*****
2
"Well, young lady, where is it you want to go," Dan asked as he turned onto Highway 87; they had about a thirty-minute drive before they hit Victoria and a large interstate.
Her mood lifted with a little bit of food, and the miles clicking away, she relaxed. She might be free. She was holding out hope.
"I was thinking somewhere out west Arizona or Nevada, even California. I don't know, I have to be able to find a job and make a new life," Misty told him, watching the morning sun cast purple-pink and yellow across the sky.
"OK, let me see what I can find for you," he said. He picked up a strange contraption and spoke into it. "Breaker, Breaker, I need someone willing to take a young lady out west this morning. She has had it rough and needs a new start. I will be in Victoria in, say, twenty minutes. We can meet on the Highway 87 and 59 Intersection."
Immediately, he started to get suggestive replies.
"Ok, guys, I'm not setting up dates. I have a very nice young lady here who has been mistreated, and she needs a ride west," Dan called out over what Misty assumed was a radio.
"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of pigs out in this world," Dan told her as rude replies continued to come over the air.
"I know I'm married to one," Misty told him.
"Breaker Mister isn't looking for a date. My wife and I are going to Phoenix. We have a large RV and could be at that exit in twenty minutes, give or take five," Misty smiled at him.
"Thank you. I'll be waiting at the Shell station at 87. She will be all yours," Dan told them, relieved to have her off his hands. He didn't know how he would explain to his wife when he brought her home if he couldn't find a ride. That would have been his only option, and he was not leaving her on the road. There are too many perverts out there driving trucks.
Pulling over to turn in at the station, he saw a nice RV waiting to turn in across the intersection. "Looks like you will be traveling in a style that is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of RV," Dan told her. He pulled over where he could get out easier. The RV pulled up behind him. Dan went around and helped No Name down.
He walked over to the RV driver to talk to the older man and shook his hand. As he got out, his wife walked towards Misty. He told him the quick story of what he knew about her. I thanked him, got in his truck, and waved goodbye to her. The man joined his wife and stood looking at this scrawny, beaten girl.
"You don't have to take me. I know I look scary." Misty told them, feeling disappointed by their reaction. She knew they wouldn't take her; she was too much of a liability.
"No, that's not the problem. I was thinking you should be in a hospital. You've been told this already. You don't want to go right," he asked her.
"Yes, Sir, if I stop now, he will find me," Misty told him, looking around for a getaway. If they don't take her, she must find someone else who will.
"He doesn't at this point know where you are, right," he asked, concerned whoever did this was coming after her, and he was a little too old to get into a fistfight to protect her.
"No, Sir, he is just waking up to find me gone, and we live over an hour away from here. But if I go to the hospital, he will find out and come after me," Misty told him. "Besides, I have had it worse and not gone anywhere," she told him, brushing off her injuries as no big deal.
"OK, then let's get going," the old man told her. Misty's stomach churned, and she couldn't believe they would take on this responsibility. Fighting the urge to flinch, he lightly took hold of her elbow and guided her to their RV.
Stepping in, it was the nicest place she had ever been. Her reaction told them a lot about her. Her appearance and clothes told them she was not used to having much, and what she had was not lovely.
"Ok, let's get going. We are going to head towards San Antonio. Are you in a rush to get to Phoenix?" He asked her as he took the driver's seat; his wife sat at the table and patted the top.
Misty shook her head, "No, Sir."
"Come and sit here; he can't drive while you are standing; he would get a ticket," the old woman told her, patting the tabletop.
"I'm Margery Anderson, and this is Charles. We have been driving for what is it now, honey, nine months at least."
"Yeah, something like that," he called back to her as he pulled across the highway heading towards town.
"We started in California, driving up the coast all along the northern states over the Rockies out to Main and down the other coastline, winter chasing us the whole time. Now we are on our last leg to Phoenix," Marge told her.
"That must have been wonderful. This is the furthest I have been away from my place," Misty told her, still taking in the beautiful vehicle she was riding.
"Are you thirsty or hungry?" Marge asked.
"I could use a drink," Misty told her.
"Honey, is it safe to stand," Marge asked.
"Yeah, I could use some water myself," Charles told her as he sat at a stop light.
"We should be good. Will take this highway towards Austin, and then we take I 10 out to San Antonio, and we are on our way," Charles told her. They had taken this trek to see something besides highways. The Alamo was one place they talked about, but he would keep driving with her along.
Handing out water, Marge sat back down as the light changed.
"So, tell me about yourself."
"Oh, I'm nobody," Misty told her, looking down at the floor, ashamed of her appearance.
"No, today starts a new life. So now you are somebody. So, who are you? Tell me about the new life you want," Marge encourages.
"I want a new name," Misty said, sounding childish.
"Well, sure, you can do that. What name do you want?" Marge asked her, seeing the pain in her eyes.
"My old name was Misty. I hated that name; the kids at school teased me and called me Fog or Foggy. Some turned it into a Froggie. My new name has to be something people can't tease me about," Misty told her.
"Misty is a beautiful name, but it is too bad the kids were so mean to you," Marge told her.
"Yeah, I like Misty too; you look like a Misty, beautiful and mysterious," Charles told her.
She smiled, "I haven't looked beautiful for a long time. I used to have beautiful long hair, but not anymore," Misty told her, pulling on the end of her hair, wishing it would grow. It had been her one pleasure in life brushing her hair, and he took that pleasure from her, too.
"Misty, who did this to you?" Marge asked.
"My husband."
"How long have you been married?"
"I've been married four years," Misty told her.
"You don't look old enough to be married that long," Marge said, shocked she could be that old. She thought she was a runaway.
"Well, I have. My father signed and married me off at sixteen, so yes, I'm old enough. We lived out in the country by Blessing in a little one-bedroom house," Misty told her.
"Do you have children?"
Tears came to Misty's eyes. "Almost, she died before she was born. My husband got mad because I was talking about her too much and punched me in the stomach. I just wanted to show him she was moving. She came the next day, but she was dead. I had to bury her in the backyard. That was about two months ago. I had to leave; he was going to kill me if I stayed," Misty told them. Reaching out, Marge took her hand to comfort her.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Oh, it's sad, but my Mother lost many babies the same way. She says some weren't meant to be when she lost hers. I had to get over it quickly. Jason got mad if he thought I was sad because she died," Misty told her. "It's Ok," she said not very convincingly.
They could hear the pain in her voice. No, it was not Ok. This would haunt her forever, Marge knew. She had lost a few sixty years ago, and it still hurt to think of what they could have been.
"But I was looking forward to having her. Someone to love and hold, to take care of. Jason was not happy I was pregnant. I think he did it on purpose," Misty was talking more to herself than them.
"I'm hoping he will be arrested and go to jail. I left enough blood around our room they will think he killed me. I can't be found; I have to have a new life and name," Misty said, looking defeated.
"I tell you what; you look like someone who could use a nap," Marge told her, "If you lay down here for a few hours, you will feel a lot better after a nap."
Following her to the back of the RV, she showed her a small bed that flipped out of the wall. I handed her a blanket and a pillow, and Misty was asleep in minutes. She watched her slow, steady breaths, and her heart went to the poor girl.
*
Marge sat by Charles as he drove, "I'm going to write an anonymous note and leave it at the next Wal-Mart you drive by," Marge whispered.
"How are you going to do that?" Charles asked, looking in the rearview mirror, ensuring Miss No Name couldn't hear them.
"It will be easy. I know her name is Misty. He is Jason. They live out by Blessing, Texas. There is a dead baby's body in the backyard. She said she left blood all over their room. For what he has done to her, he deserves to go to jail even if they can't pin her murder on him. He will at least go to jail for a while. The baby alone should be enough," Marge told him.
"Fine, write it down. Don't touch the paper. You can't have your fingerprints on it," Charles told her, watching her write a quick note, fold the paper, and write HELP HER on the flap.
"You need to pick up some clothes for her and maybe some hair dye. She looks like she is country. We need to change that. Let's make her look more citified," Charles teased.
"I must citify her at a Wal-Mart; is this my challenge?" Marge sassed back, looking back towards the bunk where Misty had slept.
"She is exactly what I was hoping for: someone we can help and change her life. She is a pretty, sweet girl underneath all that skinny, beaten girl. She will be a beauty. Give her a month, and she will be completely different," Marge told him, gearing up for the transformation.
"I hope she doesn't break your heart," Charles said, patting her knee. "You just tell me what you need. We have all the time and money in the world," Charles tells her.
Holding the note with a tissue, she puts it in her purse.
She no longer settled back in her seat when Charles pointed out a Wal-Mart sign that appeared on the highway exit sign.
Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped out front, "you will see me in the back," he told her when she got out.
As he pulled away, Misty started moving.
"Relax, sweetheart. Marge just went to do some shopping," Charles called out.
She immediately relaxed; someone had called her sweetheart and did not slap her upside her head after. Rolling to her side, she went back to sleep. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. It was strange, but she thought these people wouldn't hurt her. She was safe now. She could worry about what was next when they dropped her off. This means they are going further from Jason by the minute.
Charles turned the radio on low. The sound of familiar tunes added to her comfort.
*****
2
"Well, young lady, where is it you want to go," Dan asked as he turned onto Highway 87; they had about a thirty-minute drive before they hit Victoria and a large interstate.
Her mood lifted with a little bit of food, and the miles clicking away, she relaxed. She might be free. She was holding out hope.
"I was thinking somewhere out west Arizona or Nevada, even California. I don't know, I have to be able to find a job and make a new life," Misty told him, watching the morning sun cast purple-pink and yellow across the sky.
"OK, let me see what I can find for you," he said. He picked up a strange contraption and spoke into it. "Breaker, Breaker, I need someone willing to take a young lady out west this morning. She has had it rough and needs a new start. I will be in Victoria in, say, twenty minutes. We can meet on the Highway 87 and 59 Intersection."
Immediately, he started to get suggestive replies.
"Ok, guys, I'm not setting up dates. I have a very nice young lady here who has been mistreated, and she needs a ride west," Dan called out over what Misty assumed was a radio.
"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of pigs out in this world," Dan told her as rude replies continued to come over the air.
"I know I'm married to one," Misty told him.
"Breaker Mister isn't looking for a date. My wife and I are going to Phoenix. We have a large RV and could be at that exit in twenty minutes, give or take five," Misty smiled at him.
"Thank you. I'll be waiting at the Shell station at 87. She will be all yours," Dan told them, relieved to have her off his hands. He didn't know how he would explain to his wife when he brought her home if he couldn't find a ride. That would have been his only option, and he was not leaving her on the road. There are too many perverts out there driving trucks.
Pulling over to turn in at the station, he saw a nice RV waiting to turn in across the intersection. "Looks like you will be traveling in a style that is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of RV," Dan told her. He pulled over where he could get out easier. The RV pulled up behind him. Dan went around and helped No Name down.
He walked over to the RV driver to talk to the older man and shook his hand. As he got out, his wife walked towards Misty. He told him the quick story of what he knew about her. I thanked him, got in his truck, and waved goodbye to her. The man joined his wife and stood looking at this scrawny, beaten girl.
"You don't have to take me. I know I look scary." Misty told them, feeling disappointed by their reaction. She knew they wouldn't take her; she was too much of a liability.
"No, that's not the problem. I was thinking you should be in a hospital. You've been told this already. You don't want to go right," he asked her.
"Yes, Sir, if I stop now, he will find me," Misty told him, looking around for a getaway. If they don't take her, she must find someone else who will.
"He doesn't at this point know where you are, right," he asked, concerned whoever did this was coming after her, and he was a little too old to get into a fistfight to protect her.
"No, Sir, he is just waking up to find me gone, and we live over an hour away from here. But if I go to the hospital, he will find out and come after me," Misty told him. "Besides, I have had it worse and not gone anywhere," she told him, brushing off her injuries as no big deal.
"OK, then let's get going," the old man told her. Misty's stomach churned, and she couldn't believe they would take on this responsibility. Fighting the urge to flinch, he lightly took hold of her elbow and guided her to their RV.
Stepping in, it was the nicest place she had ever been. Her reaction told them a lot about her. Her appearance and clothes told them she was not used to having much, and what she had was not lovely.
"Ok, let's get going. We are going to head towards San Antonio. Are you in a rush to get to Phoenix?" He asked her as he took the driver's seat; his wife sat at the table and patted the top.
Misty shook her head, "No, Sir."
"Come and sit here; he can't drive while you are standing; he would get a ticket," the old woman told her, patting the tabletop.
"I'm Margery Anderson, and this is Charles. We have been driving for what is it now, honey, nine months at least."
"Yeah, something like that," he called back to her as he pulled across the highway heading towards town.
"We started in California, driving up the coast all along the northern states over the Rockies out to Main and down the other coastline, winter chasing us the whole time. Now we are on our last leg to Phoenix," Marge told her.
"That must have been wonderful. This is the furthest I have been away from my place," Misty told her, still taking in the beautiful vehicle she was riding.
"Are you thirsty or hungry?" Marge asked.
"I could use a drink," Misty told her.
"Honey, is it safe to stand," Marge asked.
"Yeah, I could use some water myself," Charles told her as he sat at a stop light.
"We should be good. Will take this highway towards Austin, and then we take I 10 out to San Antonio, and we are on our way," Charles told her. They had taken this trek to see something besides highways. The Alamo was one place they talked about, but he would keep driving with her along.
Handing out water, Marge sat back down as the light changed.
"So, tell me about yourself."
"Oh, I'm nobody," Misty told her, looking down at the floor, ashamed of her appearance.
"No, today starts a new life. So now you are somebody. So, who are you? Tell me about the new life you want," Marge encourages.
"I want a new name," Misty said, sounding childish.
"Well, sure, you can do that. What name do you want?" Marge asked her, seeing the pain in her eyes.
"My old name was Misty. I hated that name; the kids at school teased me and called me Fog or Foggy. Some turned it into a Froggie. My new name has to be something people can't tease me about," Misty told her.
"Misty is a beautiful name, but it is too bad the kids were so mean to you," Marge told her.
"Yeah, I like Misty too; you look like a Misty, beautiful and mysterious," Charles told her.
She smiled, "I haven't looked beautiful for a long time. I used to have beautiful long hair, but not anymore," Misty told her, pulling on the end of her hair, wishing it would grow. It had been her one pleasure in life brushing her hair, and he took that pleasure from her, too.
"Misty, who did this to you?" Marge asked.
"My husband."
"How long have you been married?"
"I've been married four years," Misty told her.
"You don't look old enough to be married that long," Marge said, shocked she could be that old. She thought she was a runaway.
"Well, I have. My father signed and married me off at sixteen, so yes, I'm old enough. We lived out in the country by Blessing in a little one-bedroom house," Misty told her.
"Do you have children?"
Tears came to Misty's eyes. "Almost, she died before she was born. My husband got mad because I was talking about her too much and punched me in the stomach. I just wanted to show him she was moving. She came the next day, but she was dead. I had to bury her in the backyard. That was about two months ago. I had to leave; he was going to kill me if I stayed," Misty told them. Reaching out, Marge took her hand to comfort her.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Oh, it's sad, but my Mother lost many babies the same way. She says some weren't meant to be when she lost hers. I had to get over it quickly. Jason got mad if he thought I was sad because she died," Misty told her. "It's Ok," she said not very convincingly.
They could hear the pain in her voice. No, it was not Ok. This would haunt her forever, Marge knew. She had lost a few sixty years ago, and it still hurt to think of what they could have been.
"But I was looking forward to having her. Someone to love and hold, to take care of. Jason was not happy I was pregnant. I think he did it on purpose," Misty was talking more to herself than them.
"I'm hoping he will be arrested and go to jail. I left enough blood around our room they will think he killed me. I can't be found; I have to have a new life and name," Misty said, looking defeated.
"I tell you what; you look like someone who could use a nap," Marge told her, "If you lay down here for a few hours, you will feel a lot better after a nap."
Following her to the back of the RV, she showed her a small bed that flipped out of the wall. I handed her a blanket and a pillow, and Misty was asleep in minutes. She watched her slow, steady breaths, and her heart went to the poor girl.
*
Marge sat by Charles as he drove, "I'm going to write an anonymous note and leave it at the next Wal-Mart you drive by," Marge whispered.
"How are you going to do that?" Charles asked, looking in the rearview mirror, ensuring Miss No Name couldn't hear them.
"It will be easy. I know her name is Misty. He is Jason. They live out by Blessing, Texas. There is a dead baby's body in the backyard. She said she left blood all over their room. For what he has done to her, he deserves to go to jail even if they can't pin her murder on him. He will at least go to jail for a while. The baby alone should be enough," Marge told him.
"Fine, write it down. Don't touch the paper. You can't have your fingerprints on it," Charles told her, watching her write a quick note, fold the paper, and write HELP HER on the flap.
"You need to pick up some clothes for her and maybe some hair dye. She looks like she is country. We need to change that. Let's make her look more citified," Charles teased.
"I must citify her at a Wal-Mart; is this my challenge?" Marge sassed back, looking back towards the bunk where Misty had slept.
"She is exactly what I was hoping for: someone we can help and change her life. She is a pretty, sweet girl underneath all that skinny, beaten girl. She will be a beauty. Give her a month, and she will be completely different," Marge told him, gearing up for the transformation.
"I hope she doesn't break your heart," Charles said, patting her knee. "You just tell me what you need. We have all the time and money in the world," Charles tells her.
Holding the note with a tissue, she puts it in her purse.
She no longer settled back in her seat when Charles pointed out a Wal-Mart sign that appeared on the highway exit sign.
Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped out front, "you will see me in the back," he told her when she got out.
As he pulled away, Misty started moving.
"Relax, sweetheart. Marge just went to do some shopping," Charles called out.
She immediately relaxed; someone had called her sweetheart and did not slap her upside her head after. Rolling to her side, she went back to sleep. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. It was strange, but she thought these people wouldn't hurt her. She was safe now. She could worry about what was next when they dropped her off. This means they are going further from Jason by the minute.
Charles turned the radio on low. The sound of familiar tunes added to her comfort.
*****
2
"Well, young lady, where is it you want to go," Dan asked as he turned onto Highway 87; they had about a thirty-minute drive before they hit Victoria and a large interstate.
Her mood lifted with a little bit of food, and the miles clicking away, she relaxed. She might be free. She was holding out hope.
"I was thinking somewhere out west Arizona or Nevada, even California. I don't know, I have to be able to find a job and make a new life," Misty told him, watching the morning sun cast purple-pink and yellow across the sky.
"OK, let me see what I can find for you," he said. He picked up a strange contraption and spoke into it. "Breaker, Breaker, I need someone willing to take a young lady out west this morning. She has had it rough and needs a new start. I will be in Victoria in, say, twenty minutes. We can meet on the Highway 87 and 59 Intersection."
Immediately, he started to get suggestive replies.
"Ok, guys, I'm not setting up dates. I have a very nice young lady here who has been mistreated, and she needs a ride west," Dan called out over what Misty assumed was a radio.
"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of pigs out in this world," Dan told her as rude replies continued to come over the air.
"I know I'm married to one," Misty told him.
"Breaker Mister isn't looking for a date. My wife and I are going to Phoenix. We have a large RV and could be at that exit in twenty minutes, give or take five," Misty smiled at him.
"Thank you. I'll be waiting at the Shell station at 87. She will be all yours," Dan told them, relieved to have her off his hands. He didn't know how he would explain to his wife when he brought her home if he couldn't find a ride. That would have been his only option, and he was not leaving her on the road. There are too many perverts out there driving trucks.
Pulling over to turn in at the station, he saw a nice RV waiting to turn in across the intersection. "Looks like you will be traveling in a style that is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of RV," Dan told her. He pulled over where he could get out easier. The RV pulled up behind him. Dan went around and helped No Name down.
He walked over to the RV driver to talk to the older man and shook his hand. As he got out, his wife walked towards Misty. He told him the quick story of what he knew about her. I thanked him, got in his truck, and waved goodbye to her. The man joined his wife and stood looking at this scrawny, beaten girl.
"You don't have to take me. I know I look scary." Misty told them, feeling disappointed by their reaction. She knew they wouldn't take her; she was too much of a liability.
"No, that's not the problem. I was thinking you should be in a hospital. You've been told this already. You don't want to go right," he asked her.
"Yes, Sir, if I stop now, he will find me," Misty told him, looking around for a getaway. If they don't take her, she must find someone else who will.
"He doesn't at this point know where you are, right," he asked, concerned whoever did this was coming after her, and he was a little too old to get into a fistfight to protect her.
"No, Sir, he is just waking up to find me gone, and we live over an hour away from here. But if I go to the hospital, he will find out and come after me," Misty told him. "Besides, I have had it worse and not gone anywhere," she told him, brushing off her injuries as no big deal.
"OK, then let's get going," the old man told her. Misty's stomach churned, and she couldn't believe they would take on this responsibility. Fighting the urge to flinch, he lightly took hold of her elbow and guided her to their RV.
Stepping in, it was the nicest place she had ever been. Her reaction told them a lot about her. Her appearance and clothes told them she was not used to having much, and what she had was not lovely.
"Ok, let's get going. We are going to head towards San Antonio. Are you in a rush to get to Phoenix?" He asked her as he took the driver's seat; his wife sat at the table and patted the top.
Misty shook her head, "No, Sir."
"Come and sit here; he can't drive while you are standing; he would get a ticket," the old woman told her, patting the tabletop.
"I'm Margery Anderson, and this is Charles. We have been driving for what is it now, honey, nine months at least."
"Yeah, something like that," he called back to her as he pulled across the highway heading towards town.
"We started in California, driving up the coast all along the northern states over the Rockies out to Main and down the other coastline, winter chasing us the whole time. Now we are on our last leg to Phoenix," Marge told her.
"That must have been wonderful. This is the furthest I have been away from my place," Misty told her, still taking in the beautiful vehicle she was riding.
"Are you thirsty or hungry?" Marge asked.
"I could use a drink," Misty told her.
"Honey, is it safe to stand," Marge asked.
"Yeah, I could use some water myself," Charles told her as he sat at a stop light.
"We should be good. Will take this highway towards Austin, and then we take I 10 out to San Antonio, and we are on our way," Charles told her. They had taken this trek to see something besides highways. The Alamo was one place they talked about, but he would keep driving with her along.
Handing out water, Marge sat back down as the light changed.
"So, tell me about yourself."
"Oh, I'm nobody," Misty told her, looking down at the floor, ashamed of her appearance.
"No, today starts a new life. So now you are somebody. So, who are you? Tell me about the new life you want," Marge encourages.
"I want a new name," Misty said, sounding childish.
"Well, sure, you can do that. What name do you want?" Marge asked her, seeing the pain in her eyes.
"My old name was Misty. I hated that name; the kids at school teased me and called me Fog or Foggy. Some turned it into a Froggie. My new name has to be something people can't tease me about," Misty told her.
"Misty is a beautiful name, but it is too bad the kids were so mean to you," Marge told her.
"Yeah, I like Misty too; you look like a Misty, beautiful and mysterious," Charles told her.
She smiled, "I haven't looked beautiful for a long time. I used to have beautiful long hair, but not anymore," Misty told her, pulling on the end of her hair, wishing it would grow. It had been her one pleasure in life brushing her hair, and he took that pleasure from her, too.
"Misty, who did this to you?" Marge asked.
"My husband."
"How long have you been married?"
"I've been married four years," Misty told her.
"You don't look old enough to be married that long," Marge said, shocked she could be that old. She thought she was a runaway.
"Well, I have. My father signed and married me off at sixteen, so yes, I'm old enough. We lived out in the country by Blessing in a little one-bedroom house," Misty told her.
"Do you have children?"
Tears came to Misty's eyes. "Almost, she died before she was born. My husband got mad because I was talking about her too much and punched me in the stomach. I just wanted to show him she was moving. She came the next day, but she was dead. I had to bury her in the backyard. That was about two months ago. I had to leave; he was going to kill me if I stayed," Misty told them. Reaching out, Marge took her hand to comfort her.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Oh, it's sad, but my Mother lost many babies the same way. She says some weren't meant to be when she lost hers. I had to get over it quickly. Jason got mad if he thought I was sad because she died," Misty told her. "It's Ok," she said not very convincingly.
They could hear the pain in her voice. No, it was not Ok. This would haunt her forever, Marge knew. She had lost a few sixty years ago, and it still hurt to think of what they could have been.
"But I was looking forward to having her. Someone to love and hold, to take care of. Jason was not happy I was pregnant. I think he did it on purpose," Misty was talking more to herself than them.
"I'm hoping he will be arrested and go to jail. I left enough blood around our room they will think he killed me. I can't be found; I have to have a new life and name," Misty said, looking defeated.
"I tell you what; you look like someone who could use a nap," Marge told her, "If you lay down here for a few hours, you will feel a lot better after a nap."
Following her to the back of the RV, she showed her a small bed that flipped out of the wall. I handed her a blanket and a pillow, and Misty was asleep in minutes. She watched her slow, steady breaths, and her heart went to the poor girl.
*
Marge sat by Charles as he drove, "I'm going to write an anonymous note and leave it at the next Wal-Mart you drive by," Marge whispered.
"How are you going to do that?" Charles asked, looking in the rearview mirror, ensuring Miss No Name couldn't hear them.
"It will be easy. I know her name is Misty. He is Jason. They live out by Blessing, Texas. There is a dead baby's body in the backyard. She said she left blood all over their room. For what he has done to her, he deserves to go to jail even if they can't pin her murder on him. He will at least go to jail for a while. The baby alone should be enough," Marge told him.
"Fine, write it down. Don't touch the paper. You can't have your fingerprints on it," Charles told her, watching her write a quick note, fold the paper, and write HELP HER on the flap.
"You need to pick up some clothes for her and maybe some hair dye. She looks like she is country. We need to change that. Let's make her look more citified," Charles teased.
"I must citify her at a Wal-Mart; is this my challenge?" Marge sassed back, looking back towards the bunk where Misty had slept.
"She is exactly what I was hoping for: someone we can help and change her life. She is a pretty, sweet girl underneath all that skinny, beaten girl. She will be a beauty. Give her a month, and she will be completely different," Marge told him, gearing up for the transformation.
"I hope she doesn't break your heart," Charles said, patting her knee. "You just tell me what you need. We have all the time and money in the world," Charles tells her.
Holding the note with a tissue, she puts it in her purse.
She no longer settled back in her seat when Charles pointed out a Wal-Mart sign that appeared on the highway exit sign.
Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped out front, "you will see me in the back," he told her when she got out.
As he pulled away, Misty started moving.
"Relax, sweetheart. Marge just went to do some shopping," Charles called out.
She immediately relaxed; someone had called her sweetheart and did not slap her upside her head after. Rolling to her side, she went back to sleep. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. It was strange, but she thought these people wouldn't hurt her. She was safe now. She could worry about what was next when they dropped her off. This means they are going further from Jason by the minute.
Charles turned the radio on low. The sound of familiar tunes added to her comfort.
*****
2
"Well, young lady, where is it you want to go," Dan asked as he turned onto Highway 87; they had about a thirty-minute drive before they hit Victoria and a large interstate.
Her mood lifted with a little bit of food, and the miles clicking away, she relaxed. She might be free. She was holding out hope.
"I was thinking somewhere out west Arizona or Nevada, even California. I don't know, I have to be able to find a job and make a new life," Misty told him, watching the morning sun cast purple-pink and yellow across the sky.
"OK, let me see what I can find for you," he said. He picked up a strange contraption and spoke into it. "Breaker, Breaker, I need someone willing to take a young lady out west this morning. She has had it rough and needs a new start. I will be in Victoria in, say, twenty minutes. We can meet on the Highway 87 and 59 Intersection."
Immediately, he started to get suggestive replies.
"Ok, guys, I'm not setting up dates. I have a very nice young lady here who has been mistreated, and she needs a ride west," Dan called out over what Misty assumed was a radio.
"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of pigs out in this world," Dan told her as rude replies continued to come over the air.
"I know I'm married to one," Misty told him.
"Breaker Mister isn't looking for a date. My wife and I are going to Phoenix. We have a large RV and could be at that exit in twenty minutes, give or take five," Misty smiled at him.
"Thank you. I'll be waiting at the Shell station at 87. She will be all yours," Dan told them, relieved to have her off his hands. He didn't know how he would explain to his wife when he brought her home if he couldn't find a ride. That would have been his only option, and he was not leaving her on the road. There are too many perverts out there driving trucks.
Pulling over to turn in at the station, he saw a nice RV waiting to turn in across the intersection. "Looks like you will be traveling in a style that is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of RV," Dan told her. He pulled over where he could get out easier. The RV pulled up behind him. Dan went around and helped No Name down.
He walked over to the RV driver to talk to the older man and shook his hand. As he got out, his wife walked towards Misty. He told him the quick story of what he knew about her. I thanked him, got in his truck, and waved goodbye to her. The man joined his wife and stood looking at this scrawny, beaten girl.
"You don't have to take me. I know I look scary." Misty told them, feeling disappointed by their reaction. She knew they wouldn't take her; she was too much of a liability.
"No, that's not the problem. I was thinking you should be in a hospital. You've been told this already. You don't want to go right," he asked her.
"Yes, Sir, if I stop now, he will find me," Misty told him, looking around for a getaway. If they don't take her, she must find someone else who will.
"He doesn't at this point know where you are, right," he asked, concerned whoever did this was coming after her, and he was a little too old to get into a fistfight to protect her.
"No, Sir, he is just waking up to find me gone, and we live over an hour away from here. But if I go to the hospital, he will find out and come after me," Misty told him. "Besides, I have had it worse and not gone anywhere," she told him, brushing off her injuries as no big deal.
"OK, then let's get going," the old man told her. Misty's stomach churned, and she couldn't believe they would take on this responsibility. Fighting the urge to flinch, he lightly took hold of her elbow and guided her to their RV.
Stepping in, it was the nicest place she had ever been. Her reaction told them a lot about her. Her appearance and clothes told them she was not used to having much, and what she had was not lovely.
"Ok, let's get going. We are going to head towards San Antonio. Are you in a rush to get to Phoenix?" He asked her as he took the driver's seat; his wife sat at the table and patted the top.
Misty shook her head, "No, Sir."
"Come and sit here; he can't drive while you are standing; he would get a ticket," the old woman told her, patting the tabletop.
"I'm Margery Anderson, and this is Charles. We have been driving for what is it now, honey, nine months at least."
"Yeah, something like that," he called back to her as he pulled across the highway heading towards town.
"We started in California, driving up the coast all along the northern states over the Rockies out to Main and down the other coastline, winter chasing us the whole time. Now we are on our last leg to Phoenix," Marge told her.
"That must have been wonderful. This is the furthest I have been away from my place," Misty told her, still taking in the beautiful vehicle she was riding.
"Are you thirsty or hungry?" Marge asked.
"I could use a drink," Misty told her.
"Honey, is it safe to stand," Marge asked.
"Yeah, I could use some water myself," Charles told her as he sat at a stop light.
"We should be good. Will take this highway towards Austin, and then we take I 10 out to San Antonio, and we are on our way," Charles told her. They had taken this trek to see something besides highways. The Alamo was one place they talked about, but he would keep driving with her along.
Handing out water, Marge sat back down as the light changed.
"So, tell me about yourself."
"Oh, I'm nobody," Misty told her, looking down at the floor, ashamed of her appearance.
"No, today starts a new life. So now you are somebody. So, who are you? Tell me about the new life you want," Marge encourages.
"I want a new name," Misty said, sounding childish.
"Well, sure, you can do that. What name do you want?" Marge asked her, seeing the pain in her eyes.
"My old name was Misty. I hated that name; the kids at school teased me and called me Fog or Foggy. Some turned it into a Froggie. My new name has to be something people can't tease me about," Misty told her.
"Misty is a beautiful name, but it is too bad the kids were so mean to you," Marge told her.
"Yeah, I like Misty too; you look like a Misty, beautiful and mysterious," Charles told her.
She smiled, "I haven't looked beautiful for a long time. I used to have beautiful long hair, but not anymore," Misty told her, pulling on the end of her hair, wishing it would grow. It had been her one pleasure in life brushing her hair, and he took that pleasure from her, too.
"Misty, who did this to you?" Marge asked.
"My husband."
"How long have you been married?"
"I've been married four years," Misty told her.
"You don't look old enough to be married that long," Marge said, shocked she could be that old. She thought she was a runaway.
"Well, I have. My father signed and married me off at sixteen, so yes, I'm old enough. We lived out in the country by Blessing in a little one-bedroom house," Misty told her.
"Do you have children?"
Tears came to Misty's eyes. "Almost, she died before she was born. My husband got mad because I was talking about her too much and punched me in the stomach. I just wanted to show him she was moving. She came the next day, but she was dead. I had to bury her in the backyard. That was about two months ago. I had to leave; he was going to kill me if I stayed," Misty told them. Reaching out, Marge took her hand to comfort her.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Oh, it's sad, but my Mother lost many babies the same way. She says some weren't meant to be when she lost hers. I had to get over it quickly. Jason got mad if he thought I was sad because she died," Misty told her. "It's Ok," she said not very convincingly.
They could hear the pain in her voice. No, it was not Ok. This would haunt her forever, Marge knew. She had lost a few sixty years ago, and it still hurt to think of what they could have been.
"But I was looking forward to having her. Someone to love and hold, to take care of. Jason was not happy I was pregnant. I think he did it on purpose," Misty was talking more to herself than them.
"I'm hoping he will be arrested and go to jail. I left enough blood around our room they will think he killed me. I can't be found; I have to have a new life and name," Misty said, looking defeated.
"I tell you what; you look like someone who could use a nap," Marge told her, "If you lay down here for a few hours, you will feel a lot better after a nap."
Following her to the back of the RV, she showed her a small bed that flipped out of the wall. I handed her a blanket and a pillow, and Misty was asleep in minutes. She watched her slow, steady breaths, and her heart went to the poor girl.
*
Marge sat by Charles as he drove, "I'm going to write an anonymous note and leave it at the next Wal-Mart you drive by," Marge whispered.
"How are you going to do that?" Charles asked, looking in the rearview mirror, ensuring Miss No Name couldn't hear them.
"It will be easy. I know her name is Misty. He is Jason. They live out by Blessing, Texas. There is a dead baby's body in the backyard. She said she left blood all over their room. For what he has done to her, he deserves to go to jail even if they can't pin her murder on him. He will at least go to jail for a while. The baby alone should be enough," Marge told him.
"Fine, write it down. Don't touch the paper. You can't have your fingerprints on it," Charles told her, watching her write a quick note, fold the paper, and write HELP HER on the flap.
"You need to pick up some clothes for her and maybe some hair dye. She looks like she is country. We need to change that. Let's make her look more citified," Charles teased.
"I must citify her at a Wal-Mart; is this my challenge?" Marge sassed back, looking back towards the bunk where Misty had slept.
"She is exactly what I was hoping for: someone we can help and change her life. She is a pretty, sweet girl underneath all that skinny, beaten girl. She will be a beauty. Give her a month, and she will be completely different," Marge told him, gearing up for the transformation.
"I hope she doesn't break your heart," Charles said, patting her knee. "You just tell me what you need. We have all the time and money in the world," Charles tells her.
Holding the note with a tissue, she puts it in her purse.
She no longer settled back in her seat when Charles pointed out a Wal-Mart sign that appeared on the highway exit sign.
Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped out front, "you will see me in the back," he told her when she got out.
As he pulled away, Misty started moving.
"Relax, sweetheart. Marge just went to do some shopping," Charles called out.
She immediately relaxed; someone had called her sweetheart and did not slap her upside her head after. Rolling to her side, she went back to sleep. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. It was strange, but she thought these people wouldn't hurt her. She was safe now. She could worry about what was next when they dropped her off. This means they are going further from Jason by the minute.
Charles turned the radio on low. The sound of familiar tunes added to her comfort.
*****
2
"Well, young lady, where is it you want to go," Dan asked as he turned onto Highway 87; they had about a thirty-minute drive before they hit Victoria and a large interstate.
Her mood lifted with a little bit of food, and the miles clicking away, she relaxed. She might be free. She was holding out hope.
"I was thinking somewhere out west Arizona or Nevada, even California. I don't know, I have to be able to find a job and make a new life," Misty told him, watching the morning sun cast purple-pink and yellow across the sky.
"OK, let me see what I can find for you," he said. He picked up a strange contraption and spoke into it. "Breaker, Breaker, I need someone willing to take a young lady out west this morning. She has had it rough and needs a new start. I will be in Victoria in, say, twenty minutes. We can meet on the Highway 87 and 59 Intersection."
Immediately, he started to get suggestive replies.
"Ok, guys, I'm not setting up dates. I have a very nice young lady here who has been mistreated, and she needs a ride west," Dan called out over what Misty assumed was a radio.
"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of pigs out in this world," Dan told her as rude replies continued to come over the air.
"I know I'm married to one," Misty told him.
"Breaker Mister isn't looking for a date. My wife and I are going to Phoenix. We have a large RV and could be at that exit in twenty minutes, give or take five," Misty smiled at him.
"Thank you. I'll be waiting at the Shell station at 87. She will be all yours," Dan told them, relieved to have her off his hands. He didn't know how he would explain to his wife when he brought her home if he couldn't find a ride. That would have been his only option, and he was not leaving her on the road. There are too many perverts out there driving trucks.
Pulling over to turn in at the station, he saw a nice RV waiting to turn in across the intersection. "Looks like you will be traveling in a style that is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of RV," Dan told her. He pulled over where he could get out easier. The RV pulled up behind him. Dan went around and helped No Name down.
He walked over to the RV driver to talk to the older man and shook his hand. As he got out, his wife walked towards Misty. He told him the quick story of what he knew about her. I thanked him, got in his truck, and waved goodbye to her. The man joined his wife and stood looking at this scrawny, beaten girl.
"You don't have to take me. I know I look scary." Misty told them, feeling disappointed by their reaction. She knew they wouldn't take her; she was too much of a liability.
"No, that's not the problem. I was thinking you should be in a hospital. You've been told this already. You don't want to go right," he asked her.
"Yes, Sir, if I stop now, he will find me," Misty told him, looking around for a getaway. If they don't take her, she must find someone else who will.
"He doesn't at this point know where you are, right," he asked, concerned whoever did this was coming after her, and he was a little too old to get into a fistfight to protect her.
"No, Sir, he is just waking up to find me gone, and we live over an hour away from here. But if I go to the hospital, he will find out and come after me," Misty told him. "Besides, I have had it worse and not gone anywhere," she told him, brushing off her injuries as no big deal.
"OK, then let's get going," the old man told her. Misty's stomach churned, and she couldn't believe they would take on this responsibility. Fighting the urge to flinch, he lightly took hold of her elbow and guided her to their RV.
Stepping in, it was the nicest place she had ever been. Her reaction told them a lot about her. Her appearance and clothes told them she was not used to having much, and what she had was not lovely.
"Ok, let's get going. We are going to head towards San Antonio. Are you in a rush to get to Phoenix?" He asked her as he took the driver's seat; his wife sat at the table and patted the top.
Misty shook her head, "No, Sir."
"Come and sit here; he can't drive while you are standing; he would get a ticket," the old woman told her, patting the tabletop.
"I'm Margery Anderson, and this is Charles. We have been driving for what is it now, honey, nine months at least."
"Yeah, something like that," he called back to her as he pulled across the highway heading towards town.
"We started in California, driving up the coast all along the northern states over the Rockies out to Main and down the other coastline, winter chasing us the whole time. Now we are on our last leg to Phoenix," Marge told her.
"That must have been wonderful. This is the furthest I have been away from my place," Misty told her, still taking in the beautiful vehicle she was riding.
"Are you thirsty or hungry?" Marge asked.
"I could use a drink," Misty told her.
"Honey, is it safe to stand," Marge asked.
"Yeah, I could use some water myself," Charles told her as he sat at a stop light.
"We should be good. Will take this highway towards Austin, and then we take I 10 out to San Antonio, and we are on our way," Charles told her. They had taken this trek to see something besides highways. The Alamo was one place they talked about, but he would keep driving with her along.
Handing out water, Marge sat back down as the light changed.
"So, tell me about yourself."
"Oh, I'm nobody," Misty told her, looking down at the floor, ashamed of her appearance.
"No, today starts a new life. So now you are somebody. So, who are you? Tell me about the new life you want," Marge encourages.
"I want a new name," Misty said, sounding childish.
"Well, sure, you can do that. What name do you want?" Marge asked her, seeing the pain in her eyes.
"My old name was Misty. I hated that name; the kids at school teased me and called me Fog or Foggy. Some turned it into a Froggie. My new name has to be something people can't tease me about," Misty told her.
"Misty is a beautiful name, but it is too bad the kids were so mean to you," Marge told her.
"Yeah, I like Misty too; you look like a Misty, beautiful and mysterious," Charles told her.
She smiled, "I haven't looked beautiful for a long time. I used to have beautiful long hair, but not anymore," Misty told her, pulling on the end of her hair, wishing it would grow. It had been her one pleasure in life brushing her hair, and he took that pleasure from her, too.
"Misty, who did this to you?" Marge asked.
"My husband."
"How long have you been married?"
"I've been married four years," Misty told her.
"You don't look old enough to be married that long," Marge said, shocked she could be that old. She thought she was a runaway.
"Well, I have. My father signed and married me off at sixteen, so yes, I'm old enough. We lived out in the country by Blessing in a little one-bedroom house," Misty told her.
"Do you have children?"
Tears came to Misty's eyes. "Almost, she died before she was born. My husband got mad because I was talking about her too much and punched me in the stomach. I just wanted to show him she was moving. She came the next day, but she was dead. I had to bury her in the backyard. That was about two months ago. I had to leave; he was going to kill me if I stayed," Misty told them. Reaching out, Marge took her hand to comfort her.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Oh, it's sad, but my Mother lost many babies the same way. She says some weren't meant to be when she lost hers. I had to get over it quickly. Jason got mad if he thought I was sad because she died," Misty told her. "It's Ok," she said not very convincingly.
They could hear the pain in her voice. No, it was not Ok. This would haunt her forever, Marge knew. She had lost a few sixty years ago, and it still hurt to think of what they could have been.
"But I was looking forward to having her. Someone to love and hold, to take care of. Jason was not happy I was pregnant. I think he did it on purpose," Misty was talking more to herself than them.
"I'm hoping he will be arrested and go to jail. I left enough blood around our room they will think he killed me. I can't be found; I have to have a new life and name," Misty said, looking defeated.
"I tell you what; you look like someone who could use a nap," Marge told her, "If you lay down here for a few hours, you will feel a lot better after a nap."
Following her to the back of the RV, she showed her a small bed that flipped out of the wall. I handed her a blanket and a pillow, and Misty was asleep in minutes. She watched her slow, steady breaths, and her heart went to the poor girl.
*
Marge sat by Charles as he drove, "I'm going to write an anonymous note and leave it at the next Wal-Mart you drive by," Marge whispered.
"How are you going to do that?" Charles asked, looking in the rearview mirror, ensuring Miss No Name couldn't hear them.
"It will be easy. I know her name is Misty. He is Jason. They live out by Blessing, Texas. There is a dead baby's body in the backyard. She said she left blood all over their room. For what he has done to her, he deserves to go to jail even if they can't pin her murder on him. He will at least go to jail for a while. The baby alone should be enough," Marge told him.
"Fine, write it down. Don't touch the paper. You can't have your fingerprints on it," Charles told her, watching her write a quick note, fold the paper, and write HELP HER on the flap.
"You need to pick up some clothes for her and maybe some hair dye. She looks like she is country. We need to change that. Let's make her look more citified," Charles teased.
"I must citify her at a Wal-Mart; is this my challenge?" Marge sassed back, looking back towards the bunk where Misty had slept.
"She is exactly what I was hoping for: someone we can help and change her life. She is a pretty, sweet girl underneath all that skinny, beaten girl. She will be a beauty. Give her a month, and she will be completely different," Marge told him, gearing up for the transformation.
"I hope she doesn't break your heart," Charles said, patting her knee. "You just tell me what you need. We have all the time and money in the world," Charles tells her.
Holding the note with a tissue, she puts it in her purse.
She no longer settled back in her seat when Charles pointed out a Wal-Mart sign that appeared on the highway exit sign.
Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped out front, "you will see me in the back," he told her when she got out.
As he pulled away, Misty started moving.
"Relax, sweetheart. Marge just went to do some shopping," Charles called out.
She immediately relaxed; someone had called her sweetheart and did not slap her upside her head after. Rolling to her side, she went back to sleep. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. It was strange, but she thought these people wouldn't hurt her. She was safe now. She could worry about what was next when they dropped her off. This means they are going further from Jason by the minute.
Charles turned the radio on low. The sound of familiar tunes added to her comfort.