You ask him to meet you there.
You are warned the killers are on site at the Arkansas hotel where you resided in fear for one year and you have one hour to escape. You grab your laptop and handbag, pray solemnly, dash downstairs and outside to your Chevy Blazer. You see two young men watching you from a window.
You zig-zag across the country with five thousand dollars cash, a paper map, and the car radio. You are run off a mountain highway near the Grapevine in California and transported to Bakersfield. You walk away with only the blood-spattered clothing on your back.
You ask him to meet you here.