Unlikely Angel The Untold Story of the Atlanta Hostage Hero Chapter One Friday, March 11, 2005 At 9:45 p.m. my cell phone rang. I looked down at my caller ID-it was my step-dad calling from Augusta again. What could he want this time? "What are you doing?" he asked. I was exhausted, almost too tired to answer. I held the phone against my ear with my shoulder so I could carry a load of trash out of my second-floor apartment down to my car. I had been moving for two days. My new place was a smaller, bottom-level apartment on the other side of the complex. I didn't have much left to do here -- just some vacuuming and painting to return the place to its original condition. But I wasn't doing any of that tonight. I needed sleep. I was driving to Dacula in the morning to see Paige. "I'm moving the rest of my stuff," I said, trying to get down the stairs. Just please let me get off this phone. "You're out? There's a man on the loose and you're out? Haven't you been watching the news like I told you?" This was the second time my step-dad had called me about the guy on the news. The first time was late this morning when he woke me up calling. He kept talking about a man and shootings at the courthouse, and he told me to stay inside. I'd been up all night unpacking boxes, and I just didn't understand his concern. I mean, I lived in Duluth, maybe half an hour northeast of downtown Atlanta. "Thanks, but I'm not too worried about it," I had told him. I learned a little more about the story when I went to work later in the day. I'd just started a second job at Barnacle's, a restaurant maybe five minutes from my apartment complex. The news was playing on the TV screens when I got there, and I caught the basics: A man had killed some people at the Fulton County Courthouse and now he was on the run. My coworkers were talking about it a lot, but I didn't pay too much attention. Being from Augusta, I was used to hearing about violent crime in Atlanta. And I had a lot on my mind with the move anyway. "Look," I said to my step-dad now as I shut my car door and headed back up to the apartment, "this guy's not going to come after me. I mean, he could be anywhere." I thought back to the five police officers who had come into Barnacle's for dinner. I was training to work the door, and as the men were walking out, I heard someone ask them, "Hey, have y'all caught that guy yet?" "Oh, don't you worry about him," one officer said. "He's probably in Alabama by now." I tried to reassure my step-dad: "You know, an officer who came into the restaurant said the guy's probably in Alabama, so I'll be fine. I've just gotten off work, and I have a few more things to get out of here. Then I'm done. I'll be on my way to the other apartment in a few minutes. I promise." "Well, okay," my step-dad said. "Just get home and get inside and don't leave." "Okay. Fine." I loaded the rest of the trash into my car and drove the half mile or so to the other side of the apartment complex. I was thinking about what the next day would look like. I would see Paige in the morning. My Aunt Kim, who had custody of her right now, had brought her the two and a half hours from Augusta, and they were staying with my Uncle David's family in Dacula, about thirty miles northeast hostage of Atlanta toward Athens. We were all meeting up at Uncle David's church at ten o'clock for a kids' ministry Olympics day. Then I would work a day shift at Express in Gwinnett Place Mall and a night shift at Barnacle's. It would be a full day, and I felt completely shot right now. I knew I just had to get to bed. I couldn't let myself do any more unpacking tonight. Maybe one or two boxes, but that was it. Really, Ashley, you can't get sucked into this. I pulled up to my new apartment and parked right in front of the door. I didn't have far to carry my things, only ten or twelve steps up the walk. When I got inside, I pulled off my gray knit work shirt and black leather belt, which left me in a white tank top and a pair of baggy jeans. Then I turned on the TV in the living room. "Okay," I said, looking at the five or six boxes lined up in the middle of the floor. "Just one or two." While the news played in the background, I began unpacking the boxes and putting things where they belonged. The eight-by-ten photograph of Paige holding that red flower could go on top of my stereo speaker near the door. The two gold angel candleholders could sit on my picture table for now -- I was going to hang them on either side of that mirror propped up on the back of the sofa. Now and then as I worked I heard what the news anchors were saying: The man from the courthouse was still at large. He'd killed three people. There was something about a green Honda. I didn't hear much. Mainly, I was focused on getting my house the way I liked it. I knew exactly where I wanted things -- photographs, candles, lamps, books, knickknacks -- and I just kept going. At about eleven I stopped and smoked a couple of cigarettes. I only had one left in the pack now, but I purposely had not gone by the store after work to buy any more because I knew I was going to make it an early night. . . . Unlikely Angel The Untold Story of the Atlanta Hostage Hero . Copyright © by Ashley Smith. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Unlikely Angel: The Untold Story of the Atlanta Hostage Hero by Ashley Smith All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
