Lenna Teshmann's Journal

Third Person Closed
11:59, she hit post.

Midnight hit. She closed her eyes in a hotel room fifty miles up the coast, and waited.

Nothing.

12:01... nothing.

12:07 (just in case)...

Thank god, nothing.

It was over. No more Tosh in her head, nagging her to play nice. No more worrying if she'd run into that cutting bastard in the street. No more job. No more playing nice, no more voice in her head, no more bullshit kindness police.

Just her, and her system, and about four thousand miles to a buddy of hers.

She'd spent most of the day yesterday selling what she could, pawning electronics, cashing out her savings accounts, all that. Half her luggage was cash. She was hiding it as she went, dumping it on to gift cards, building it into her car, all of it. She had enough to live good for months. And by then?

By then she'd have a way to get more. Her skills were a little rusty... but she was still damn good. The best.

Lenna stretched out, yawned, and contemplated takeout. Maybe Indian.