Cold. Dusk. The autumn leaves floating to the ground.

Walking for miles searching for someone, anyone.

Has it been days since the beginning of my trek? Or mere hours? Minutes?

I know I had to go, for fear of being found.

It’s funny. Wandering down an isolated wood hoping to be found, when that is precisely the reason I fled in the first place.

The wind is beginning to shift. If just someone would happen down this path. I could get a little farther. Even just a few miles would mean sanctuary.

Another town. Another place. Never mind the difficulties that would come from a new beginning. Those would pass.

Running is the hard part. Not knowing who’s behind you, where to turn, where to hide.

I’ve already chosen my new name. It’s proper, simple.

Charles York. I’ve never known anyone named Charles in all my years; didn’t even get the chance to see a picture of the old man who succumbed to old age some odd time ago.

Nevertheless, that is to be my new name.

Besides, now is far from the time to be picky. In a rush one must take what they are handed.

How many more miles has it been? Probably not many. That is the most hopeless part of this journey. Not knowing where you are or how far you’ve gone.

I could have traveled farther with that old man in the pickup truck. But I couldn’t risk it. Stay too long and people start to remember things. What your voice sounds like at the end of a sentence. The curve of your nose and shade of brown that has been lain on your hair.

Colder. If someone doesn’t come along soon. No, no. Someone will come. A stranger going about their evening. Driving along to simply happen upon a young, seemingly harmless man. Seemingly.

No one here would know just who they have picked up.

No one here would know the name Edward Mullen.

No one would have seen the photos or heard the stories.

Stories. Ha.

I suppose reports would be more appropriate, after all they aren’t fables meant for children. I did do all the things they’ve accused me of. And I don’t intend on stopping now.

I’m simply going to move on. New name, new place, new... opportunities.

I wonder who my first opportunity would be. I guess I’ll know when I meet them.

A sound.

I hear it. Ever so slight. Off in the distance, but it is there.

A glimmer through the leaves. Coming my way.

I signal. It’s not too dark, they can see me.

A screech from old hardware and a rumbling from a tired engine.

A blue truck. Just for me it seems. Come to take me away to my new life.

I thank the burly man for stopping, after all I’ve traveled for so long.

He offers lodging up in his cabin and an early morning start.

How could I refuse.

Such an opportunity.