The Tree of Knowledge

It usually takes me one hour to ride home from Stone Works, but if I push myself I can make it in forty-five minutes.

How long until Ryan sees that email? Has he read it already?

It takes Ryan only thirty minutes to drive home, but I’m sure he could make it faster if he was properly motivated.

Good thing I’m properly motivated too.

I make it home in thirty-nine minutes. My face is flushed. Sweat pours off of me and my breath comes in labored gasps. I careen my bike to a stop in front of the house, letting it drop on to the front lawn, and I run through the front door. I race up the stairs into my bedroom.

“Kit? Is that you?” Rebecca calls from the kitchen.

I grab my backpack out of the closet.

It’ll be cold soon. I’ll need warm clothes. A jacket. Stockings. Fuck stockings! I need pants. Why don’t I own any pants?

I’m shoving things into the backpack as fast as I can.

Rebecca has made it to my room.

“Kit? What are you doing?”

I shove past her. I charge down the hall and into the master bedroom. I grab a pair of Ryan’s pants out of the closet and one of Mara’s belts. It’ll have to do.

“Kit! Stop it! What’s going on?!”

I open Ryan’s night stand drawer and pull out his pistol. I point it straight at Rebecca with one hand while stuffing the boxes of ammo into my bag with the other. Rebecca screams.

“I need your purse.” I tell her.

“What are you doing?! I don’t understand!”

“Rebecca, your purse, now! Move!”

She scurries into her bedroom. I follow behind her.

“You wouldn’t shoot me.” she says, handing me the purse.

“Bitch, try me.”

Downstairs, there’s the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

I’m out of time.

“Get out!” I yell at Rebecca.

She backs out of the room. I slam the door shut behind her and lock it. I upend the contents of her purse into the backpack and drop the gun in after them. I zip it up and throw it on.

Hubby is home.

Ryan bangs on the door.

“KIT!” He screams, “KIT YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SLUT YOU OPEN THIS DOOR!

While he’s yelling himself blue, I jump from the window ledge to the drain pipe and climb down to the ground. I book it to the driveway.

I can still hear him inside, screaming at me to open the door.

And that beautifully idiotic husband of mine, he left his car keys in the ignition.

I shove my bike into the roomy trunk, hop in the driver’s seat, and gun it the hell out of dodge.