Cecilia
What just happened?
What have I done?
Have I traded one hell for another?
I stared out the window as a man I didn’t know, one I knew was capable of murder without a blink of his eye, drove north away from Boston and away from New York. Some news station came through the speakers. I waited to hear a bulletin, something about me. Instead, they dragged on about oil prices and pending scandals.
It wasn’t long until we passed the state line.
Welcome to New Hampshire.
The sign wasn’t unfamiliar, but everything else was.
For a second, I thought to remind the man driving that he’d committed a crime by taking me over a state line without my consent. However, compared to the bloodbath he’d just left in Boston, transporting me over the state line seemed too minimal to mention.
Every now and then, I’d turn and look at the man at my side.