The Suicide Garden Part VI: Theif

She can’t breathe. The cold ice burrows itself deep into her throat and makes it difficult to think.
She’s got a coat hanger and one bag filled with personal belongings. The life in the city at night is haunting her, the imaginable presence of a cat, a bird, an unknown person following her down the back alleys of her mind. She quickens her pace as she maneuvers the hanger, attempting to reach the lock.
The keys are in the ignition, the window is slightly open, and the truck is parked behind an abandoned building. All sorts of fools can be found in the world. It’s not like she can complain though. She’s one of them.
Half an hour to dawn, four hours before he realizes she’s gone. Less, if she accidentally woke him up as she escaped out the window and down the fire escape ladder.
The lock won’t come open. She pulls the hanger clear of the window and readjusts it. It’s an old truck, and she needs it. It has no alarms or value, and will get her out of the city fast enough. Who would think of looking for her in an old blue pickup marked by patches of rust?
She wouldn’t, and neither will he.
The hanger isn’t working. She’s not thinking, really, as she moves and bangs her fists on the glass, sobbing. The temperature is dropping to ten below, a nice start of an average winter.
It was a split-second decision, really. In one quick move, the glass was gone. She had in her hand a brick from one of the ruined houses behind her. The window was open and she reached in to unlock the door, climbed over the glass on the seat, and started the ignition.
She’d be gone by the time he woke up, and then the hunt would begin.