Stowaway

Copyright 2012

All Rights Reserved

This
ebook
is licensed for personal use only. It may not be resold or given away. Thank
you for respecting these restrictions.

Chapter 1

Today is the day I
run. Away from the bill collectors that keep ringing at all hours.
Away from my job as a department store photographer.
Away from my life.
At least, for a while.

I chose today
because this morning is when the cops finally came for me. They came for the
bills I didn’t pay and everything else I skipped out on. Or rather, for
everything my thief of an ex-roommate didn’t pay for and skipped out on in my
name. Until then, I really liked Rebecca.

I’ve never so much
as stolen a piece of candy from the grocery store checkout line, but now I’m
considering it, just so some of my reputation will be warranted.

After she stole my
identity, Rebecca headed to Mexico. What did she do with my funds south of the
border? Not much. For one, it was almost gone
,
blown
on cheap boxed wine and expensive designer shoes before she ever got there. And,
a week ago, I got word that she washed up on some beach right after she
arrived. So, I guess that’s some kind of consolation.

But, her happy
demise doesn’t fix my credit, doesn’t clear my name, doesn’t unfreeze my
accounts to make me any richer than the $1.57 in change I’ve got rattling
around in my pocket as I sneak out onto my apartment balcony
,
away from the officer banging on my front
door. Ironically, the thought that runs through my panicked brain as I trip
over my dead potted plant, jump the wrought iron railing and shimmy down the
gutter into the alley is at least there will be no more screaming kids to try
to make smile with the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. I’m done. I’m free.
For now.

As I jog through the
empty early morning streets, my feet slipping in my flip flops, I think about
how I don’t have a plan. At least, nothing past just keeping my feet moving and
curling my toes tight to keep my shoes from flying off. I realize that I have
no good way to escape the city where I am now being hunted.

Ok, don’t panic.
Think. Take inventory. What assets do I have with me? Other than the cash, I
have my mini can of pepper spray and cell phone in my back pocket. Darn. That’s
all. Thank God I remembered to charge the phone last night. That will give me
about three days of use if I’m conservative with the battery. Not that I care
to chat or catch up on any of the messages waiting on it right now. So, it
sits, blinking its frantic red eye like it has for the past couple of days, as
I keep going.

Finally, I spot my
escape. Running downhill has taken me to the harbor, where a giant cruise ship
sits docked, ready to board its next round of passengers. It must be a super
early departure, since the sky hasn’t even lightened from pale, pre-dawn grey
into a true sunrise yet. I’ve always wanted to take a cruise, envied that
make-up counter girl who returned to work after the holidays every year with a
tan. Yes, this will be my exit strategy. Besides, I can’t run any more. I’m
beat.

I would cry in
relief, if tears weren’t already pricking my eyes from the stinging sweat that
is dripping in them. My lungs burn from the unaccustomed exercise and a side
stitch stabs my ribs as I slow to a shuffle.

As I approach the
ship, which up close, looks like a skyscraper turned on its side, I notice a
crowd already milling around. Many at the entrance are dressed formally. Not
what I expected.

“I always cry at
these things!” exclaims one woman, as I pass by to find the other end of the
line.

“I know,” says the
tuxedoed man beside her, “Why do you think I brought an entire travel container
of tissues to this wedding? I’m tired of you handing me back soggy
handkerchiefs.”

A
wedding?
I look down. I’m wearing jeans that ripped from my knee to halfway
up my thigh when I snagged a screw sliding down the gutter and my favorite
T-shirt from a rock concert seven years ago.
Not exactly appropriate
clothing to blend in with.
My hope sinks. There is no way I am getting
on board, not with my dirty clothes and scratched hands. I’ll never be able to
fake being a wedding guest, and it seems that they are the only ones the crew
staff up ahead is letting through without a ship ID.

“Hey, Miss Swift!
Stop right there!”

It’s the Voice who
banged on my door earlier. He must have followed. I notice that he barely
sounds out of breath.

I didn’t catch who
he was before I ran, but I see now that he isn’t a cop after all. As his suit
jacket flaps I can just see glimpses of a badge that looks all wrong. The
realization makes me even more uneasy, rather than comforted. Police just
arrest you. A surly repo man, bounty hunter or God knows who else he might be could
do much worse. I don’t really know about these things, just what I’ve seen on
TV when Rebecca watched her crime shows. I don’t want to stick around to find
out how truthful reality television actually is.

How did he find
me, anyway?
Right, my phone.
I should have turned it
off. He probably has GPS tracking or something for it.
Creepy.
I punch the phone off as I move away, grateful the cheerful shutdown jingle is
drowned out by the crowd noise. I don’t want to toss it unless I have to. I
just need to get on board and out to international waters, where the signal will
fade long enough for me to lose him.
But, until then…

I begin shoving my
way through people, burrowing deeper and deeper into the line, looking for the
regular vacationers wearing street clothes.
Geez.
Did
this couple invite everyone they ever met to this wedding? I am wheezing again
now, and with every stride the knife in my side grows stronger and deeper.

Over the crackly
outdoor PA system, I hear a man announce that wedding attendees will be seated
first,
then
other passengers will be allowed to board.
The ship will set sail after the non-cruising guests have departed. Then,
everyone else will be at sea for one glorious, long weekend. That is long
enough.

The loudspeaker
voice doesn’t go on to say where the ship is going, but I don’t care. Yesterday
afternoon, my lawyer begged the court for extra time to finish gathering the
documents that prove I’m innocent. She told me it would be best if I stayed
home during the proceeding. Maybe she thought I’d be too emotional.
Or, maybe just not emotional in the most helpful way.
I’m
not sure how much she actually believes me anyway, but I did as she suggested. For
good measure, I also turned off the phone ringer and dove into a carton of
triple chocolate ice cream.

I couldn’t face
hearing the verdict last night or this morning, so I haven’t checked my phone
or email yet. I guess since someone is coming for me, I have gotten my answer.
If I do get on this boat, she better make good use of the time I am buying her.

I am considering
how I will look in an orange prison uniform, when I see my chance step up to
the very end of the line. The woman is obviously a nurse of some sort, helping
a senior man navigate through the crowd and dragging an enormous pet carrier
behind her. They are dressed to the nines, like the rest of the wedding guests.
I suppose they are just late.

The man walks with
a pronounced limp. He also taps a fancy cane with a polished gold metal handle
on the ground out in front of him and wears sunglasses, even on this cloudy
morning.

“Carl,” the woman
says, leading the visually-impaired man to the nearest bench, “You wait here,
and I’ll get us checked in. It looks like they are seating wedding attendees
now, so I’ll hurry. Ok? And, be careful with that cane. You know the handle has
a tendency to jiggle out.”

“Yes ma’am,” says
the man. “Major and I will just wait here.”

He pats the pet
carrier with his gnarled right hand. I read the sticker on the box. It states
that the animal inside, Major, is a service animal. A seeing eye dog, probably.
Makes sense.

The man puts on
earphones with his more functional left hand, closes his eyes and begins to tap
his foot to the song I can hear thudding from all the way over here. I pictured
him as a classical music kind of guy, but the beat sounds far more modern.

Just then, I see
the Suit speaking with people farther up in the line. He’s getting closer. One
of them points in my direction. Before he looks my way, I am moving. I check to
make sure no one can see me, and then crack the door to the crate open.

“Hi Major. I sure
hope you are a friendly dog,” I say, as I crawl into the pitch black container.

I hear the unhappy
rumble deep in Major’s throat as I finish latching the door. I don’t want to
turn around. Maybe if I stay like this, he will stay still too. But I know
that’s not an option. I need to be the one in the back, hidden as far from the
door as I can get. I turn to face him.

The first thing I
see as my eyes adjust to the dim light is hands. Dogs don’t have those. What
did I trap myself with? But, I can’t leave. The Suit is coming. As I sit, trying
to breathe shallow and quiet, I can slowly make out a few other features. The
shadowy figure across from me is sitting upright and totally still. I can see
eyes shining roughly at the same height as mine. Is the nurse already trying to
sneak someone in?

Major moves to
scratch an arm and for a second it’s caught in the light streaming through the
grated door behind me. In that moment, I can see he’s significantly hairier
than I first thought.

“A
monkey!”
I whisper in relief. “Thank God, it’s a monkey.”

Then I stop. Maybe
I shouldn’t be relieved. I don’t know anything about primates. At least I’ve
been around dogs, seen that show on television where the guy tells how to be
their pack leader.
Monkeys, nothing.
 

I rack my brain
for any details I can recall about the animals. All I can come up with is a
field trip to the zoo when I was a kid, where our tour guide said some monkeys
may throw their feces when they feel threatened. I really hope the one sitting
here now isn’t one of those.

“Easy,
Major.
We don’t need any poo-throwing today,” I whisper. “I just need to
ease back there where you are, and have you trade places with me. Just for a
bit, I promise. As soon as we’re safe on board the ship, I’ll leave.”

I’m jabbering
nervously, but it seems to be working. While I continue to talk, I slowly shift
my weight to my right foot. Major doesn’t react, except to watch me with
curiosity. Braver, I inch a bit deeper into the cage toward him. He tenses, but
doesn’t move.

“See, I’m not so
bad.”

Is he holding his
ground because he is waiting for his chance to attack? Or, is he comfortable
with strangers invading his personal space? I can’t tell, but am praying for
the latter. Now, the quarters are getting a bit tight as we both occupy the
back part of the crate. My knee accidentally brushes his hand.

For a second, we
both freeze, staring at each other. Then, he screams in my face and bolts backward
to the door. As he shrieks at me, his mouth is wide open. I can see his yellow
fangs clearly. Feel his hot breath and flecks of spit hitting me. I guess I
have my answer. He’s as terrified as I am.

It takes all I
have to not scream back. My heart is doing its best to leap right out of my
chest. That’s when the nurse speaks.

“What is your
problem, Major?”

I’m scared she
will bend down to peer in at the monkey and see me, but Carl
stops her.

“Teresa, leave him
alone,” he says. “You know he gets worked up when we shove him in a box like that.
Dumb travel regulations.”

He grumbles some
more about the unfair policies and procedures before Teresa finally cuts him
off.

“Rules are rules,
Carl. Besides, you’re the one who wanted to bring him along. I said he wasn’t
worth the hassle today, but you insisted.”

I can hear the old
man clear his throat to complain some more, but Teresa speaks first.

“Look Carl, we
talked about this. We’re going to go in and park Major in the hall during the
service so he doesn’t disrupt anything. I’ll help you to your seat and wait in
the back. Then, we can go home right after the reception. Remember?”