You Can't Hide Theresa Sneed (top 10 non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📖

Nancy stood and walked to the window where the storm had receded into a heavy rain. “I’ve thought about this for a long time. I mean, I’ll miss Sally like crazy.” She wrung her hands. “But, I feel like I need to do this for my sanity.” She looked at her with worried eyes. “I need help, Elle.”

Elle leaned forward. “Okay, but why in the states?”

Nancy circled the room once. “The place is for abused women—a sanctuary of sorts. It’s private and secluded. I read up on it, and I think it would be the perfect place to go—just for a few weeks.”

Elle sat back. “After the execution?”

Nancy looked away. “No.”

Elle’s eyes widened. “Now?”

Nancy sighed. “Yes, and then perhaps, I can travel back there again, when Merrick receives the injection.” Her voice wavered. “I’ll need to be there, when that happens.”

Elle wrapped her arms around Nancy. “I understand. Okay, we’ll set it up then.”

In the days that passed, Elle worked hard revising and editing her book. The creative writing classes had helped, but she knew there was a meridian of mistakes that needed fixing. It took weeks to change all of the fictitious names back to their real names, and she feared that the most. Even with Merrick’s approaching execution, she worried what her revelations might stir.

After all, whoever had caused the fire at the cabin, if it hadn’t been Marvin, was still out there. Something troubled her about the fire—some memory that wouldn’t surface. She shrugged. It probably wasn’t anything. Marvin had simply perished in the fire and paid the price for his own treachery.

Nancy packed her things in the early part of the morning, even though her flight wasn’t until the evening. It was obvious to Elle that leaving Sally, even for a few weeks, was hard. “Hey, Sweet Pea,” Nancy said, pulling her close. “I’ll write you every day. I promise.”

Sally returned her embrace. “Okay, Mother.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped package.

Nancy unwrapped it. It was a picture of them in front of the castle. “Oh, I love it.” She pulled it to her chest. “Love, love, love it!”

Sally exchanged a thumbs up with Elle. “I sort of guessed you would.”

Nancy grinned. “Oh, you two. What would I do without you?” Her smile faded, and she shook her head.

Elle knew why—Nancy had already experienced that exact loss.

Nancy sighed. “Silly me. “It’s just for a few weeks.”

On the plane to the states, Nancy searched her carryon bag for the book she had brought. “What’s this?” In tears, she brought Elle’s manuscript to her chest, knowing how hard it must have been for Elle to part with it. A note was taped to the front.

I thought you’d want to read this while you’re gone. Feel free to add side notes, like we did in our writing class. I struggled with letting it go, but I figured this is your story as much as it is mine. Love ya, Elle

The thin, handwritten manuscript had a title neatly written on the cover page, Escape. Underneath the title there was a subtitle, My Life, My Mess by Eleanor Elizabeth Heard. She thought it curious that Elle hadn’t used her married name, Hadlock, but maybe it was just as well. Neither one of them were ready to reveal their new surnames.

She’d wanted to read Elle’s book ever since Elle told her she had started writing on it again. Originally, Elle had begun her story right in the middle of the horrid ordeal, but she didn’t want to change a thing from what she had written during that time. Elle had said, “It’d be like changing history, I mean, this really happened to me—exactly as it was written back then. I don’t think I should change a word.”

Nancy agreed, but though she had been curious, a fear settled in her stomach. She wasn’t ready to read it just yet, but in the safety of the women’s sanctuary, perhaps she could risk it. She patted the manuscript and slipped it back into her bag.

The letter from the FBI was nestled beside it, and she took it out. An older man sat beside her, but he was sleeping. Still she was careful, should he awake, to not let him see the letter stating Merrick Snyder’s execution.

She opened it and read it again, wondering how smart it had been for her to call the FBI like she had. She thought back on it.

“Yes, I would very much like to be there when it happens.”

The words seemed empty now. It was ridiculous to act so flippantly—wanting to see him die in person. She shuddered. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his evil eyes and wicked grin and worried that it might set her back from any progress she hoped to make at the sanctuary.

She felt foolish. This is silly of me, she thought. She had plenty of time to change her mind. No. She wanted to be there and witness his death—she needed to be there. She needed closure. Folding the letter, she slipped it back into the bag beside the manuscript.

After a long flight over the ocean, they finally arrived in Boston. Someone from the women’s sanctuary had offered to pick her up, but Nancy had other plans. Her long, red hair was neatly pulled back in a bun and hid under a large floppy hat. Dark glasses covered most of her face. When she saw him, she fought to maintain her placid demeanor and followed the large man to the parking lot.

It was all she could do to contain her excitement, and not until they were safely away from the world on a backstreet in Massachusetts, did she remove the floppy hat and dark glasses, and laughed full and rich.

His loud laughter echoed hers, resonating throughout the car. “Sis.” He wiped large tears from