Miraculously, I see my coat on a hook peeking out from the cloakroom just behind the front door.

The cold hits me like a hard slap as I step outside. I look at my phone in my hand. Jaxon’s at my father’s house so there’s no use calling him. I could go straight to the airport but the last time I saw my passport was in Melody’s bag. I need to find her. She said she was going to a festival; how many of those can there be? She also said she found the festival online, so I’ll just retrace her steps and get the address.

‘Sky.’ I hear my father’s voice from the restaurant door as I’m deciding which way to turn. ‘It’s freezing, come back in and we can talk at home.’

I start running towards the main street. It’s Saturday night, there must be a taxi somewhere. I have American dollars in my bag; I can make it to wherever Melody is. Good guy. Father–daughter. Nothing has meaning anymore.

The road’s empty. I run across, not looking back, and continue for as long as my lungs hold up and then start to walk. But it’s too cold; my fingers are ice and so is my face—I left my gloves and hat in the cloakroom. I run again, my chest burning. Meanwhile, I’m holding my phone trying to find signs of a festival on the internet. My fingers are struggling to work, the screen’s jiggling, and I’m not having any luck. Where is she? Maybe a taxi driver would know. Melody said ‘south’, that’s something. I turn right onto a busier road and look out for a passing taxi. Nothing. I don’t want my father to find me so I keep going. At least the running is keeping my body warm-ish.

My phone rings—it’s him. I flick it to silent so I don’t have to hear it.

About five minutes later, I see a bus stop. I scan both ways, still no sign of a taxi. Guess I’ll wait for a bus. There’s a bar behind me, a neon sign flickering with Mug Shot Saloon, and suddenly I hear shouting and loud laughter. A big group of lumberjack-looking men spill out, and a few seem to be arguing drunkenly. The street is otherwise deserted. One of the men spots me, points, slaps the other on the back and then they all turn to look. I feel their eyes bore into me, predator-like, and my skin prickles.

A big vehicle approaches and, in the dark, I can’t tell what it is.

It pulls up next to me and I see it’s a large freight truck. The passenger door opens wide.