Can't Bear To Run (Kendal Creek Bears, #1) Page 6

  I told you I’d watched a lot of cop shows.

  Somewhere around Omaha, the fumes I’d been running on – adrenaline, coffee, and those weird little energy shots – started to run out. Nothing was helping. I passed a motel that was almost certainly the place where more than one serial killer hid out at some point. The walls were flaking brown stucco and the parking lot was filled with parked semi-trucks. Not that I have anything against truckers, it’s just that those sorts of places tend to harbor mask-wearing villains that like to rip women’s guts out.

  Uh, in the movies anyway.

  With visions of machete killers dancing through my mind, I pulled into the first motel I came across that didn’t look like the sort of place you rent by the hour when you just really need to pull off and doink your old lady. It was nice enough. James, the guy at the desk, was old and smiled too much, but it was fine. He even cut me a deal since I was renting the room so late and leaving the next morning.

  As dawn spread gray tendrils across the wide open sky, I turned the old brass doorknob and stumbled into my room. I was so absolutely wiped out that I would’ve slept through a crying baby on an airplane. As I fell into the bed and flicked on the TV, it really hit me.

  I was free.

  Not free in the liberated sense, but free from, well, literally everything.

  Except in the back of my mind, it really, really didn’t feel like it. It seemed like I was trapped by that freedom, by the fact that I was absolutely alone to my fate. Just me and the open road, and God knows what on the horizon. It sounds very romantic and appealing – hell, it did to me when I started out – but a few lonely hours in a hotel when you haven’t been alone in as long as a girl can remember, well, it does funny things to her head.

  Then again, I’d been awake for over twenty-four hours at that point, and so passing the hell out was a lot more appealing than ruminating on the future. My dreams though, had a different idea.

  *

  When I woke to the blaring alarm on my phone, sun lay across the paisley comforter in a languid, yellow pool. The room was frigid, with the little AC unit turned to 65, and I was a happy girl. Warm and safe under the surprisingly luxurious blankets, I didn’t much want to move. The most I managed for almost an hour was to turn on the TV and stare blankly at the local weatherman who had a slicked over mop of silver hair and a seersucker suit.

  “Well hi there, Andy,” I said to the man on the screen. It’s a habit of mine, talking to things that can’t talk back. Just seems easier, I guess. The weather looked good – nary a hint of rain the rest of the way to Denver. Open road, clear skies. Hard to ask for more.

  Except the ghost in the back of my mind wasn’t so willing to sit down and shut up. Impatient and unwelcome flashes of the dreams I’d had the night before kept swimming through my head. Images of Dan in awful states loomed in my brain. But the worst of them weren’t the ghastly images, rather they were ones where he was whole and angry.

  And coming for me.

  Intellectually I knew he couldn’t find me. There wasn’t a single trace left behind. No notes, no emails, and I’d bought a burner phone on the way out of town. I’d been smart enough also to use only cash, so he couldn’t read credit card records. All of that, of course, assumes he’d want to find me in the first place. But then again, this is Dan Dodson we’re talking about, so of course he wanted to find me. Not so much because he wanted me, but I knew he wasn’t going to give up on something he considered his property. He’d never been the sort.

  The fretting was pointless, I knew that. Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Moments later, images of that stranger – the impossible guy who I was almost convinced didn’t exist outside my imagination – came to my mind, breaking Dan’s spell.

  By the time I snapped out of it, the local news had been replaced by a TV doctor talking about some new colon cleanse that made him feel like a new man. “Right,” I said. “If all it took was an enema, we’d all be singing in the streets.”

  I laughed at my own joke, more for the comfort of hearing laughter than at my own wit, but admittedly, it was a pretty good zinger.

  The phone on the desk chimed. I reached over and grabbed the eggshell colored handset and lifted it to my ear to be greeted by a recorded message. “Hello, room 107, please be advised that checkout is in five minutes.”

  “Shit,” I grunted, and heaved myself up off the mattress. Immediately I wanted to be back under the covers, but somehow I was still in bed and it was almost eleven. When you’re trying to make tracks across the country, lazing about for half a day isn’t really the best idea, so with a heavy heart, I jumped in the shower, scalded myself for a couple of minutes and then climbed out.

  The water was so hot that my skin was pink and prickly. My loose-hanging oversized Transformers shirt and old, holey-kneed jeans felt good after the heat. The main thing though, was that I was wearing whatever I wanted.

  “You need a man who likes your dork,” I told myself. “Right, like I need a man at all. I’m past that shit. Too much trouble.”

  Grabbing my duffel bag, I gave myself one last look in the mirror and pulled my hair back into a ponytail before heading out to the office.

  Receipt in hand, I wandered slowly to my Jeep and gave one final look back to the place that had served has my safe haven for the first night of my new life. There was a certain gravity to the whole thing. I felt like I’d turned a corner of some sort, that even though I’d been “alone” for a couple of weeks, that this was really the new beginning I’d taken so long to find.

  I still had no idea why I was going to Denver.

  Then again, I had no real clue what I was doing at all. It was as good a place as any.

  GPS on, radio turned up. “Got a half-tank of gas, a pack of cigarettes and I’m five hundred miles from Denver,” I said, paraphrasing The Blues Brothers, although I had a mostly full tank of gas, and hadn’t smoked any cigarettes since college, and I was much closer than a thousand miles. But come on, it ain’t every day you get to quote The Blues Brothers in a contextually accurate way.

  Looking over at the phone I bought, I half expected a dozen texts from Dan. Or a bunch of emails, or maybe some missed calls.

  Oh right, I cut myself off from everything I know.

  Some days, it was hard to know that I can’t ever go home. Other times? It seems like I never had a home at all, and that made running even easier.

  -8-

  Of All The Damn Places...

  I’ve never in my entire life watched my speedometer like I did along the stretch of road between Nebraska and Colorado. Every time a patrol car went past me, or I saw one stopped on the side of the road, my throat got all tight, and I had to tell myself to calm down. It was so stupid. So, so, stupid. He couldn’t find me, I wasn’t even a suspect, and honestly it was sort of a long shot to think he was even still alive.

  I kept thinking back to Detective Morgan and his slightly awkward but earnest demeanor. I’d never been afraid like this, not even in the worst times with Dan. I kept on telling myself it would get easier as time went by, but that’s a hard sell to someone who gets sweaty palms and pit rings with every single police sighting she has.

  “Get a grip, Raine,” I told myself, loudly enough to go over the top of whatever guitar solo butt-rock song was on the radio. “You’ll find someone, everything will be fine.”

  I gulped, hard. That was the first time I’d vocalized the idea that I was looking for someone. Maybe I’d been wishing for someone to actually love me since Dan stopped almost as soon as we tied the knot. It was a scary thought to entertain, that I’d been trapped like that, but it was impossible to ignore.

  The woop-woop of a siren caught me off guard. I glanced at my speed. “Son of a bitch,” I swore.

  For a moment, I entertained the thought that it wasn’t me the cop wanted, but some other person who had sped past. Then again, I was going almost a hundred miles an hour.

  It took every ounce of self-contro
l in my body to not punch the gas and try to escape. I might be a little unhinged from time to time, but crazy, I’m not. I knew it was just a speeding ticket. That’s all it could be. But damn if my pit stains hadn’t grown.

  After a few moments of gut wrenching waiting, the officer trundled up to my window and waited while I cranked it down. “Uh, hi, officer,” I said, smiling meekly.

  “License and registration, ma’am,” he said with the sort of bored voice a person only has when they’ve been doing the same thing for way too long. He hooked a thumb in his belt. “Ma’am?”

  “Oh, sorry,” I jolted. “Been driving a long time. Here.” I handed over the paperwork, and tried my best to keep my hand still, though it didn’t work very well.

  “Could you turn that down, please?” he asked. I felt like a pure-bred jackass with the radio cranked up, but somehow I hadn’t even noticed. “Massachusetts? You’re a long way from home... Mrs. Dodson,” he read from my license. “Do you know how fast you were going?”

  Briefly I flirted with the idea of trying to play ignorant, but in my current situation, that would have been almost as stupid as trying to run. “Yes sir, 95.”

  “I clocked you at... er, well yeah, 95. Sorry, it’s usually more of a back and forth at that part. What are you all the way out here for?”

  His slight smile relaxed me somewhat. “I was just taking a long weekend to see a concert in Denver. Meeting a friend.” That was a lie, but it made more sense than the truth.

  “No drugs in the vehicle?”

  I shook my head.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “Little early for that, I think.”

  The little joke made him curl his bushy mustache into a smile. “Suppose so. Well look, I should give you a ticket, but let’s be real. You live across the country, and I doubt you’re the bad sort. You watch out at that concert though. From what I hear, it’s going to be a wild time. Not that I’d know.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, smiling back. “I’m not planning on having any wild times. I’m a little too old for all that.”

  “I know how that is,” he said. “You hang out here for a second, I’ll go run this and if you’re clear I’ll be back in a minute. Hang tight.”

  Every shred of anxiety flooded my mind when he walked off. A rush of adrenaline gave me a few seconds of that awful hyper-awareness that it does when you crest the hill on a rollercoaster and feel your heart jump into your throat. My hands were so soaked with sweat that when I clenched the wheel, it squeaked. Before I knew it, he was back.

  “Right, Mrs. Dodson, I’m sure this is no surprise, but you’re clean. You’d be surprised how many people speed when they’ve got warrants out on them. I can’t imagine anything dumber, but... what do I know?” He hitched his thumb on his belt again.

  “Yeah, I’m not much for getting out,” I said. If only you knew.

  “Anyway, here you go. Warning for the speeding. If you’re tired, you should stop off and get some rest. Long drives are the most dangerous, you know.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, “I will.”

  He gave a tired sigh and tapped twice on the hood of my Jeep. “This thing still running,” he remarked, almost to himself. “That’s a good thing. They don’t make ‘em like they used to. This an ’84?”

  I knew he was just being friendly, and was probably bored, but every second the kindly cop was near my car, my stomach kept getting closer and closer to my throat. “’85,” I said. “First car I ever bought.”

  He arched an eyebrow, nodding as he did. “Well anyways, you have a good day. Have fun at that concert, and be careful. Those things can get out of hand quickly.”

  I swallowed hard. “Will do.”

  As soon as he was gone, I let out what might be a world record sigh.

  “In one quarter mile, take exit 102 toward Denver, Colorado,” the slightly British voice from my GPS yammered. “Recalculating. Recalculating.”

  “Recalculating,” I repeated her plea. “Sounds good. Let’s recalculate.”

  I swung Booger around in a wide circle and was back on my way. Somehow, my heart managed to stay in my chest. For that, at least, I was glad.

  *

  With my ticket in hand, a tent slung across my back, head full of caffeine and belly full of convenience store hot dogs, I climbed out of my car in a field packed with cars parked every which way. A sudden need to pee struck me, so I set out in search of the wall of a green, plastic toilet I figured I’d find.

  What I didn’t figure on finding was the guy I saw standing in front of them.

  He had long brown hair, hanging in shaggy curls around his huge shoulders. His eyes were flashing in the sun, an almost golden color, and he was big. I don’t mean big like ‘oh he must lift weights’ either. I mean big like ‘oh he probably works for a circus.’ As I devoured every single detail of his impressive countenance, a slow realization crept over me – it was him.

  “Get outta the way!” he bellowed, and grabbed an irritated looking guy with a sideways cap and a really thick, gold necklace around his pencil neck. “Can’t you see she needs in here?”

  All of a sudden, it hit me right in the stomach. Holy Shit. It couldn’t be him, could it? I mean him-him. My stranger? My... God, I realized that while I was staring at him, he was fixed right on me, too.

  “Hey man,” the little guy said. “Calm down, I was in line first.”

  “Come here!” the guy shouted. “This little jackass can wait.”

  I smiled at him politely, and waited for whoever was lucky enough to have that as a chaperone to head into the green, plastic toilet box. My stomach turned a flip, then wadded up into a ball. I clenched my hands into fists, slightly horrified at how wet they’d gotten.

  “Let me go!”

  “Shut up!” the giant bellowed. “You’re just going in there to snort whatever it is you have in your pocket. You’re not fooling anyone. I can smell it from a mile away.”

  “What?” the little man kicked his sockless feet. “You... huh?”

  “Shut up! Come on in before I snap his neck.”

  Oh my God, I looked around to find no one else in my immediate vicinity. Is he talking to me? No way he knows who I am, this is just too crazy.

  I pointed at myself and arched my eyebrow. He couldn’t possibly be talking to me. My life doesn’t work like this.

  He nodded, and grinned broadly. “Come on!”

  Unsure, and still questioning exactly what I’d done to deserve such bizarrely gallant restroom chivalry, I slowly made my way toward him. “Me?”

  “You see any other beautiful women with enchanting eyes and delicious lips anywhere around?”

  I felt myself blush deeply, but I was smiling at the same time. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone said anything remotely like that to me, but damn it felt good, even if he was just being a hammy meathead.

  “Uh, I guess not?” I asked. “But... why not let that guy go first?”

  The little shrimp kicked his legs, which were dangling a full six inches off the ground.

  “Because I’ve got a heart of gold. I help old women cross the street and make sure gorgeous women who look like they’ve needed to hit the head for a few hours use the toilet before college twerps with a coke habit. And don’t think I don’t remember you.”

  Holy shit, I thought. There’s no way. No possible way. I opened my mouth and started to say something, but my lips just flapped in the breeze.

  “Hey! Lemme go, jackass!”

  The little fella was really having a tough time being manhandled, but it was pretty funny, I have to admit.

  “Anyway, he’s been cutting in line all day. I figured it was finally time for someone to step in and take care of him. Go on in. When you’re done, I’ll buy you a beer to start filling you back up again.”

  I could not believe what was happening. Either way, I did really, really have to pee, so I bashfully stepped into the chemical toilet and pinched my nose clos
ed as I looked at the other people who were all standing around, gawking.

  As soon as the door was locked and I was safely inside with my new friend shouting orders outside, I let myself breathe. Only once or twice though, because God almighty did that place smell like a mixture of sadness, hell, and music festival.

  I’d never been to one before, but I could imagine they weren’t the freshest, rosiest smelling places on earth.

  When I emerged, a little lightheaded from whatever it was they had in the bottom of the latrine, the giant was standing there with his hands on his hips in an almost preposterous Superman-esque pose. The guy with the crooked hat was gone, and it seemed like order had been restored.

  “Lines are moving like they should,” he said.

  “Are you some kind of hall monitor?” I asked, accepting his outstretched hand and shaking it. He had one of those grips you can just tell would be able to either crush your hand or rip your arm off if he wanted. Also, his skin was warm – like, really warm, way more than it should have been, even given the heat.

  He laughed with such force that I felt the tones in my belly. “No,” he said. “Just here for the weekend. Daxon Mark,” he said.

  “Is that who’s playing?” I realized as I asked that we had wandered away from the toilets, and were relatively alone in an expanse of field. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

  “In a manner of speaking, I guess so,” he said. “Although I’m not really playing, and I wasn’t lying earlier. You have eyes that I could stare at for days.”