~RUNAWAY STATISTICS~

RUNNING YOUR WHOLE LIFE

Most of my life I ran to all the wrong things too; including abusive relationships...

That's why I wrote Run For Your Life

~STOP RUNNING~

If you need to be set free from a painful life of abuse, or need to change direction Run For Your Life is the book for you!

Below...

NEW RELEASE!!! Hot off the Press!

Run For Your Life is a true-based thriller of Lisa's life as an abused teenage runaway.

Leaving home at 13, Lisa is persuaded to leave home with her older boyfriend. She ends up finding herself in a whole new world of trouble as she hitchhikes all over the United States. From scorching heat in Florida, rising floods in Texas, and a deadly blizzard in Colorado, she faces all the elements the road throws at her head on.

Each ride takes her on a new chilling adventure, filled with twists and turns, as she unknowingly jumps into cars with convicts, crooks, and lunatics. Even her own boyfriend turns on her.

Who can she trust? Where can she run? Where can she hide?  No one will know until the last page is turned.

*On her quest for love, freedom, and the need to belong, Lisa also comes to terms with her spiritual side. Is God real? Can He hear her when she prays? If so, will He deliver her in time?

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Heading south, we hiked up the entrance ramp to Interstate-75. Luckily, we didn’t have to stand in the blistering heat long. Within minutes, two guys in a brand new, shiny car pulled off to the side of the road and honked. 

We ran to the car like kids running to an ice cream truck.

The passenger lowered his window. “Hop in,” he said with a hillbilly kind of slur. “We’re headin’ to Florida.”

He kind of reminded me of a rough neck, biker dude, from the 50’s. I didn’t know if his hair was purposely greased back or just plain dirty. Something about him just looked out of place. Maybe it was his crooked jaw, his dark, wild eyes, or the way he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. But whatever it was, my gut told me to turn around and run.  

I glanced at the driver. He didn’t look any better. Why would two grease monkeys like them have a sweet car like this? I wondered.

Before I could say anything, Bill jumped right in and scooted all the way over. He patted the seat and I slid in next to him. He had a huge smile on his face. The air conditioning did feel good and with the tinted windows, we were shaded from the sun. I didn’t know if my chills were from the cold air or because we had taken another bad ride. My stomach whirled at the thought. Then I spotted a Bible on the dash. A warm feeling settled over me like a soft fuzzy blanket. Maybe they’re not so bad.

As I stared at the Bible, my mind flashed back to when I was a little girl. “I had a nightmare,” I said, nudging my mom from a sound sleep.

She slipped her robe on, took my hand, and led me down to the living room. Taking her Bible, she opened it, sat down beside me on the couch and started reading. I don’t even remember what chapter she read that night, but I do know that when I went back to bed I slept the rest of the night.

My eyes focused back to the Bible on the dash. “So, what’s the Bible for?”

They laughed. The driver patted it. “I guess you could say good luck.” They burst out laughing again.

The passenger unrolled the pack of cigarettes from his sleeve and lit one up, and turned around. “Yeah, my friend here just got out of prison,” he said blowing the smoke in our faces, “and finally they let me out of the nut house.” He took a gulp from a bottle in a brown bag. When he lifted his arm, I saw scars on his wrists covered in scabs. Wiping his chin, he burped really loud, and held the bag up. “Here’s to freedom!” He hooted and hollered, guzzling down another swallow.

I wanted to be free too, but not like this. Suddenly our house in Georgia with all its little problems didn’t sound so bad. Bill and I exchanged glances.

We’ve gotta get out of here. I tried to think of a plan without making them suspicious. I glanced out the window. The white lines in the center of the road blurred together like one long line. I looked at the door, then at the speedometer. Jumping out at 85 would be suicide—especially in the passing lane.

What are we going to do?! I almost hoped a cop would pull us over. But I hadn’t seen one in like forever.

I glanced at Bill. He had that wild look in his eye. It was the same look he had the day he came up with the idea to run away. Good, he’s got a plan! I sat back and waited. We rode in silence for miles. Why isn’t he doing something? Every few minutes I’d look at him and he’d give me that “I know what I’m doing” kind of glare.

The passenger kept turning around, looking me up and down, and giving Bill a devilish smile.

Finally, just as we crossed the Florida state line, Bill leaned forward. “Hey man, this is our exit.” 

The driver sped up.

“I don’t think you heard me,” Bill said, even louder. “This is where--”

“Sit back and shut up!” the passenger pulled out a gun. He cocked the trigger and pointed it in Bill’s face. “You’re not goin’ anywhere!”

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