Blood & Roses

Chapter 12 -Lost

Present Day – The Safe House

Bianca's POV

I didn't ask more questions, plus I decided to trust Roscoe and, most of all, I trusted Adrian's choice. I slept off shortly after from exhaustion.

The next morning after breakfast, I moved my makeshift studio to the outdoors. Roescoe was reluctant for security reasons, but I insisted that I had been cooped up inside long enough. I needed fresh air and some vitamin D from the sun.

He let me sit in the small garden at the back of the house but stationed himself a few meters away, keeping watch.

I sat on a wicker chair with a hat shielding my face, sketchpad in my lap, and looked around at the blooming petals. They were pretty, a variety of vibrant colors and scents.

They reminded me of the garden in Adrian's mansion.

I picked up my pencil and turned to a new page on my sketch pad and began to draw from memory yet again. Flower petals and hedges framing marble statues. Gravel paths with flowers on each side of them.

As I drew Adrian's garden, memories came back — unbidden. Nowadays, every little thing triggers a memory taking me back to him. This one was not pleasant. It was the morning after the shootout. We had an argument because Adrian had refused to let me go home. I ran out of the office and got lost in the garden.

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

Bianca's POV

I was well and truly lost. The garden in Adrian's mansion was endless. Like a maze, it led nowhere. Labyrinthine hedges surrounded me, marble statues standing as silent sentinels spooked me at every turn.

I wandered around for what felt like hours, looking for a way to get out. The sun had peeked out from behind the clouds, and the temperature rose. Sweat dribbled down my brow and my blouse clung to my skin.

The gravel beneath my feet crunched with each step I took until the path widened unexpectedly into — an apple orchard.

I was awed by the sight and moved closer for a better look at rows upon rows of apple trees laden with fruit. Laborers worked hard gathering and stacking ripe apples into wooden crates. A couple of trucks were lined up on the path near the edge of the orchard.

"Would you look at that?" I mused as an idea blossomed in my mind.

My escape plan was back on track, but I had to be careful. I knew escaping through the mansion's main gate was mission impossible, but here was a seamless escape option.

A few guards patrolled the orchard perimeter, a quick scan revealed cameras on poles sweeping arcs of surveillance across the orchard. Not as seamless as I thought, I have to be careful. I wasn't interested in getting caught. Not today.

Crouching low, my eyes trained on the trucks, I crab-walked to hide behind a tree and flattened myself against it. My heart hammered when a worker hummed past me.

After he passed, I crouched and half-walked, half-ran. Creeping between the trees to avoid being detected. On reaching one of the parked trucks, I peered inside. It was fully loaded with crates of apples, with burlap sacks tossed carelessly on top. And luckily for me, the door of this one was slightly ajar.

After another quick scan, I climbed into it and crawled between the crates to a spot in the back. I hid in a spot big enough to hold me, then covered myself with the burlap sacks.

"Fifty-two crates in total, sir." Footsteps approached the truck. "This is the last for this batch."

Another crate was tossed into the truck. I silently burrowed deeper under burlap bags, trying to make myself smaller. I peered from a corner to see a man with his back to the truck. He hadn't seen me, and I thanked God as the scent of apples filled my nostrils.

"Alright then, I'm off to deliver this batch. The harvest was good this year. The boss will be pleased."

The boss? I wondered. Did he mean Adrian? Who knew the big bad Mafia also dabbled in agriculture?

The man turned and latched the back of the truck to my relief.

"I made it!" I jubilated. Aren't you celebrating too early? Miss Naggy asked. "What a spoilsport," I chided back. "At least I haven't been caught," I muttered. "You're just judgy with no contributions at all."

The driver's door snapped shut. The next thing I heard was the ignition.

I thanked the heavens because I couldn't wait to get out of here. The truck rumbled to life and began a slow crawl forward. I jolted with every bump. After a few minutes, it stopped. Murmuring voices grew clearer as footsteps approached the rear of the truck.

"What's in the truck?" a voice demanded.

"Apples from the orchard's harvest," the driver replied.

"Open it."

I began to sweat profusely; my heart pounded with the fear of being discovered. But I lay still as the truck doors were opened. The guard's eyes swept over the crates. When he saw nothing suspicious, he turned to the driver.

"Smells ripe."

The driver chuckled. "Yeah, better than last season's. Go on, try one."

The guard snorted. "Fine, move along then."

The truck lurched again, and I exhaled with relief.

I sent more thanks to the man above, as the truck kept moving far away from Adrian's mansion.

After thirty minutes of movement, a new problem registered in my mind.

How will I get out of the truck?

It was latched on the other side and only the driver could reach it.

.

I quietly crept out from behind the crates and burlap sacks toward the truck's door. I felt the doors, looking for a way to jiggle the lock free from the inside. I didn't have any luck with that. There was a sliver of light filtering in from the point where the two doors met. Peering through the crack, I tried to make out where we were but was unsuccessful. I forced my forefinger through but ended up bruising my finger.

"Ow!" I popped my bleeding forefinger into my mouth to stem the bleeding. I sat back and stared at the door angrily. I was trapped inside the truck.

Resigned, I decided to wait until we got to whatever destination the driver was headed to. But something miraculous happened. With each bump, the ray of light coming from the crack intensified and the gap widened. It got wide enough for my fingers to pass through so I could feel the lock outside. Ecstatic, I jiggled the lock until it fell off. Apparently, the driver had failed to lock it properly after the last check from the guard.

His lack of attention to detail worked in my favor. I sat quietly, held the doors, and listened for signs that the driver had heard the commotion and was stopping to investigate. There was no indication he was stopping. Great!

My guardian angel had finally woken up from his slumber. Or the driver had ear buds or was hard of hearing.

Whatever the case, it was in my favor. So I waited for the right time to get off the truck. My cue came at a stop sign. I slowly pushed the doors open, jumped out, and ran like the hell hounds were after me.

"Hey! How did you get there?"

I didn't stop to answer. I kept running until I was sure the driver would not catch up with me. After rounding a corner, I bent low with my hands on my knees, and tried to catch my breath. I had no clue where I was, so I decided to find out with Google Maps — only to discover my phone wasn't with me.

It wasn't in my jeans pocket or my backpack!

"Oh God, no! "I couldn't face that man again." To get a clue about my surroundings, I searched for street signs and asked passersby for directions. All I got was conflicting directions.

I was free.

But I was lost.