I Started Writing To A Convicted Murderer Out Of Boredom, Now I REALLY Wish I Just Stayed Bored
By Vanessa Doe
He rang the doorbell once more, he knew I was home – hell, my car was in the driveway. For all I know, he had been watching me since he got released. I peered out once more I couldn’t see him. Had he given up? My phone beeped in my pocket: 1 percent battery.
I don’t know how long I was standing with my back against the wall; my legs began cramping up, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. What felt like eternity must have only been five minutes, but he was gone. I ran up the stairs, making sure I ducked wherever a window was present. I grabbed a small bag, and began throwing everything into it – toiletries, undergarments, clothing, chargers, and passport. My purse was downstairs near my laptop, I would need that – but first, I needed to figure out how I was going to leave without making noise. My car was the only option – but the damn thing rumbles when it starts up; if Rob was hiding out he would come for me. I needed to give the impression that I was still in the house.
There’s three ways to get in and out of my house: front door, back door, and garage. I ran down the stairs, heading for the backdoor and unlocked it. I then ran to where my laptop and purse were, grabbing those. I found my car keys at the bottom of my purse and walked to the garage. I would open the garage as a diversion and sneak out the back door into my car. The sound of the garage door opening was audible, it bought me about ten seconds. I ran out the back door, luckily only a few steps away and straight into my car. I jumped in, putting the keys in the ignition and turning it. The lights on the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree – a tire error showed up. “No, no, no,” I pleaded, tears starting to run down my face. I couldn’t check what the situation with the tires was, but with the way the car was tilted, it was evident more than one tire was slashed.