Free Broken Identity by Ashley Williams Page A

didn’t break in, get in a fight with Dad, and leave? No, they won’t be able to find me here. I can escape. Maybe this is just the kinda break I’ve been looking for.
    An alarm beeped and a red exclamation point lit up beside the gas tank level. “Oh, no,” Drake moaned. “Outta gas already?” He looked up just in time to see a large sign with the words “Welcome to Springfield, Illinois” printed boldly in white. “Springfield, eh?” he muttered to himself. He turned his attention back to the flashing red light and let out a long breath. “Might as well get used to it. Looks like Springfield’s gonna be my new home.”
    Drake knew he had a little more gas left in his tank but decided not to chance it. He made a quick U-turn and pulled into the small, used car lot he had seen a couple miles back. This old set of wheels probably isn’t worth a dime, but maybe I’ll be able to squeeze a few bucks out of it to give me some more food money. Won’t be no good to me anymore without gas.
    He parked his truck and wiped the sweat off his face. Presentable and not guilty—that was the key. Just a guy who wanted to sell his truck. A face everyone would see, then hopefully forget. Easy.
    Just as he was about to get out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and leaned back slowly in his seat. That’s…me? His whole complexion was masked in anger, as if his resentment had manifested itself into some sort of visible disease that had stained his entire face. And his eyes. They looked so strange, so different from ever before. Hollow. Cold. Like he would almost be willing to do anything to get what he wanted now.
    What is it I want? The question took him by surprise. He put his hand on the door, ready to go talk to the salesman about this truck so he could hit the road, not be lectured by his conscience. I want to be free, that’s what I want. To be left alone finally. I want to live without being screamed at and hated. I want to prove to the world that Drake Pearson doesn’t have to live at the bottom anymore. That’s what I want, and I finally got the chance to get it.
    He stepped out of his truck and jogged up the short flight of steps that led to the office building, but he stopped when he saw a sign posted on the door. “Some trust in chariots, and some in horses; but we will remember the name of the Lord our God” (Psalm 20:7). He read over the words again and wrinkled his brow. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. He tapped lightly on the door and hesitantly took a step inside. “Hello?”
    A tall, black man in his late forties stood and greeted him with a glowing smile. “Hello! Guess I didn’t even hear you drive up.”
    I ain’t here to buy any of your cars, pal. Drake forced a smile back and tried to remember to keep his words polite. Selling his truck might take about every trick in the book, so he extended his hand and kept smiling. “Good morning, sir,” he said, trying to sound as educated and respectful as possible.
    The man returned the greeting and identified himself as Bruno Gorman. “See anything you’re interested in, Mr.…”
    “Drake,” he answered politely. “Drake Pearson.” He wanted to slap himself as soon as he gave the man his last name. You idiot! What are you thinking throwing your last name out there when you’re a wanted man? How could you be so stupid? He tried to conceal his fear with another smile, but felt as if the look on his face was giving him away. Just another guy with nothing to hide, remember? Easy.
    Of course, Bruno didn’t seem to notice as he shuffled past Drake and held open the door for him. “Shall we take a look around outside then, Drake, or do you already have your eye on one?”
    “Sir…” Drake started, debating whether he should be direct with the man or leave now before getting laughed at. He could still leave. The man would think he was crazy, of course, but he could handle that much easier than being told by this upper-class