Yesterday's Gone: Season One

house without him noticing.
    She waited 20 minutes, then got out of bed and snuck out of her room and down the hall to his. The door was open and the duffel bags of guns lay on the bed. She found the Glock she’d been practicing with. She grabbed it, along with a box of bullets and went back to her room.
    She loaded the gun, grabbed a charcoal jacket from the closet, about three sizes too big, put the bullets in her pocket and headed out the window to get the hell away from Bob. She hoped she could find Charlie before Bob came looking for her.

    **

    Clouds hung low in the sky, as Callie stepped onto the street.  
    No sign of Charlie or the Toyota he’d taken from Derek’s driveway. She hoped he’d not gone far. Though she didn’t know him well enough to venture an educated guess, she thought he may have stayed relatively close, just to be on the safe side. Far away enough to make a point and hide from Bob, but close enough to run home if necessary.
    She needed a car. She wasn’t about to risk taking Bob’s car, or the car in the garage. She went a few doors down on the opposite side of the street where a cute purple VW bug sat in the driveway.
    She knocked on the door on the off chance someone was home. The door was made mostly of etched glass framed in a deep redwood. Seeing no one inside, she tried the doorknob. Locked.
    She glanced down, searching for a rock to break the window, then laughed out loud at the planter beside the walkway filled with small round rocks and one large square gray one, so out of place it may as well have had a label on it reading, “fake rock key holder.”
    She retrieved the key and let herself inside.
    The house was warm and the smell of cinnamon potpourri made her think of her mom’s craft room. She went to the kitchen and combed the wall for a key rack and the counter for keys. Nothing. She headed back to the doorway to see if she’d missed an obvious spot where people might keep car keys. She found a mail sorter on a ledge, and a small box of random crap, but no keys.
    Callie remembered seeing an anime decal on the VW’s rear window, which made her think the car belonged to a teenager, so she went upstairs and found a door with purple letters spelling out “Meghan” on the door.
    She went inside the room and into an explosion of purple. Light lavender walls, dark purple curtains and bedding, and dark purple wood trim on the door, closets, and baseboards. It was a room Callie could definitely live in. Very cute. On the walls were some anime posters Callie wasn’t familiar with. She was strictly a Marvel and DC girl. In the corner, a shiny creamy purple BC Rich electric guitar and Peavey amp.
    “Cool!” Callie said, picking it up and strumming with a dark purple pick which matched the strap. She wished the power were on so she could do a little shredding. She wasn’t a great guitar player by any stretch, and didn’t have the patience to learn other people’s songs. Mostly, she played her own tunes. But she hadn’t played anything in more than a year, since her band broke up due to excessive bitchiness of two of its members.  
    The strings felt good beneath her fingers. Felt right. She regretted not playing more.
    She strummed a few chords, trying to remember a song she’d been working on. Just when she got it, and fell into a rhythm, she heard the door slam open downstairs.
    Shit! Bob!
    She sat the guitar on the bed, ran to the closet, and slid the door open. Despite the room’s neatness, Meghan’s closet was stuffed with boxes and mountains of clothes. Callie wedged herself inside, trying to keep quiet while also listening for sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs. It was a tight squeeze, but she managed to get in and slide the door shut, leaving the thinnest of cracks, still allowing her a thin sliver to peek outside. She wondered what she’d do if Bob came into the room. If she’d stayed where she was, she could have innocently claimed that she was just looking for Charlie.
    But now that she’d hidden, her intentions were clear. She was on the run. And he would be pissed. And worse, if he realized she’d drugged him, he’d probably kill her. She grabbed the gun from her jacket pocket, found the safety, and clicked it off. She wondered if she could pull the trigger. This morning, when she realized Bob had raped her, she could easily have shot him. But now, a few hours later, her anger had been replaced with a steady drip of mounting fear.
    The closet