up a can of tomato soup, but I’m afraid it’s too big for me to eat alone. Would you like some?’

She didn’t need asking twice, following him through to a small kitchen at the rear of the property where she saw steam rising from a pan on the stove and a place setting for one at the rickety old table in the corner. He encouraged her to sit at the only chair, pouring a generous quantity of soup into the bowl before her, and inviting her to tear off a chunk of bread from the freshly baked loaf in the centre of the table. The bread was still warm to the touch and the butter instantly melted when spread.

‘Why don’t you eat while I phone the police and let them know you’re safe?’

She nodded, dunking the chunk of bread into the red soup and savouring the mouthful as she placed it onto her tongue. Bread and soup had never tasted so good, and she vowed she would never again complain when her mum insisted on making it for lunch. She was halfway through the bowl, and feeling so much more relaxed, when the kindly old man returned to the room and topped up her bowl.

‘Good to see some colour back in your cheeks,’ he said, leaning against the counter and urging her to keep eating. ‘They’re on their way, and shouldn’t be too much longer. They sounded very worried on the phone, but they’ve said they’ll get a message to your family and let them know you’re safe.’

She looked at him and wanted to say thank you, but her eyes quickly filled and the sob trapped the words in her throat. Reverend Peter put a gentle arm around her shoulders and held her while she gave in to the relief.

Chapter Twenty-Three