Runner

6

Jane drove west as far as Exit 50 on the edge of Amherst with a growing feeling of tension. She took the exit onto the Youngmann Expressway, got off at Millersport Highway, and drove to the big old stone McKinnon house. She pulled into the driveway and around the house and stopped in front of the garage, where her car was hidden from the street.

Christine awoke as soon as the car stopped moving. "What?" she said, her eyes blinking. She sat up. "Where—What are we doing?"

"This is my house—the one where I live with my husband. We've got to do this quickly." Jane got out and stood still, studying the house.

She had already seen that there was nothing obvious like a broken windowpane or scratches around the door lock, but she was looking for signs that were subtler. The hose attached to the spigot at the corner of the house was still in exactly the same position, snaking along the back to the row of rosebushes she had watered before leaving for the hospital. There was dust along the outer windowsills on the first floor. She had noticed it yesterday, but not had time to clean them. The dust had not been disturbed. Christine was out of the car now, at Jane's side. Jane said, "They haven't found their way here yet."

"Why are we here?"

"Slight change of plan."

"We're going to stay here?"

"No, we're going to the airport to rent a car."

"Is something wrong with yours?"

"Yes. They saw it. I don't think they could have gotten the plate number—I certainly didn't have time to read theirs—but a white Volvo is a recognizable car. I'd rather be driving something else while they're looking for us. But we've got to be out of here before they realize we must have come back this way. Ready?"

"I guess so."

As they backed out of the driveway, Jane said, "Here's what's going to happen. I'll drive us to the airport. Watch closely how I get there from here. I'll get out, and you drive straight back here and wait for me."

When they reached the departure level of the Buffalo Niagara International Airport, Jane got out carrying her shoulder bag, and watched Christine drive off. Then she hurried to the arrival level near the baggage claim and crossed the street to the car rental building. She took quick strides past the counters for Hertz, Enterprise, National, and Avis, and stopped at Daycars. She handed the woman behind the counter her Daycars card, American Express card, and North Carolina driver's license in the name Valerie Collins and said, "Hi. I'd like to rent a car."

"What sort of car would you like?" said the woman. "Compact?"

"A luxury sedan. Something big and comfortable."

"We've got a Lincoln Town Car and a Chrysler 300."

"What colors?"

"The Chrysler is white, and the Lincoln is dark gray."

"I'll take the Lincoln."

The woman put the key to the Chrysler away. She copied the driver's license number, ran Valerie Collins's American Express card through the reader, and handed them back to Jane. "You know where the lot is?"

"No," Jane lied.

"Through that door and downstairs." She handed Jane the key. "It's in space nineteen."

"Thanks." Jane stepped away from the counter. She'd had a brief moment during the transaction when she stopped breathing, waiting for something to go wrong, even though she was sure it wouldn't. She knew the Valerie Collins cards wouldn't make any alarms go off, because she had grown the Valerie Collins identity during the days when she was still regularly taking fugitives out of the world. She had gone to North Carolina to buy the birth certificate, taken the tests for the driver's license, and opened a bank account to pay the credit card bills. From time to time she had added to the cover by buying things as Valerie Collins, giving to charities, joining organizations.

The only part that could trip her up was a mistake in her manner that raised suspicion. She had been tempted to use a fake North Carolina accent until she heard the first words of the woman at the counter, who had a real southern accent. Then Jane had been too brusque, as though she were angry. In the old days her actions were quick and sure. She was going to have to get back in practice before something went wrong. Her manner had to be flawless.

Jane took the glass elevator down to the lower level, found the car in its numbered parking space, and drove to her house thinking over everything she had done so far to keep Christine safe, searching for errors. After she was on the expressway for a mile, she caught herself driving too fast, and forced herself to lift her foot from the gas pedal a bit, but it was difficult. The sun was well up now, and the second day had begun, and incredibly, they were still within ten miles of the place where they had started running.

Christine was waiting for her around the back of the house when Jane pulled in. The Volvo was already in the garage. Jane got out of the rental car, took the keys and the garage door opener from Christine, and put them in the house. Christine stood by the driver's side of the Lincoln, but Jane said, "I'll drive a bit longer. I know the area, so I can make better time."

As Jane backed the big gray car out of the driveway and turned toward the Thruway entrance, Christine said, "This doesn't look like your kind of car."

"That's just what I wanted to hear. But it's big and comfortable and has a powerful engine, which are all good qualities for what we're doing. And it doesn't look at all like my Volvo." Jane drove off, rapidly gaining speed. She checked her mirrors every few seconds.

"What's the rest of your new plan?"

"To drive far and fast," said Jane. "We're only a few miles from where we started, and by now it's possible they know we came back this way. Buffalo couldn't be more dangerous for you if it were on fire. We'll start on the south branch of the Thruway and head along the lake toward Erie, Pennsylvania, then either turn east toward Pittsburgh or west toward Cleveland. Is there anything about either place that makes it more dangerous for you?"

"No. In fact, I have an aunt and some cousins in Pittsburgh. It's my father's younger sister. Her husband was an incredible jerk—big drinker, big cheater—but he died of a heart attack a few years ago. She's great, and so are the kids. We could probably stay with them."

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea. In fact they're what I meant by something that makes the city more dangerous for you—somebody who knows your name isn't Linda Welles."

"They'd never betray me."

Jane sighed. "I guess it's time for another lesson." Her eyes flicked to the mirrors, studying the cars behind her as she pulled onto the Thruway. She passed a truck and returned to the right lane, then watched for a few seconds to see if any other car came around the truck.

"You sound sad. What's wrong?"

Jane glanced at her, then moved her eyes back to the road and kept them there. "When you came to me just after the bomb went off, I was hoping you were just a hysterical patient. When you told me Sharon had sent you, I knew you had to be more than that. Then I saw what was after you. You're going to have to learn everything at seventy miles an hour."

"What don't I know?"

"That I'm the last resort. A person comes to me only when the possibility of living as the person he's always been is gone. I can show you the way to sink out of sight, and come up again somewhere else as a new person. I can do it. But that doesn't mean you can. It isn't easy, and there are terrible sacrifices."

"Sacrifice? You're saying I have to sacrifice people? The few relatives I have left?"

"Yes. And your friends, and your enemies. For quite a few runners I've taken out, the enemies are the hardest ones to give up. But if you go with me, there's no revenge—not even in small ways. No matter how wonderful you make your new life, no matter what you accomplish, you can never go back and show the people you hated. You can never say to your father's ex-wife, 'You treated me horribly, but now take a look at me. I've beaten you.'"

"Okay. I guess I can understand that. You think that if I do, she just might find a way to get me found or something. But honestly, I know who I can trust, and exactly how far. My aunt Mary and my cousins in Pittsburgh are just the best people. They wouldn't tell anyone where I was, and they certainly don't know anybody who knows Richard Beale."

"You're not getting this. It's not that they'd do anything to hurt you. It's about hurting them. If we succeed completely in losing the people who are chasing you, the next thing they'll do is start working the most promising ways of picking up your trail again. If Richard Beale knows who your favorite relatives are, his people will find them and see if you're there. For a time they'll watch the house. They'll probably examine the mail every day for a letter that might be from you. Maybe they'll plant microphones inside, tap the phone. If they believe that your aunt knows where you are, then your aunt will get a visit."

"You're trying to scare me again."

"Yes," said Jane. "I am."

"I know I'm a lot of trouble, but I'll try to be less. I know I'm not good at any of this, but I'm trying to learn as fast as I can. Scaring the shit out of me is just mean."

"I'm sorry it seems that way. But the last thing you want to do is put the people you care about in the position of being the only ones who can tell a man like Richard Beale where you are."

Christine sat in silence for a long time, staring out the car window across the fields at the trees gliding by as Jane drove hard toward the south. When Jane looked at her again she was expecting to see tears, but Christine was dry-eyed and motionless.

"It's your father who's bothering you, isn't it?"

She nodded. "He's going to be in jail for about six more years. If he doesn't hear from me, I don't know what he'll think, what he'll feel. Nothing good."

"As soon as you're settled in a safe place, I'll go and see him. If I can't get in I'll write a letter to him that will tell him what he needs to know, but won't reveal anything else. I'll mail it someplace far from your city and far from my city. Then he'll feel glad that you're not in danger anymore."

"Thanks. I'm not even sure how I feel about trying to see him anymore. I want him to know that I love him. But it's not just me anymore. I've got to do what I can to get my baby born."

"I'm sure he'll understand that, and he'll agree that you're making the right decision."

"He's got no choice. This is the only grandchild he's going to have."

Jane didn't remind her that the two half siblings she had left with her former stepmother might have children. Christine could hardly have forgotten them. Jane supposed that Christine had already banished them from her mind the day she walked out of the house at the age of sixteen. She said, "For now, the best thing to do is stop thinking about the past, and turn your attention to the decisions you have to make next."

"What do I have left to decide?"

"We have a direction, but we still need a destination. Do you know where you'd like to live?"

"I guess Pittsburgh is out. And San Diego certainly is. I don't know. Someplace where it's not cold in the winter. I can do heat, but I hate snow and ice. I don't know how to dress, or drive, or even walk without falling."

"Maybe Florida, then, or the Atlantic coast as far up as South Carolina. Or the southern part of Texas, Arizona, or Nevada."

"I'll have to think about it. I've never been to any of those places so I don't really know. They all sound okay to me."

"Let's try another way, then. You're going to want to find a job of some kind. Is there anything new you'd like to try?"

"Even if there were, I don't have the experience or the education for anything but what I was doing for Richard."

"What was that?"

"I was Richard's secretary. I was supposed to help with what he was doing."

"Fine. He was selling real estate, right?"

"It wasn't just sales. We did property management, and built some new housing. We did some land speculation, too, buying, holding for a while, and reselling. And we found underpriced houses, remodeled and flipped them."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I like to work. What I was doing was okay. I think if I had my choice I'd like to be a teacher. But I never went to college."

"You're going to be twenty-one years old, according to your ID. You've got plenty of time to get a degree part-time after the baby is born."

"I can't get into a college. I'll be living under a false name with no high school diploma, transcripts, letters of recommendation, or anything."

"I can help you with all that. I'll have some college transcripts cooked up to make you look as though you should be admitted as a transfer student."

"What is this, magic?"

"No. It's lying. I know where I can get transcripts made. It's a four-year college that existed for about fifty years in Tennessee, then went out of business in the late eighties. A man I know took over the name, changed the mailing address of the registrar's office to a P.O. box in the same city, and has everything forwarded. If someone calls or writes for verification of a degree or something, he's the one who answers. For a small fee he supplies anything that's needed. He's still at it. I looked online recently and saw that Hillcliff College has a Web page."

"How can I possibly get away with that?"

"Any manufactured identity can be penetrated, but most aren't. All you have to do is behave in a way that makes everyone around you want you to succeed. You work hard, you're nice to people. The secret is to be the sort of person nobody wants to harm. Another part of that is to go slowly. You claim to be a twenty-one-year-old girl who wants to be a student. Claim to be what you so obviously are, and nothing more."

"That's it?"

"It's the start. You don't set off any suspicions, so nobody double-checks what you say. Then, day by day, you get to know people in a natural way—people in classes, at jobs, in your neighborhood. You're just a nice girl with a cute little baby, who's trying to qualify as a teacher. Your story doesn't threaten anybody, and it's not the kind of thing that confidence women make up. They're always the daughters of billionaires, or runaway rock stars that nobody ever heard of because they're from Brazil."

"I'm pregnant and I'm not married."

"Is that a big deal to you?"

"Yes. It makes me feel like people think I'm a slut."

"It's been a long time since anybody actually thought that way—at least a generation. But if it makes you uncomfortable, let's fix that, too."

"Fix it?"

"You're in the process of getting a divorce. That way, you can wear a wedding ring during the rest of your pregnancy. You won't feel as though anybody thinks of you as an unwed mother. Later, when you're ready to date, you take the ring off, and the divorce is final. If you tell people the divorce story during those months, they'll not only believe it, but later on they'll be under the impression that they saw it happen."

"You've done all of this before?"

"Many times."

"And it works?"

"It always has." Jane checked the mirrors again, then nudged her speed up a little. Her manner had conveyed a confidence she didn't feel. It had been more than five years since she had taught a person to run. Since then a thousand obstacles must have been invented to keep people from changing identities, and she knew about only a few of them. Right now, the things she was doing to make Christine safe might be killing them both.