Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) by Allie Juliette Mousseau Read Free Book Online

YMCA. It would be nice to have a hot shower. I wrote the info on a little receipt paper she gave me from the register.
    "How can I get to McCormick Avenue?" I asked the saleswoman as I handed her back the thick book.
    She answered as she rang up the stuff. "A city transit bus stops out front of the store every twenty minutes; if you hurry you could make it."
    After I paid for my items, I thanked the cashier, grabbed my bag and moved quickly through the automatic door and to the bus stop at the side of the street. Just as I got there, the transit bus pulled up. Perfect timing. I climbed on and took a seat.
    The bus meandered through the city. I scarfed down the sesame bagel and downed the cold coffee in seconds.
    The YMCA was small, and a bunch of fitness fanatics were chatting with friends in front of the welcome counter and flashing their user passes. I put my head down and snuck in behind the crowd.
    I found the door labeled "Ladies Locker Room" and let myself in. I brought my pack into the shower stall with me and took out my towel, soap and hair dye. About a half hour later I was clean and dressed in a different outfit: green cargo pants with pockets on the sides, a T-shirt and a dark blue thermal top. I packed everything I had been wearing (which all now needed washing) into a plastic swim bag provided by the Y and zipped it into my pack.
    I went to the large mirror to brush my hair. I came in a blond and am leaving a fiery and rebellious red head. Cool. I dried my hair with the Y's built in blow-dryer, braided it in two long braids on either side of my head, secured some stray hairs with a couple of bobby pins and tossed on the Ole Miss ball cap.
    Ready , I thought to myself as I headed out to catch the next transit to the Greyhound station.
    I waited a good fifteen minutes (with my iPod to keep me company) in the small plastic-sided booth then took a seat near the back of the transit. I stepped out of the bus a few blocks away from the Greyhound station and walked the rest of the way.
    I purchased a ticket to Jackson, Mississippi. Once I got there, I would switch it up again to get to New Orleans another way. Buses were so slow, and they made like a million stops along the way, but at least I could chill out and not have to be looking over my shoulder the entire time.
    I sat down on one of the benches. It would be about forty minutes until my bus for Jackson would take off.
    I sat with my music on low volume and watched every person around me from under the safety of my hat brim. It was exhausting, really, being so suspicious. I couldn't wait to get into another forest or national park. I could handle wild animals—wolves, bears, mountain lions—they liked to keep to themselves just like I did; it was people that I had to watch out for and worry about.
    It never ends , I thought depressingly.
    "Are you all right, honey?" A woman's voice said next to me.
    I panicked as I realized I had tears streaming down my cheeks. An elderly woman was standing over me.
    "Boy trouble," I answered. As long as she doesn't offer me an apple I should be safe. "I'm fine really. Please, excuse me." I got up and made a beeline for the restroom to wipe my face.
    And another stupid move! I accused myself. Suck it up, Freya! I stared at my new, rebellious red hair in the mirror.
    Rebellious, I rolled the word over my tongue. Embrace it .
    I sat on the closed toilet seat and locked the stall door. I'll take no more chances, I thought and took out my journal and pen to pass the time. The worn brown leather cover was soft and supple and was etched with a star. Yeah, it seemed silly for a secretive girl to own a journal, but I tried to put only non-secretive information in it. I wrote down my dreams and aspirations and about where I had been and how I felt about the area. My name was absolutely not written in it. And I certainly wasn't going to write about my mother's delusional episodes.
    I spent a moment jotting down my experiences: leaving