Creative fun in
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Rated: 18+ · Novella · Inspirational · #1455160
Chrysti has to get away from an abusive husband, can she find safety and a new life?
Chrysti crawled into her sleek black Mercedes sports coupe and pulled onto the road. She didn’t know where she was ultimately headed, but she knew she had to get away quickly before her husband or anyone else discovered she was missing.
At two-thirty in the morning; Chrysti was speeding towards the deserted airfield thirty minutes outside of Boston, where she would catch a flight to an unknown destination. Only her best friend and the pilot were aware of where she would be flown. She had planned this for months with her best friend who had set up a safe haven for her once the decision had been made and all the plans had been put into motion.
Tonight, she realized she had the open window of time she had been waiting for. She was scared, but quickly grabbed only the essentials of clothing, personal items and a couple of photos that she still had not previously moved.
Chrysti had planned this, months ago and had already packed all her important papers and sent them to a safety deposit box in another city on the western side of the continent. She had slowly deposited all her extra personal money, for the last six months, into an untraceable account without calling any attention to her bank account. Even though she and her husband had separate bank accounts, she knew that he kept a careful eye on how much she spent and how much was in her account. She had been very careful in keeping her regular account as normal as possible, yet all the while taking money to place in her secret account and making up excuses for where she had spent the money. She had spoken to a good friend at the bank, who she could count on to provide total confidentiality and to make sure there was no way to trace her money transactions. She had quietly packed and sent some of her personal possessions, which her husband had not bought her, to a dummy address; which, when it was safe, would then be sent to a storage facility under an alias name. She had to make sure she would never be found by her husband who would spare no expense to find her and bring her back.
Chrysti had dreaded this night, but now that it was here she was relieved to finally be able to get away. She needed to vanish without a trace.

Michael had just finished checking the grounds around Fenton Properties. Finding them secure, he walked back to his security car and headed for the front gate.
Michael sat down at the desk in the small guard house at the front gate and got out his thermos of coffee and a sandwich. He was ready to eat his lunch even though it was the middle of the night. His schedule was so backwards to what normal people lived with. He was a security guard and had worked here for four years. It was a job, but not what he had planned to do for the rest of his life. Michael thought about the kind of life he would rather have. He had been working on courses in accounting through an on-line University. He was only months away from receiving his degree. He couldn’t wait. He was already putting out feelers to see if he could find a job somewhere else in the country, any where, but Fenton Properties. If he never saw this place again, it would be, too soon.
Michael stood six foot-seven with broad shoulders, sandy yellow hair, deep blue eyes and a warm smile. He was a strong Christian and looked to God to guide his every move in everyday life. He knew God had more for him than just being a security guard.
As Michael mused about his future, a long black limousine pulled up to the guard gate. Michael found this odd at two-thirty in the morning. He opened the door to the guard station as the driver’s window lowered.
“I have Mr. Fenton in the back please open the gate and allow us to enter,” The chauffeur, whom Michael had never seen before, commanded. Michael studied the driver for a minute. He thought about the chances of Mr. Fenton coming to the office at this hour of the night. As Michael was about to tell the chauffeur he would have to make a call, the last window of the limo rolled down and Mr. Fenton stuck his head out the window.
“Michael, it’s all right, I’m working on a deal for tomorrow morning and forgot to pick up some of the papers I needed before I left for the day.” Mr. Fenton stated in a persuasive voice.
“Sure thing, Mr. Fenton,” Michael responded as he reached in and pushed the button to open the gate.
Michael watched as the limo slowly moved through the gate. Michael still thought it strange that Mr. Fenton would come to his office at that time of night. After the gate closed, Michael went back to his meal as he contemplated why Mr. Fenton would be here at two-thirty in the morning. He had worked here for four years and had never known Mr. Fenton to come to the company late at night. Mr. Fenton was known to keep very short day time hours and he never came to the office after hours.
Mr. Fenton had inherited his company when his dad died unexpectedly, five years ago. He had not been thrilled at inheriting the family business, thus he spent as little time as possible at the office and the rest of his time being a rich playboy. He spent a lot of time playing tennis or golf. Mr. Fenton was a married man, but he ran with a fast crowd of high rollers. He was in his thirty’s and had married his college sweetheart, but he could not remain faithful to her more than the night of their wedding. He loved his fast pace life and all the affluence that came with old family money and owning a huge company.
Michael took a bite of his sandwich as he continued to think how odd it was for Mr. Fenton to be here now. Suddenly, Michael put down his sandwich and got into his security car. He drove toward the main building with his lights off. Something didn’t add up and he wanted to see what might be going on. He got out of his car and started moving toward the building quietly. He spotted the lights on in Mr. Fenton’s office. He slipped up to the edge of the window to peek in.
Michael watched as Mr. Fenton stood there talking with two men. They were arguing about something. Mr. Fenton walked over to the wall and pulled back a painting to display a wall safe. Michael watched as Mr. Fenton opened the safe looking somewhat reluctant. Mr. Fenton reached into the safe and retrieved some papers. He then handed the papers to the two men. There was some more arguing and then one of the two men pulled out a gun and shot Mr. Fenton multiple times. Michael was shaken to his core and almost panicked as the men ran out of the office. Michael knew that Mr. Fenton had to be dead. He also knew that he didn’t have time to make it back to the gate house.
The two men rushed out of the building and jumped into the limo. They drove at breakneck speed out of the compound.
Michael hoped that they didn’t notice his car was missing and he wasn’t in the guard house. He pulled out his cell phone and contemplated whether to call 911. He then rushed into the office and felt Mr. Fenton’s neck for a pulse. There was none. Mr. Fenton was gone.

Chrysti pulled onto the lonely road and headed for the deserted airstrip. She pulled up to the single plane that was sitting at the end of the runway. As she drove up, the door to the plane opened and a tall dark headed man stuck his head out. She pulled her car to a stop and hopped out. The man quickly removed her suitcases and jacket and loaded them onto the plane. She also removed all her car papers from the glove compartment. She scrapped the identification number off the glass and took the license plates off the front and back of the coupe. Finally, she took a screwdriver and pried the vin number off of the dashboard. She quickly set the timer to the explosives in the car. She then climbed onto the plane; the pilot closed the door and locked it. Then the pilot climbed into the cockpit and began his run down the runway. They had just taken off and banked to the left, when the car exploded.
“There,” Chrysti said to no one in particular, “That should take care of that.”
The plane flew on a course due southwest. The pilot had purposely not filed a flight plan, thus he flew under the radar. There was to be no paper trail to follow. Chrystalynn Renee Fenton no longer existed, she had died tonight.

Michael realized that he had to get away. He didn’t know who those men were, but he knew if they figured out he had seen everything, his life would be in danger. He quickly walked to the guard house, changed clothes, grabbed his stuff and then walked down the street to a nearby convenience store. He pulled out his cell phone and called his pastor.
“Pastor Ron, this is Michael, I need your help. Can you pick me up at the convenience store on the corner of Hughes and Park Street?” Michael asked, hating to bother his pastor in the middle of the night.
“Sure, Michael, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Pastor Ron answered, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “What’s this all about?”
“I’ll try to explain when you get here.” Michael shivered as he spoke to Pastor Ron.
Michael waited in the shadows outside the convenience store, hoping no one would see him. About ten minutes later, Pastor Ron drove up.
“Michael, you’re as white as a ghost. Are you all right? Where is your car?” Pastor Ron gushed with questions and concern.
“Pastor Ron, something awful has happened. I don’t know what to do,” Michael stated, still shaken from the experience.
“Michael, calm down and tell me what is going on.” Pastor Ron said as he drove back to his house.
“Pastor Ron, Mr. Fenton is dead.”
“Dead, Michael, what happened?” Pastor Ron asked with fear crawling up his back.
“I was at the guard station when a limo pulled up to the compound. It was Mr. Fenton. I thought it odd and decided to follow to see what was going on. I stood outside Mr. Fenton’s window and watched in horror as two men took some papers and then gunned him down in cold blood. Pastor Ron, I don’t know what to do. I’ve seen their faces and if they realize that I wasn’t at my post when they left and they figure out I saw what they did, I’ll be a dead man. I don’t know what was going on with Mr. Fenton, but it couldn’t have been something good.” Michael said, with fear written all over his face.
“Michael, you’ve got to tell the police or…maybe even the FBI, what you know. I know the head of the FBI here in Boston. He is a member of our church and a deacon. I think he will help in any way he can. I’m going to drive you to the FBI office so you can talk to them.” Pastor Ron said, as he picked up his cell phone and dialed Harry Bradford’s home phone number.
“Harry, this is Pastor Ron. I’m sorry to call you, but I need to meet you at your office as soon as you can get there. I’ll explain when you arrive.”
Pastor Ron drove to the FBI office where he found Harry waiting for him.
“Pastor Ron, what is this all about? I’m not use to you playing cloak and dagger with me,” he kidded, but realized when he saw the look on Michael’s face that this was no kidding matter.
“Harry, this is Michael Peters. He is a member of our church and a security guard. I think you better hear his story and then we need your help.” Pastor Ron stated, without mincing words.
Michael proceeded to tell Harry about what had transpired over the last hour. Harry picked up the phone and called the local police and then a couple of his agents. He then asked Michael if he could describe the two men to a criminal artist, so that they could match them to a picture bank. Michael told Harry he thought he could.
The next two hours were spent with Michael describing in detail the facial features and any special markings, to the criminal artist.
After this was done, the pictures were scanned into a computer and the picture bank was accessed. Within minutes, two pictures matched the drawings.
“Michael, I think we know who killed Mr. Fenton. They are suspected stooges for one of the crime bosses in Boston. You are right to fear for your life. If they figure out that you know, they will stop at nothing to kill you.” Harry stated.
“Pastor Ron, we will make sure we protect Michael. We will set up a new identity and a new lifestyle in another part of the country until we can catch them and get a conviction.” Harry assured his pastor.
“Michael, you will never be able to return to your apartment or any of your old life. You will disappear and your old identity will be killed off. Your family will have to accept that you are dead. You will never be able to contact them for fear that it will put their lives in danger. These people stop at nothing to cover their tracks. Do you have any questions?” Harry asked in a very business like manner.
Michael stood there stunned. This was more than he could face. He didn’t know if he could just walk away from his parents, brothers, sisters, and friends, but he knew for their sake he would have to.
“No, Harry, I don’t. I just have to do it with God’s help,” he stated, still stunned that he had witnessed Mr. Fenton’s demise.
“Good, now let’s get you a new identity, occupation, history and a place to live.” Harry said as he turned and began typing into his computer.
Four hours later, Pastor Ron was driving James Randall to the airport. While Harry had been working with Michael to change him into James Randall, Pastor Ron had run to Wal-mart and purchased a suitcase, clothing and personal items for James to take with him. Ron didn’t know where exactly James was going, but he knew it would be far away from Boston. Harry didn’t want Pastor Ron to know so Pastor Ron couldn’t be held responsible for that information if the thugs ever came to him asking questions.
Pastor Ron dropped James off at the private airport where he would catch a private plane to parts unknown.
“Michael…er…James, it has been such an honor to be your pastor. If this ever passes, please contact me and let me know how you are doing. Let’s say a quick prayer.” Pastor Ron stated.
“Father, I pray that you would wrap your protective arms around Michael. I pray you will protect him from all harm and that you will use him in your service. Please be with him where ever he goes. I pray you will comfort his family and friends when they hear of his untimely death. We pray this in Jesus name. Amen.”
“Thanks, Pastor Ron, for everything. I will pray you keep safe as well.” Michael spoke with tears choking his throat.
“God’s speed…James,” Pastor Ron whispered as James crawled out of the car and walked to the waiting plane.
The plane taxied down the runway and lifted high into the crystal blue morning sky.

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