Chapter 2 - The Voice on the Line
The approaching headlights blinded us, washing the interior of our dead car in a harsh white glow.
Mom unbuckled her seatbelt and reached under her seat, pulling out a heavy metal tire iron.
She told me to get down on the floorboards and stay completely silent.
I curled into a ball, my injured hand throbbing in time with my racing heartbeat.
The approaching vehicle slowed down, its engine rumbling like a massive beast right outside our window.
A heavy knock slammed against the driver's side glass, making me flinch in the dark.
"Are you folks alright in there?" a deep, unfamiliar voice called out over the wind.
Mom slowly rolled down the window just an inch, keeping the tire iron hidden near her leg.
It was an older man driving a rusted tow truck, his face lined with concern.
He offered to tow us to the gas station two miles down the road for free.
Mom hesitated, but she knew we would freeze to death if we stayed on the highway.
She agreed, and ten minutes later, our car was dropped in front of a dingy, brightly lit convenience store.
The old man tipped his hat and drove away, leaving us standing in the cold parking lot.
We walked inside, the bell above the door chiming loudly in the empty store.
The clerk behind the counter was half-asleep, a small television buzzing softly in the corner.
Mom walked up to the counter and unclasped the thin gold necklace she always wore.
She begged the clerk to trade the necklace for twenty dollars in gas and the use of the store's landline phone.
The clerk looked at her bruised wrists, nodded sympathetically, and handed her the phone.
Mom dialed 911, her hands shaking as she waited for the dispatcher to answer.
"Emergency dispatch, what is your location?" a voice crackled through the receiver.
Mom gave our exact address, explaining that we were fleeing a violent domestic situation.
She asked them to send a state trooper immediately because my stepfather was dangerous.
The dispatcher asked for my stepfather's full name to check the system.
"David Vance," Mom said, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet convenience store.
There was a long, terrifying silence on the other end of the line.
"Well, Sarah, I told you that you were not going to get away from me," the voice on the phone replied.
Mom dropped the phone, the plastic receiver clattering loudly against the linoleum floor.
David worked as the night shift supervisor for the county emergency dispatch center.
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He knew exactly where we were.
The heavy glass doors of the gas station suddenly slid open, and two men in dark jackets walked inside.
