I have to remind myself to breathe as I step away from him. He’s grinning at me now, but he doesn’t budge from his chair. I take another step back, then another but I feel frozen to the spot as the fear grips me.

“No need to run, darling,” he says in his raspy voice. “I’ve got the place covered.” I turn around, looking frantically around me. Do I ask for help? Do I scream, run, what? “If you ask for help and get me caught, I promise you I have someone waiting to shoot Brian’s brain out of his head.” His voice is soft behind me, but I hear it loud and clear.

My heart rate quickens and I can hear the pounding in my ears. My hand flies to my mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I breathe and bolt to the bathroom. From my peripheral, I see a man watching me not too far away and I know he must be one of them. It’s useless, there’s no hiding. I make it to the bathroom anyway and lock myself in one of the stalls.

What do I do, what do I do? Don’t cry. I sit on the toilet and put my face in my hands, at a complete loss. This is life or death, London. Think! I try to breathe as the panic sets in. I don’t have my cellphone anymore, there’s no one I can call. Nowhere to run. Then something occurs to me and I sit up straight. If this is life or death, I either fight back or I let myself become a victim – and I am not giving up that easily. Feeling resolute, I stand up and throw off my snowboarding jacket. I pull off my boots, discard of my jeans so that I’m just in my black tights and a long black thermal sweater. I pull my boots back on and rummage through the pockets of my snowboarding jacket. I find a black knit cat – perfect. I pull it on my head and tuck my hair underneath until all of it is fully inside the cap. Then I rummage through my bag and grab the necessities out of my wallet – my ID, a credit card, some cash, and – a familiar white card. Nick’s phone number. Nick! I quickly tuck that safely inside my boots. I leave the rest of my stuff neatly folded on the floor and walk out of the stall.

I look at myself in the mirror – complete impromptu wardrobe change. Quite impressed with myself, I walk out of the bathroom, heart racing and palms sweaty. I glance over at the man who was watching me earlier, but his focus is behind me, trying to look for the girl in jeans and a snowboarding jacket with her hair down. I quickly duck my head and get lost in the group of people passing by. When I reach the gates, I take off at a jog towards the exit and gulp in the cold air, relief washing over me.

I did it. Now what? I look around me. People are being dropped off and picked up by the curb, cars coming in and out, airport workers guiding the traffic through. Everything is normal; no one is aware of the girl standing in the middle of it all with an impending death threat so close to her. I need to get out of here. I motion to a cab driver waiting by his car.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asks as I climb into the backseat. Where to? I need to be somewhere with lots of people on a weekday afternoon, where I can go unnoticed. The mall? No, it’s daytime and right after the holidays. Malls are dead. Downtown? No, everyone’s working. I need to be somewhere that nobody will care to think of.

“To the University of Calgary, please.”

-

I hurry into the food hall of the University, still paranoid that I’m being followed. It was a good choice; the place is busy with crowds of students eating lunch and studying. I sit at one of the tables and rack my brain for what to do, grateful that I have some time to properly calm down and think things through. I can’t go back to Banff; that would be too obvious. I can’t go back to Vancouver; now Rooney knows that was the plan. I can’t stay here; Rooney and his men are here. God, what do I do?

I reach into my boots and pull out Nick’s card, his number written in simple black ink. I look around and spot a payphone by the bathrooms and walk over to it, quickly inserting my credit card and dialing Nick’s number with shaking fingers. He answers after three rings.

“Hello?” His voice is barely audible from all of the background noises.

“Nick!” I say loudly into the phone. Even though I’ve barely had a conversation with him, it’s comforting to finally talk to someone familiar.

“Hello?” he says again. “Who is this?”

“Nick, it’s me, London.”

“Hold up, hold up,” he replies, though I’m not sure it’s toward me. There’s a pause where the background noises begins to disappear and then completely fades out. “Sorry about that, I’m at rehearsals right now. London, what’s up? Is everything okay?”

“No, Nick… I-“ I pause, not knowing what to say. “Do you know about Brian’s situation?”

“Yes, we were all told about it. He’s supposed to be back tomorrow. London, what’s wrong?” His American accent is tinged with concern and I feel a ridiculous urge to cry again.

I take a deep breath. “I’m supposed to be hopping on an airplane back home to Vancouver right now,” I tell him. “But Rooney and his men were there and I managed to run away.”

“Oh my God, London! Are you okay?” His voice is gripped with urgency now and I bounce lightly from foot to foot anxiously, holding the phone with white knuckles.

“Yes, I’m fine. But I don’t know what to do or where to go, Nick,” I breathe. “I’m stranded here in Calgary.”

“Okay, okay, hold on… let me think about this.” He pauses and then mutters, “Shit. I can’t call Brian, apparently his phone is tapped so I can’t even tell him where you are.” He groans and I can almost hear him pacing back and forth. “Don’t go back to the airport, that’s too dangerous.” He pauses again and I can hear his breath quickening. “Okay, here’s what you do. Rent a car and drive to the nearest city that has an airport. From there, catch the next flight to Los Angeles, and I’ll pick you up at LAX. Are you using a payphone?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the number there?” I give him the number without question. “Okay, stay there for a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”

Before I can reply, he hangs up and I’m left standing there to wait. Students pass by, eyeing me warily – probably wondering about the girl in all black, panicked eyes, and anxiously waiting by the payphones. I jump when the phone rings loud and clear a few minutes later and pick it up. “Hello?” I say into the phone after half a ring.

“London,” his voice sounds triumphant, hopeful. “Drive to Edmonton, I’ve bought you a ticket to L.A. Your flight is at 4:15pm. I’ll see you soon. Be safe, okay?”

“Oh my God, thank you Nick,” I breathe. We say our goodbyes and, with shaking fingers, I dial for another cab. Shit. It’s already noon. It’s a three-hour drive to Edmonton and I still have to find a car rental. This is cutting it close.

The things I do for you, Brian.

-

The nearest car rental is only five minutes away from the University and I’m on the highway by 1pm in a Toyota Corolla. I’m constantly checking my rearview mirror, paranoia making me go crazy, but there’s only trucks and the occasional car on the road. When I’m certain that I’m not being followed, I begin to relax a little. The drive to Edmonton is an easy one; straight road with very little traffic. I don’t stop for food or a bathroom break until I finally reach the airport at 3:45, giving me half an hour to catch my plane. Oh, please, let me not be too late.

I drop the car off at the pick-up area, giving the keys to the airport worker. “I rented it from Enterprise Car Rentals. They know it’s being dropped off at this location,” I tell the bewildered man and hurry into the building. The girl at the check-in desk is suspicious of my flustered appearance, but I convince her that it’s an emergency and that it’s absolutely imperative for me to get on the flight. Thankfully, because I don’t have any luggage with me, she lets me through and I’m nearly sprinting towards the gates. I feel like I’m running for my life which, I guess, is the appropriate term to use in a situation like this.

I make it right on time and take my seat, which is all the way in the back. Okay, you need to calm down, London. You’re making everyone on this plane nervous. I relax and pull off my knit cap which I’ve just realized is still on my head. My wavy hair falls around my face and the man beside me gives me a much friendlier smile, which I don’t return. It’s been a long day, I’ve just met the man who is plotting to kill me, I’ve driven for three hours, and just ran to catch this flight. I have no cell phone. No clothes. Not even a tooth brush. And it’s barely been twenty-four hours since making it official with Brian Littrell.