The scrawl on the envelope told her she’d been found. It didn’t matter that she was in a foreign country or that it had been awhile since the last letter. He’d pursue her to the end. She thought for a moment about alerting the authorities. In case he tried to enter the country. But they told her before there was nothing they could do until he actually commits a crime. They told her to relax. People like him, they said, are more bark than bite. But she knew better. He could be here already. He might have even watched her take the letter from the mailbox.
She shut the blinds. She packed an overnight bag with shaking hands and tried to think. It was an hour until school pick up, when the streets would be busy again. She’d go then, hop on a bus to the train station, head south. She’d keep to bigger towns until she got to Sydney.
There was money in a shoe box in the closet, enough to keep her comfortable for a while. She opened the lid. Next to the envelope of cash was stack of letters identical to the one she just received. There were so many.
Half an hour until she could leave. She made a cup of tea. At the kitchen table, she took out the letter. It was strange to see her latest name in his handwriting. She cut open the envelope and read . . .