Chapter 5 Echoes from the past

The sun had just begun to set, casting deep shadows across the city streets. Izalea was troubled by the possibility of the scandal having an impact on her mother, who had been hidden. Meanwhile, Kathlyn, her mother, had overloaded Izalea's phone with calls and unsettling messages. Anxious to know how Kathlyn was doing amidst the chaos, Izalea rushed to see her and instructed her French driver, Dominique, to hurry.

I became more agitated and frustrated as I sat in the back car, hoping my mother was safe. As soon as I fastened my seatbelt, memories of the evening my mum took me and fled from my father suddenly flooded back. I clenched my grip on the seatbelt, trying to keep the thoughts at bay.

The road ahead was a haze of motion and anxiety as Dominique drove with a sense of urgency. He noticed a black SUV in the rearview mirror. Initially, it appeared harmless, just another car on the road, but as he drove on, something seemed off. He made a right at the first intersection, the SUV followed suit. However, after three more turns, with the SUV precisely following each one, his discomfort grew.

"Ma'am, I've noticed that car is tailing us," he stated abruptly.

I turned to gaze, attempting to dismiss it as a coincidence; people frequently followed similar routes across the city. But the SUV was consistently there, maintaining a constant distance while never shifting course. With a pounding heart, I whispered to myself. What? Who might that be? Could that be, my Dad, James? Has he already located me? No, no, I'm overthinking this.

My thoughts shifted to my phone. I attempted to call 911. My phone almost slipped out of my grasp; my fingers shook as I tapped the buttons, but I put it on hold, my mind bursting with questions. Could this car be a diversion from getting to Mum as quickly? Is she safe?

"Ma'am, that might be one of your fans". Dominique proposed.

"Perhaps, given the media going crazy about the scandal," I responded.

But I sensed in my gut that this might be more than a fanatic interest or curiosity. 'Why this now?' I thought to myself, 'I was overwhelmed with the controversies already.'

"Dom, I do not wish to involve the police now as this may slow us down and delay us from going forward; please could you try losing the car?" I asked with hopefulness.

With a heavy exhale, Dominique assuredly replied, "I'll try my hardest ma'am."

Dominique expertly navigated the congested city traffic, attempting to lose the trail. The streets were crowded with evening shoppers, and he wove through the traffic, attempting to blend in, but the SUV remained immovable. The SUV maneuvered through the congestion with alarming precision and was always in sight. The force of the speed had me glued to the seat, muttering under my breath, "No, it can't be him, can't be the Gabby's."

My mind was filled with vivid memories of my mother's incredible speed the night we fled my father. We fled from a small town in Georgia, where we once lived with my father, driving for hours on end until we reached the bustling port of Miami. From there, under the cover of night, we secured passage on a boat bound for refuge in Barbados.

Each stoplight and stoppage in the present journey revived the terror and uncertainty of that night. I had feared for myself and my mother, recalling the horrible prospect of what would happen if my father chased us or the seatbelt failed.

Thank goodness for the seatbelt, I thought. Without the seatbelt, I'd be a human projectile through the windshield. The thought alone sent a shiver down my spine.

The scenery outside the car window blurred as they had fifteen years ago. The car bounced like a pebble on the uneven road, each jolt bringing me back to that night, the recollection of my mother's silence deafening and the roar of the engine masking the terror and uncertainty in the car.

Glancing back, I noticed the SUV still making efforts to keep up with us, moving at a rapid pace. My mind raced, fearing the worst, and then all of a sudden, I found myself back fifteen years, my recollections erratic and vivid. The long, uncomfortable hours in the car that night, broken by occasional stops for gas and food. It was nerve-wracking, checking every corner, and scrutinizing every person, every stranger a potential threat.

Words stuck in my throat, a tangled mess of questions and anxieties I didn't know how to voice. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I forced them out with a squeak, "Mom, where are we going?" I had asked, my voice trembling and barely audible.

She didn't answer at first, her jaw set in a grim line that mirrored the tension radiating from her. The silence stretched, each tick of the second hand on the dashboard echoing in my ears. Just when I thought I couldn't handle the suspense any longer, she finally spoke.

"A safe place, my dear. Somewhere your father can't find us." My mother's reply echoed in my mind as Dominique stopped at another light. Back then, it had seemed like an impossible dream. I had doubted such a place existed, knowing how relentless my father could be.

I nodded my head in disapproval. I wanted her to know I didn't believe what she told me. But my mother met my gaze with a look of determination that ignited the feeling of hope within me.

"Yes," she said, her voice firming with conviction. "There is a place far away from your father. A place far away from his troubles. And I promise, we'll get there." Her gaze was fixed on me as she said those words with conviction.

"I trust you, mom." I maintained eye contact. I didn't believe her, but I held onto her promise because our lives depended on it.

My doubt and silent prayers for safety mingled with the present as we moved forward. 'Oh mum, I'm so sorry, that hope may be lost now,' I thought to myself.

Dominique navigated another stoplight, and my mind drifted to when my mother's car had finally lurched to a stop on a quiet, unfamiliar street. I had scanned the rows of identical houses, searching for the safety my mother promised. The memory of the stale, suffocating smell as we entered the abandoned house was still vivid. Cobwebs, dust, and decay had greeted us, hardly the "promised land" my mother had spoken of.

Even though we seemed to have backed away from the odd car, I was still uneasy, my heart pounding. In the present-day car, Dominique asked, "Ma'am, are you okay back there? "I can't see the strange car anymore; I believe we successfully tailed it off," Dominique assured as he approached the petrol station.

"We have run out of gas due to the engine overheating from the speed drive," he added again, before heading to the gas station to fill up.

I could barely see or say a word. "Ma'am, don't worry, I'm always here for you". Dominique said as he drove away from the gas station. His calm demeanor contrasted sharply with my mother's frantic movements that night. My mother had grabbed my shoulders, comforting me. "This is our new home now," she had said, introducing me to a new identity. The weight of her words had settled heavily on my shoulders, the reality of our new life sinking in.

The present snapped back into focus as the car moved again. I wondered if this meeting would be as significant as that night. I had accepted my new name and the life that came with it, embracing it as a new beginning. Now, I was heading to see the woman who had made it all possible, hoping the recent scandal hadn't shattered our fragile peace.

Barely speaking and gasping for air. I whispered unconsciously, "Dom, I can't breathe; take me to Mum, please, and nowhere else." I passed out.

"Ma'am? Ma'am! Oh non, reste avec moi, Mademoiselle!! (Oh no, stay with me, ma'am). With a panicked shout, Dominique turned around to face her. He sped up the car and headed for mom's residence.