Teresa
Ellamore, Illinois
Teresa Nolan clutched a plain manila folder to her chest as if it were some kind of life preserver. In a way, she guessed it was. The contents consisted of a petition for a name change, an order to show cause for the change, her social security card, birth certificate, and driverâs license. All things to help her become someone new.
Someone safe.
Next to her, her mom shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair just outside the county clerkâs office. âHow long have we been waiting?â
Teresa consulted her phone as a new text popped up. âSeven minutes,â she answered, checking the time before opening the message.
E: Is it done yet?
Sighing over the persistent nagging from her cousin, she wrote back.
Teresa: Soon. Weâre at the courthouse now. Waiting.
To which she received an immediate response.
E: So thereâs still time to change your mind?
Teresa turned the phone off and stuffed it back into her purse. She wasnât going to change her mind, no matter how much E insisted this was a bad idea. Rubbing the back of her neck, she trailed her fingers over the scar where Jeremy had cut her. If she hadnât turned at the last second, that scar wouldâve ended up on the ~front~ of her throat, and she probably wouldnât be alive right now.
Staying alive seemed more important than keeping her name. Even her parents agreed. So, no, her mind was not going to change. She was doing the right thing.
She hoped.
Okay, maybe she had no idea what the right thing really was. But she was still doing this. She had to do ~something~ to protect herself. And every few seconds when the doubts rose, she just swallowed them determinedly back down.
Her mother leaned toward her. âYou saw the packet in the mail this morning from that college, right?â
~That~ college.
Teresa nodded, her indecision bubbling up her throat again, tasting bitterly like panic. The package hadnât been from the university sheâd always planned on going to in her hometown but from some no-name community college halfway across the country, near her aunt. After she and her mom were done here at the courthouse, Teresa planned to head home and start packing so she could move hundreds of miles away and into the loft above her auntâs garage, where she would attend classes at ~that college~, using her new identity to remain far-far away from her psycho ex-boyfriend, Jeremy, whoâd tried to kill her.
Her knee began to bounce as she remembered the look in Jeremyâs eyes when heâd told her no one would ever love her the way he did. Sheâd never forget the light that had glinted off his knife or how terrified sheâd been when heâd slashed his blade toward her.
Her mom set a reassuring hand on Teresaâs thigh, making her jump and then stop bouncing her knee. âItâs okay, sweetie. Weâre doing the right thing.â
Teresa nodded again, the action more certain than her resolve.
âWeâre going to send you somewhere he wonât find you. And then, as soon as the trialâs over and heâs locked away for good, weâll change all this back and you can come home again. Okay?â
Teresa gave a third nod, this one less enthusiastic. She didnât have quite as much faith in the âtemporaryâ part of the plan as her parents did. Jeremyâs father was a powerful attorney. The odds of putting him away forever didnât feel as if they were in her favor.
And what if Jeremy ~did~ go free? What if this moving away, hiding, and changing her identity business ended up ~not~ being temporary? What if he just found her, and she had to run again, or he actually succeeded in killing her the next time? What if she was never Teresa Nolan again?
That was what scared her most: losing her identity forever. That bastard had already taken her security, now he was stealing her name too? It wasnât fair.
She rubbed the prickled skin rising on her arms. Maybe her cousin had been right; this plan was stupid. Life could be dangerous, no matter where she went or what she called herself. Why was she running anyway? She wasnât the running type; she didnât own a single pair of jogging shoes. And if she ~did~ die, at least sheâd have her own name on her headstone.
Before she could stress further and back out of this crazy idea completely, the door to the clerkâs office opened and a middle-aged man peered into the hall. âMiss Nolan?â
Teresaâs heart leaped. That couldâve very well been the last time anyone ever addressed her as Miss Nolan again.
Her mom took her hand and stood, urging Teresa along. Teresa gulped. This was really happening. Her life was changing irrevocably. She wasnât even going to be Teresa anymore. A month from now, sheâd beâ¦sheâd beâ¦
Well, who knew what sheâd be?