Free In Cold Blonde by James L. Conway

Syd, afraid for her mother’s life, afraid to lose another father
figure, submitted her body to repeated abuse.  Once she tried to tell her
mother, but as soon as Mom realized where the conversation was going, she shut
her daughter up.  She didn’t want to hear what she suspected.  She didn’t
want to lose another husband, no matter how high a price her daughter had to
pay.
    Always a loner with few friends, the shame and guilt of her stepfather’s
abuse isolated Syd even more.  She felt trapped and truly alone.
    Then, late one cold February night, Syd heard Doctor Jay pull into the
garage.  On nights when Doctor Jay worked this late, he usually came
upstairs to Syd’s bedroom and stinking of bourbon, would slip into her
bed.  But tonight, she didn’t hear the dreaded sound of the car being shut
off, the garage door closing, the kitchen door opening and his feet on the
staircase.  Tonight she just heard the sound of the car, idling in the
garage.
    She realized he’d probably fallen asleep after pulling into the
garage.  It had happened before.  Too bad he didn’t close the garage
door, she thought.  Then the car’s exhaust would’ve filled the garage and
he’d die of carbon monoxide poisoning.
    Epiphany.  Just because he didn’t close the door didn’t mean someone
else couldn’t.  She tiptoed into the hallway and peaked in her mother’s
room – she was out, snoring.  Syd snuck down the stairs and silently
opened the door to the garage.  Yep, there he was, asleep behind the wheel
of his BMW.    
    Syd put her finger on the garage door button and hesitated.  She knew
pushing it meant going through a one-way door.  She’d be a murderer. 
If caught, she could go to jail.  If God was more than a psychological
crutch, she could go to hell.  But if Doctor Jay was dead, she’d be
free. 
    She pushed the button.
    His asphyxiation was ruled an accidental death.  Syd had gotten away
with murder.  
    But if Syd thought getting rid of Doctor Jay would fix her life, she was
wrong.  Her mother plummeted into alcohol-drenched mourning.  She
took her grief out on Syd, snapping at her, hitting her.  Then her Mom had
the audacity to throw Doctor Jay’s molestations at Syd, accusing her daughter
of trying to seduce her husband, trying to steal him away.  That did
it.  After committing cold-blooded murder, the decision to run away seemed
easy.   
    Where to go?  Why Hollywood, of course.  Syd had always
daydreamed about being a famous actress.  That’s where her mind would flee
when Doctor Jay would paw her. 
    Syd had some money saved, almost two thousand dollars, enough to get to
L.A.  The rest; finding a place to live, getting a car, finding an agent,
Syd figured, would take care of themselves.  The next morning, instead of
going to school, Syd boarded a Greyhound bus. 
    Three days later, a stiff and bleary-eyed Syd finally pulled into Hollywood. 
 It was midnight when she stepped into a practically deserted bus station. 
She looked at a wall full of hotel advertisements, found a cheap motel about
three blocks away and started walking down Cahuenga Boulevard. 
    The adrenaline that had fueled Syd’s escape had drained by now, leaving
her bedraggled, inside and out.  She had a purse, a backpack and a
suitcase which she rolled behind her. 
    A van suddenly screeched to a stop next to her, the side door slid open
and three men leapt out.  They grabbed Syd, shoved her into an
alley.  One guy snatched the suitcase, another used a knife to cut the
straps of the backpack and the third ripped the purse out of her hands. 
    They were Hispanic, wired on something, twitchy.  Two of the men
tossed the goods in the van as the third man pressed Syd against the alley
wall, shoved his hand under her blouse and said, “Don’t scream, don’t fight and
you might live.”  His pupils were the size of golf balls.  He pressed
himself against her as the other two returned, lust in their eyes.