How Could I Possibly Be Inconspicuous Novels & Stories

"Same person, different packaging. Time to remind everyone including Cross that we're too ordinary to be interesting." "This is either brilliant or catastrophic." "With our lives, it's usually both." My phone buzzed. Rebecca's response: Would love to! Saturday at 7? I typed back: Perfect. See you then. And just like that, we committed to the most dangerous strategy yet. Hiding in plain sight. Being so visible, so social, so perfectly normal that Cross would have to conclude we weren't the people Morrison was looking for. Because fugitives didn't host dinner parties. Didn't make friends.

It was imperative to keep this escape discreet. Pulling up the collar of my jacket and tucking my long hair underneath, I obscured my appearance. With no makeup applied, I hoped I wouldn't resemble the stock photos that would undoubtedly accompany news of my demise. Perhaps that would work to my advantage, though luck had not been on my side thus far.

I just wish to blend in, to be invisible. I force myself to slow my breathing, count to ten, then count again. I press my palms flat against my thighs and force my shoulders down because I know movement draws eyes. I tuck my chin a little more so the dirt on my face is less visible. I smooth the edge of my sleeve with one thumb, a small useless motion that at least keeps my hands busy.

I scanned my surroundings, my heart thudding louder with each second. There was nowhere to hide it. Nowhere discreet enough to remove it and carry on unnoticed. I jogged down the street, my trainers hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. The sound was almost soothing, the repetition giving my mind space to think. Then I saw it. A bench. The idea came suddenly, sharp and clear. I slowed, slipped the ring off my finger, and walked towards the bench as though stretching. Sitting down, I casually slid the ring into the hollow metal of the backrest, nudging it deeper with my fingertip. I placed a small stone over the opening, nothing obvious, nothing that would draw attention.

I guess she could wear a garbage bag and still look good. I had seen her before at parties, but I doubted she ever noticed me. Most didn’t. It bothered me before, but now I see it as a strength. I could be the best tracker if I could vanish without being noticed. Everyone would notice someone like Sue, but I could hide in plain sight. "Are you done staring?" Sue asked. Well, at least she had some guts. "Sorry, so what did you want to know?" I asked.

I could only pray and hope that I wouldn't lose my way in this vast company. To avoid drawing too much attention, I decided to clean the staircase, as I was unfamiliar with the layout of the place. While I toiled, a few individuals cast peculiar glances and whispered in hushed tones, but no one confronted me directly or obstructed my path. This compelled me to retreat to the stairs, where I knew I could avoid encountering anyone for a while.

Just grass and dirt and that hollow look in his eyes. He doesn’t know I’m here. He never does. That’s the beautiful part. People always think you have to be invisible to go unnoticed. Like you have to hide, or dress in black, or creep around like a ghost. But that’s not true. You just have to look like you belong. Smile when they expect you to. Nod at the right moments. Laugh when everyone else does—even if your stomach twists while doing it. That’s how you blend in. That’s how you disappear in plain sight.

Maxton’s POV I kept my head slightly lowered as I moved through the hallway, my steps measured, not too fast or too slow. The workers around me barely spared a glance in my direction, and that was exactly how I wanted it. Invisible. Unnecessary would do my course no good. I needed to be just another body passing through. Still, I kept my senses sharp. Every footstep behind me sounded like suspicion. Every glance felt like recognition. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder too often, that would only signal that I had no place being here in the first place.

It made me invisible. I practiced walking without making the bed creak. I learned the way the hearth threw light and where the shadows lay deep enough to hide my shape. I catalogued doors that didn’t latch tight, hinges that hadn’t been oiled in years, the dark corner in the pantry where I could press myself flat and be breathing but not visible. Each small discovery was a notch on a map I carried in my head.