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Grand Junction Ch. 01

By: Transverse



Hey everyone! For those of you who read "There'll Always Be Music," you'll recognize the characters immediately. You don't technically have to read it to follow this story, but you really should; it'll clarify a lot of things. So do yourself a favor and go read it; I won't do back story here.

There won't be a ton of crazy sex in this series. I know that's what a lot of the stories in this category are about, but I'm going to take time to develop the characters in this story, so if you're looking for a quick stroke-n-run, you should leave now. ; ) I think it's important to make characters as real as possible, so that when they finally do have intimate moments, they actually mean something and carry real weight, like they do in life. 

I hope you enjoy the ride. It's gonna be bumpy. 

-T 

*

Erie closed the drawer to his desk, packing the last of the paper clips and toothpicks into a small brown box on his lap. He picked up the framed picture on the tabletop and put it in the box, too, careful to avoid scratching the glass. He closed the box, using tape he had stolen from the supply room to hold it shut. 

He stood, smiling, and headed out of his cubicle. He stopped, remembering that he'd left his camera under the desk. He picked it up, balancing it on top of the box, and headed out to his car.

It was no surprise that he'd almost left the camera behind; he was primarily an editor now, and couldn't remember the last time he had taken a photo. After college, he'd had these lofty dreams of opening his own studio, but they had gone out the window pretty quickly; when Ever Lasting called and offered him a job as a senior editor, he'd dropped his paper bowl of ramen noodles onto the floor of his shitty studio, almost crying with relief. 

At first he had loved it (well, as much as he was able to love anything anymore); he was able to teach high school students and college freshmen beginner's techniques and see their joy and pride at turning out professional products. Eventually, though, even their smiles had ceased to move him. After the last group of kids had passed through his novice class, he had quit the tutoring and focused on editing the shots of the stock photographers. 

That was nice for a while, too - the routine and predictability of the problems he'd face was comforting and made him feel more in control of things. But he realized, when even that failed, that finding himself again wasn't going to happen. He'd left his letter of resignation on Harry's desk that morning.

So, he unlocked the doors of his car, opening the rear left to place his belongings on the floor of the back seat. He got into the front seat, started the car, and joined the freeway at Sunset Boulevard.

As he sat motionless behind an F-150 waiting for the cars ahead to begin moving, he sighed, feeling at peace for the first time in years. He was finally finished. The editing, the mentoring, the smiling in people's faces, the accounting were all done for good, and he could relax.

He'd thought coming to California would help. There was a lot of sunshine, and beaches, and happy, friendly people. It had only worked for a little while, just like all of his other ideas. He sighed, letting his foot off the brake now that traffic was flowing. It was okay. Nobody could say he hadn't tried.

He arrived at his apartment, kicking off his shoes in the entranceway. He set the box down on a table, moving toward his bedroom. He stopped at the hall closet, pulling out a bottle of red wine and a glass out of the small rack he had inside. He continued to his bedroom, humming a song he'd learned a few years before, at Christmastime.

He sat down on his bed, placing the wine and the glass on his bedside table. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a framed painting. He stared at it, as he did every day. This time though, he was grinning.

"Hey, babe," he said, scooting back on the bed. He picked up the bottle, filling the glass. He took a sip.

"You'll never guess what I did today," He continued, his grin fading to a wistful smile. Nobody answered, but that was alright; he'd stopped hearing Loren's voice a long time before. It had been one of the first things to go.

"I quit with the studio," he said. "I tried, I really did, but it's just too difficult..." he looked away, then looked back. His grin returned, and he took a deep breath.

"It's okay, though," he said. "It's time I faced the truth anyway. I'm nothing without you, Loren. I don't know why I thought I could do this." He downed the rest of the glass and set it on the nightstand. 

"So," he said, yawning, "It's time for us to take that trip we talked about in the green room, do you remember? Of course you do. I've already called about the tickets, and they said it would take about five days without delays, but there are always delays, so it'll probably be like a week and a half or so. Especially if we stop to take pictures. And we will, 'cause I miss taking pictures." He looked down at the picture again, and for the first time in the After-Time, he didn't feel like breaking. Tears filled his eyes, sure they did, but this time he was glad of them. They were relief tears. Happy ones. 

"You have no idea how happy I am about this, Loren," he said. He brought the portrait up to his face, and kissed it, long and slow. When he set it back down on the bed, his tears had stopped, and he laid back onto his pillows, eyes closed. 

He was leaving his room now, the one in the apartment in the Valley, and he was going back, back to the Before-Time, when the sky was blue and the ground was white.

They were in the house, and it was after New Year's. The bed was rumpled and the pillows were nowhere in sight, but Loren lay beside him, stroking his chest. Erie opened his eyes and saw him, and Loren smiled.

"That was quite a night. I guess." he said, giggling. He hiccupped. "Do you remember anything? I don't."

Erie laughed too, rolling onto his side and wrapping his legs around Loren's. They kissed, and before long, Loren was inside him, filling him. Erie's toes grasped the sheets, and his back rose up off the bed. 

Erie did his best to take a deep breath, and his hands looped around Loren's back, trying to pull him closer, deeper. Loren's face hovered directly above his, and they stared into each other's eyes, not blinking, as Loren started to move in and out. He was empty, and then full, and then empty again, and each time Loren came back inside him he could feel every ridge and valley and crest, and it was so sweet-

Erie's body shuddered as he came, not caring that he still had his pants on. His hand rubbed the crotch, moving the zipper back and forth over his cock even after it had stopped spurting. His hands slid to his sides, and he drew deep, ragged breaths. Sometimes if he kept his eyes closed after he came, he could feel Loren laying on top of him, and he did so now, comforted by the weight. He fell asleep, smiling at the ceiling.

*

He sold his car to a man named Nathan Roberts in Pleasanton, New Jersey for forty thousand dollars. The shippers came to pick it up the next day, and after they had gone, he packed for Hawaii. He took a cab to the airport, and only after he had boarded the plane did he call his father.

"Hello," a man said. He yawned. 

"Hey, Dad!" Erie said, loud.. It must have been a little too loudly, too, because the man next to him gave him a strange look. Fuck him.

"Erie?" he said. He didn't sound at all tired now. "Is everything okay?"

"It's great, Dad!" He laughed. "It's really wonderful! I - I don't even know how to tell you...I just - God, I can't wait to see you!"

"See me? Are you coming here?"

"Yeah, I'm in-flight, right now. Man, I feel like...This is the first time in so long that I haven't felt sad when I talked to you guys...is Mom there? Can I talk to her?"

"She went in to work early today," he said. He laughed. "I can't believe it, Erie. I was really, really worried about you, you know? After Loren died, I was really afraid you wouldn't make it..."

"Me too," Erie said. "But I feel fantastic now....all of a sudden I don't feel trapped anymore. I'm free to do whatever I want, and feel good if I want to, because..."

"What?"

"Well, I feel good. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

"Yeah," he said. He laughed again. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. What time do you land?"

"Eight-twenty," he said. 

"I'll call your mother; she'll want to see you. We'll be in the Taurus."

"Great. See you guys soon. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, son," he said. "I love you, too."

The plane landed an hour or so later, though it seemed like the blink of an eye to Erie. He raced ahead of everyone else to get his bags, then headed out to the pickup area. He spotted his father's car immediately, and jogged over to it, beaming. His dad popped the trunk and Erie tossed his bags inside. He opened one of the rear doors and tumbled into the back seat, closing it behind him. He leaned into the front seat, kissing his mother on the cheek and then turning to hug his father. He settled back, and they pulled out of the passenger area and onto the little airport highway.

"Well, aren't you in a good mood?" she said, turning to smile at him. Erie grinned.

"I told you, Annie," Lester said. Erie could hear the grin in his voice. 

Erie laughed, loud and long. His mother looked back at him. "You guys have no idea how I feel," he said. "I can't wait to get back to the house. When was the last time I even visited?"

"Three years, babe," she said, facing the windshield again. Her brow was still wrinkled, but Erie thought he'd done okay, just the same. "So what happened? What changed? You were having such a hard time..."

"I dunno," he said. "It was like I woke up one day and I was just tired of being sad. Like, I just felt like I had to stop grieving, you know? I'll always miss Loren, but I'll see him again one day. For now, I just have to live my life. Really live it."

The wrinkle in Annie's brow straightened out, and she smiled. "I'm really, really glad you feel that way, baby."

They arrived at the house a few minutes later, and Erie jumped out as soon as the car came to a stop. The door was unlocked, and he headed inside, looking around. 

"Scribbles!" he called, peering up the stairs. "Kitty!"

He heard a jingling behind him, and he turned to find the cat stretching on a small cushion in the corner of the room. He picked up the cat and kissed it's head, then held her above him, making cooing sounds. His parents closed the front door, leaving his bags in the entry way.

"Hey!" Lester said. "You can take you own crap upstairs. My back isn't what it used to be." They went into the kitchen.

Erie laughed, spinning around with the cat. "Okay," he said. He set her down on the floor, and grabbed his suitcases, lugging them up the stairs. He dragged them into his room, turning on the lamp on his desk. He looked around, smiling. 

Everything was just how he'd left it, and it comforted him. He collapsed onto his bed, looking up at the stars glued to his ceiling. He'd put them up sometime in grade school. Tyler had thought they were lame, but Erie loved them. He still did. They reminded him that there was a big universe out there, with all kinds of possibilities for him to explore. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It even smelled the same. 

He sat up, opening the drawer of his bedside table, pulling out a binder. He opened it, leaning has back up against the headboard of his bed. 

There were leaves and dried out bugs and butterfly wings pressed to the pages, along with flower petals and seeds. He ran his fingers over them, remembering. He'd started this scrapbook when he was nine or ten, and it had been his pride and joy until Tyler passed away. The last addition was a wild flower petal, and he'd put it in right before they'd left for the ski trip. Tears threatened, and he folded the book closed, putting it back into his drawer. No more crying or sadness anymore. He was taking action, for better or for worse. 

He looked up and realized he'd been in his room for a little while longer than he'd needed to be, and he stood up, straightening his clothes and checking his face before heading downstairs.

*

His mom had made ham. It happened to be his favorite, and the fact that they hadn't been expecting him just made it sweeter. They sat at the dining table outside on the lanai, and insects buzzed and birds called in the wild beyond the porch. Erie looked up at his parents frequently, smiling at them. 

Lester finally caught him. "Whatcha smiling at?" he said. 

"Just you guys," Erie said. "I've missed you, you know? I..." his eyes dropped into his lap. "Since I first moved away... you guys just don't know how much."

When he didn't look up, Lester took his hand, which was resting on the table. "Well, you're here now, right?" he said.

"Yeah, but not for long," Erie said. He looked off into the backyard.

"What do you mean?" It was his mother, and her eyes were narrowed at him.

"I have to go back sometime, Mom," he said after a pause. "I can't just stay here forever. Nobody can." He mumbled the last.

"Yeah," she said. "Well. But you'll be here for a while, right?" She took his other hand. "How long are you here for, anyway?"

"Just a few days," he said. "But you guys are right. Just ignore me, I'm just feeling a little blue right now. It'll go away in a little bit. So how's Elaine? You guys told me she was planning Aunt Lissie's wedding, right?"

Annie went right off, talking about the flower arrangements and the venue and every other wedding thing. His father gave him a look, a why did you get her started look, but Erie just grinned, trying to keep up with her. 

Once she had tired herself out on the subject of the wedding, they carried the dishes inside and put the food in containers. His father asked him what movie he wanted to watch.

He scanned the DVDs that were stacked in front of the TV, and finally pulled one out. It was Hocus Pocus.

"For old time's sake," he said.

His father gave him a strange look, then shrugged and put it in the DVD player. They sat down on the couch, and his mother came in from the kitchen, sitting on the other side of Erie. It began to play.

Half-way through, Erie looked over at his mother, then his father. They were staring at the screen and smiling, and holding hands behind his head. He leaned back into them, resting his head on their linked arms. Annie looked over at him, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled.

He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. A few gnats floated in the air, set aglow by the fading twilight. He was thinking of how short their lives were, and how fragile, when he fell asleep.

* 

They spent the rest of the week visiting other family members, and helping to get everyone ready for his Aunt Lissie's wedding. There were bride's maid dresses to be picked out, themes to choose, and centerpieces to buy. Annie dragged her husband and her son into it. Lester was supremely annoyed, but Erie was glad of the distraction. He'd been doing a lot of thinking since he'd been home. Too much, in his opinion; he had actually started to reconsider his decision about taking the trip he and Loren had talked about in the Green Room. He was glad he was leaving that Friday; he had to get out of here before he lost his nerve.

Harry had called him about twenty trillion times, demanding that he come in to work on Monday. Erie decided it was best if he didn't answer. He doubted that he could explain things to Harry properly, anyway.

Some of his old students called, too - no doubt at Harry's insistence - but he still found it harder to ignore them. He definitely had a sore spot for them, and he knew they must be confused to learn that he had quit so abruptly. He had almost called them back yesterday, after he'd spent an hour or so looking at invitations with his parents, who were constantly sniping at each other, then making up. Yeah, he'd better leave here soon if he was gonna go through with this.

After they got home form yet another wedding related appointment, he told his parents he was retiring early, since he had to travel the next day, and that he'd see them in the morning. He headed up to his room, turning on his computer. Greyhound's website was bookmarked, and he clicked on it. When the page opened, it asked for his starting destination.

Where should they start? It had to be far enough east so that they wouldn't miss much of the country. Chicago? No, then they'd miss Ohio. Maine? Too far.

He settled on Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, figuring that he could skip New York; it was likely to be crowded. He booked his ticket, then shut his computer down, satisfied. 

He slipped into his pajamas, then into bed. He closed his eyes, a contented smile on his face.

* 

They dropped him off at the airport at seven.

His father hugged him. Erie held on a for much longer than was necessary, rocking back and forth. He finally let go, and when he stood back, his eyes were shining.

His mother saw this, then cooed and hugged him. His father, however, stared at him, his head tilted a little to the left. "Wish you could have stayed longer," he said.

Erie was weeping silently. "Me, too," he said. He bent down to pick up his bags, then backed up, preparing to head for his terminal. 

He stopped. "I'll see you guys around, yeah? Soon, maybe?" he said thickly. He smiled, but he was pleading.

"Yeah," Lester said, putting an arm around his wife. She was crying too, and there were tracks of mascara on her cheeks. "Bye, son." Annie waved as Erie turned and walked away, the weight of his shoulder bag making him lean to one side. Lester just stared. "Soon," he said.

*****

Ronald was late, and that was good.

He was at work, he said. Big account. Late hours. He gave the excuses even though she knew he was lying, and he knew she knew he was lying. It was a little ritual between the two of them, just like him asking her what she did with her day and her answering that she'd done this and that, nothing major. And like her asking him how his day at work was and him telling her about Botlay and Rutgers constantly getting in his fucking way and her telling him she believed in him, that they were only jealous of his skills and would one day come around. And that she loved him, always. That last was the most important.

She took the last of the plates from the dishwasher and stacked them in the cabinet above the microwave, three inches from the left of the glasses and two from the saucers. She wore a butter- yellow, knee length dress with a white waist-apron on top of it. It had a square neckline and cap sleeves, and a string of pearls graced her neck. It was Ronald's favorite outfit; he said it made her brown skin look golden and toasted. In her ears were a pair of pearl earrings, and her dark hair was pinned into an elegant bun. Peek-a-boo bangs fell in her eyes, which were an unremarkable brown.

She closed the dishwasher, and moved to the table, where she began to organize the flowers in the centerpiece. The bangs kept falling into her eyes, like they did every day, but she didn't dare cut them.

She really hated the bangs. They made it hard for her to see and she had to straighten them every day with her flat iron; if she didn't, they would stay nappy, and there was nothing that Ronald hated more than nappy hair.

When the centerpiece was done, she moved into the living room, looking to see if the floors needed vacuuming. They didn't, so she went upstairs to the bedroom. She frittered around for a few more minutes, avoiding; but there was nothing left to clean, just as she knew there wouldn't be. She'd done all of this yesterday.

The same day she'd packed.


Grand Junction Ch. 02



The taxi was green, and it cost a lot more than Erie had ever paid for a yellow one, but it was right next to the curb. He climbed inside, putting his bags on the back seat with him.

"Where to?" the driver said. He had a giant red beard, and smelled.

"Just get off on Polk," Erie said. "My place is really close to the freeway."

The man nodded, and pulled off, cutting off a white Mercedes. It honked at him.

Erie looked out the window. They pulled onto the freeway, and they rose above the city, racing at about eighty miles per hour. The lights sped by in streaks, and he leaned against the seat, looking out at the city for the last time.

You don't know that, a part of him said. Its voice was high pitched and shrieky, and the rest of him didn't care for it much. We haven't decided anything, nothing! We're just going to take the trip with Loren, and take some pictures. Things can still be okay. It doesn't mean anything.

"Bullshit," he said aloud, and laughed. Big Red Beard looked in the rearview, then back at the road.

They continued north for an hour or so, then exited. Erie directed the man to his place, and the car stopped in front of the building.

"$45.17," the driver said. He was looking in the rearview mirror into Erie's eyes, cautious. The corner of Erie's mouth moved upward a little, and he pulled out his wallet and handed the man a fifty.

"Keep the change," he said. He opened his door and dragged his luggage out. He closed the door, and waved at the cabbie as he drove off. The man didn't wave back.

Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs to his door, fishing around in his pocket for the keys. He found them, and opened the door.

After he'd locked up, he turned on a lamp near the door, and stood in the middle of the living room, looking around.

The carpets were beige, and faded; there was a dark track leading through the room (and the house), that made it clear where feet had tread. The couch in the living room was a Rooms-4-U special that he'd picked up as a set with the love seat, when he'd first gotten his job and moved here. After his first paycheck, he decided to splurge, and he'd bought a glass and metal coffee and end table set from Bed, Bath and Beyond. He'd even gone so far as to attempt to decorate; he got some cheap copies of paintings whose originals had been worthless and hung them on the walls above the sofas. The magic of Craigslist had provided him with lamps, centerpieces, a television that he never watched, and all of his bedroom furniture. The kitchen had come stocked when he rented the place.

It wasn't much, but it had been his home, his safe place, ever since he'd lost everything. The days he spent getting settled here had been days when Loren's pictures still answered him when he asked them questions, and so it seemed that he'd been here when Erie moved in. His touches were everywhere - in the color palette, the positioning of the furniture, even in his cooking. He still made Loren's favorite dishes for dinner most days.

It was why he was finding it so difficult to leave this place. He'd thought it would be easy, given where he was going, but it was turning out to be complicated work, indeed. It hurt to think of leaving and never coming back; he kept noticing things to miss, like the microwave door that had to be manually held shut, or the freezer that only froze things on the left side, or the view of his neighbor's small yard through his bedroom window, where they grew tomatoes and what was supposed to be corn and their children played tag in the evenings.

He was losing everything, again, and it was finally starting to sink in.

He left his bag in front of the door and walked over to the couch, dropping down onto it. On the coffee table, there was a photo album, and every picture he'd ever developed before moving here was fixed inside. It had been one of his projects when he was still trying to keep his head above water after he'd stopped teaching, and he'd passed long hours talking to Loren and even his parents as he set up backgrounds and decorations for every page.

He pulled it onto his lap and opened it, leaning back into the sofa pillows and drawing his knees upward so that his feet were resting against his butt. The book was closer to his face that way.

The first picture was of him and Tyler, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace of their first home, in matching outfits. It was Halloween, and they were both dressed as green pea pods. Tyler was grinning, while he was staring off to the right, jaw slack. Erie smiled, running his finger over the picture.

The next few pages showed his parents, so young, posing them and carrying them around on their shoulders. There was one where he and Tyler lay face to face on the floor, staring at each other, while their mother grinned and pointed from above them. In another, they sat in grass, attempting to eat a giant rubber ball.

Erie skipped a few pages when he began to feel his eyes sting. It was the one thing he hated about pictures; when all of the people in them were dead, all they could do was hurt you.

The next few were typical, growing-up pictures - the first day of kindergarten, the first field trip, the first soccer game. It was here that he first noticed himself disappearing from the photos. From around third grade to the beginning of high school, Tyler had about seven pictures to every one of his. Tyler did a lot more things that deserved to be photographed than he did, he supposed.

In high school, the pictures of them together disappeared entirely; Erie was either alone in a photo or not in it at all. He remembered his mother trying to get him on camera all the time in high school, but he hadn't made it easy for her. He really didn't like be caught on camera after he was eight or so.

There were pictures of Tyler with his friends and girlfriends, at parties, in pools, at games. Erie's showed him scowling, and sometimes just looking blank. People would think he was unhappy looking at these, but he hadn't been. He was just moody from time to time. He smiled at his former self.

They finished off with high school graduation. Then there were scattered pictures of the summer before freshman year of college, and then Tyler disappeared. They had taken some pictures at the funeral, but Erie had shredded those along with the ones from Loren's funeral and his final days in the hospital.

Time skipped ahead to Loren and New Hampshire.

There were tons of winter photos from their first months together. Erie's fingers touched the pictures again, and this time his eyes didn't stop stinging when he turned the page. He came upon an image of the two of them cuddled in Loren's bed with the TV on. He himself was asleep, drooling on Loren's midsection, and Loren was looking into the camera, winking. The picture started to lose focus and blur, until all of the colors ran together and Erie let out a sob, tilting the album toward his chest and putting his arms around it.

He breathed in another ragged lungful of air before pushing it out again with a low moan, his jaw and chin dripping. He closed his eyes and put his head back against the pillow behind him, trying to get his breathing under control, but his body wouldn't listen to him, and continued to force sobs and choked cries from his lips. His torso shook with the effort of trying to control his respirations, and he let himself fall to one side, drawing his knees further up to his chest and hugging the book tighter.

He lay there like that for a long time, and the sky was lightening when he finally calmed down. He sat up slow, his eyes swollen and red, and dumped the album on the table. He shuffled down the hall to his bedroom, tripping on the Ethernet cable that ran across the hallway. He walked into his bedroom and pulled his covers back, falling into bed in his travel clothes. He turned toward Loren's side of the bed, keeping one hand on the pillow that concealed the painting. He dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.





Grand Junction Ch. 03



He tossed the rest of the pills into a storm drain. He kept the gun with him.

He was in his car, sitting and thinking. The mother hadn't put up a fight. That was good. There wouldn't be any evidence of a struggle, and even if there was, no one would think of him. The woman had had pain, he'd heard her telling Erynn about it, and he was confident that the autopsy would confirm the suspicions of suicide. For all intents and purposes, it had been.

Word ought to have reached Erynn by this time, wherever she was. He'd made sure to mention that they hadn't spoken in years. It wasn't true - Erynn knew it wasn't true - and so she would know that he'd been there. If she had any sense, she'd come home before things got out of hand.

They're already out of hand, a voice said. She didn't do what you thought she'd do, and if she doesn't come back, which - let's face it - she might not, you've got nothing to go on. Not a damn thing.

He closed his eyes. He'd always been good at remembering obscure details. One of them would help him find her. He might have misjudged how bold she could be, but he didn't think he was entirely blind about her, either. She wouldn't go off without someone she knew, and if she didn't surface in Concord, it had to mean she was with someone else.

He kept a close eye on her friends, and the only one she had was Joanna. And Sheila, maybe. She hadn't said anything to either of them, which was something else he hadn't anticipated. He bit his lip again.

So she had other friends he didn't know about. Where? They weren't in Atlanta; that was for sure. From before she'd met him? Maybe. Likely, even. Had she met them somewhere? Contacted them before leaving? He phone records had revealed nothing, and she hadn't called or contacted any of their mutual acquaintances. Her family was in Concord, so he'd know right away if she talked to any of them, though if she hadn't done so already, he thought it unlikely that she would.

Still, New Hampshire was where she'd lived for her entire life before they married - any clues to where she might be were either here or nowhere. He'd stay, for the time being. He had no other choice, and as angry as that made him, it could turn out to be an advantage. Everything he could find would be in one place.

His phone chimed, and he picked it up. There was a new text message. He opened it.

Wilshire University, it said. 3472 Abercrombie Road. Finley, NH.

About an hour away, he knew. She'd been a Wintersport Science major for a while, and she'd won some awards, he thought. She was likely the only black girl who'd ever done so around there, so the school would probably still have her pictures and records around. Diversity, and all that.

It was thin, and he knew it, but friends of hers might be in those photos. He might be able to find them. They might know where she'd headed.

That's a lot of mights, the voice said. Ronald didn't care for its' mocking tone, but it had served him well over the years, and so he listened. You need to find some wills, some woulds. Some absolutelys.

He thought he would, if he kept his wits about him and didn't get carried away. He had gotten carried away before, but he'd learned since then; he was certain he could keep things under control. As certain as a man like him could be, in any case. He started the car, pulling away from the curb he'd been parked next to.

His father had seen early on what kind of boy he was; he'd been sure to keep his siblings away from him. Especially the younger ones, who couldn't run away.

I might be wrong, boy, he'd said, but I'm pretty sure I ain't. I've been down a few dark roads m'self, but I ain't been to those midnight woods you live in. You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. You leave my kids and my wife alone, and I won't make no trouble for you. And you get out of my life just as soon as you can. You might have killed that kid next door, and you might not have, but you touch one of my babies you gonna go join him. Real talk.

Ronald thought this fair. His dad could have made serious trouble for him during those years, but he hadn't. Maybe he'd known that Ronald wasn't the type of kid who stayed in captivity for long. Maybe he knew Ronald would take revenge if he made things difficult. Maybe he was just as lazy ass man. It didn't matter. He was dead, had died of a heart attack not five years previous, and he'd taken his secrets with him. That was good, because old men sometimes told tales. Because they sometimes regretted decisions they'd made in their youth. Because they sometimes tried to correct them. Because this old man thought Ronald had killed someone's kid, and that thought needed to stay in the head that owned it.

Because he had killed the kid next door.

*****

He bought her tickets while she waited in the lobby. He came back and handed them to her, and they sat there in silence until they were called to board. She went first, shuffling up the stairs and choosing a seat in the middle of the bus. She took the window seat, and he sat beside her.

They pulled off a few minutes after, and Erie folded and unfolded his hands, looking over at her. He realized that he was nervous. It was kind of nice. Well, maybe that was being too generous. It was a nice change from apathy and despair, though.   

"So..." he said. "What's happening with you?"

She didn't answer, but she turned to look at him. Some of her hair had come out of the pony tail that bound most of it, and a few stray locks hung around her face. Her eyes were brown and almond shaped. Her eyelashes were long and thick, and Erie found himself staring. She blinked a few times. Erie thought the action somehow graceful, and his breath departed his chest in a quiet whoosh.

This is ridiculous, he thought, looking down at his hands. Stop acting like a teenager. Have you forgotten why you're on this trip?

That was the thing of it, though. He had forgotten for a minute or two.

She turned away from him again, staring at the back of the seat in front of them. He looked back up at her, then down at her chest, and the swells he saw rising and falling there. They made gentle impressions through the sweatshirt she was wearing, and he felt a tingling between his legs. He looked away, again, and he could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks. He pressed his hands into his lap, horrified.

He couldn't remember ever having this intense a reaction to anyone before. Not even Loren, loath as he was to admit it. He had loved Loren, loved him to death, but this - this was something else. He could sense every move of her body through the vibrations in the seat cushion. Her breathing was slow and regular, and her lips opened and closed a little with each breath. Her thighs, clad in fitted jeans, were solid and thick, and he just wanted to reach over and touch one, just a squeeze-

"He'll hurt me," she said. Her voice didn't shake, and still she stared straight ahead. "Kill me, now."

Her voice had a southern lilt. It made her words smooth and fluid, like oil. He reached a hand up to her face, taking her gently by the chin and turning her face to his. Her eyes were dead now. Blank.

"Who's gonna hurt you?" He was surprised to hear the strength of his own voice. He liked it.

She sighed, and the void in her eyes was replaced by a deep tiredness. The corners of her lids sagged and a crinkle formed in her brow. It looked very comfortable there, and Erie had a feeling that that crinkle was a frequent visitor to her face. This stirred something in him, though he couldn't say what it was. Only that it was powerful.

"Ronald," she said.

He started to ask her who that was, then stopped. She laid her head on his shoulder and he put his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She nestled against his side, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, resting against him. Erie could feel every square inch of her body that came into contact with his, and he felt the stirring again. This time it spread up into his abdomen and he had to shift his weight so that she wouldn't see the bulge that was forming in his pants. He took a deep breath, too.

"We got married not long after I left school. We worked at the same place, for the city, that was, and he introduced himself one day in the coffee room. He was beautiful; perfect. I thought I was so lucky to have caught his attention."

She was silent for a moment, and Erie was about to encourage her to continue when she started again.

"We dated for a while, almost eight months, and then he asked me. We were at a picnic by a lake, and he just pulled this ring out of his pocket while I was eating a ham and cheese ciabatta and popped the question." She smiled, then pressed her body harder into his. He tightened his embrace around her shoulders for a minute, then relaxed.

"Things didn't get bad until later."

She tensed. Erie squeezed her again.

"Everything was fine for a while. He'd come home and tell me about his day, and hold me. He'd be distant if he had a bad day sometimes, sure, but he was never mean to me." She seemed to be talking more to herself than to him.

"Then one day he...he just hit me. I don't remember exactly what happened; I think I wasted coffee or broke a dish or something. We were in the kitchen, I know that. And I did something, and then I was cleaning it up and just talking. And then I was on the floor." She put her hand to her forehead. "I sat down there for a while, I remember. Ronald even went to bed, and I was still sitting there."

She stopped talking.

"So you ran away?" he said after a time. His tone was even, but forced. He gritted his teeth.

"Yeah. Just a few days ago."

There was more silence.

"Is that why you were on the floor?"

She stiffened. He started to apologize, but she spoke first.

"No," she said. "That was something else."

He didn't press it. They sat there like that for a few minutes, holding each other.

"So what are you doing here?"

He didn't answer right away. He tried to find a place to begin, but there was so much that he didn't know what should come first. He decided to pick up from the last time he'd seen her.

"I moved to California."

"Yeah?" He could hear her smile.

"Yeah. Got a job as a photographer. Sold Loren's house to get set up out there. Moved on up the ladder, started teaching. Quit a few days ago."

"Why?"

"Wanted to do something else."

"Have you decided what that is yet? Is that why you're here, in the east?"

He started to give her an answer, then realized he didn't have one.

"I want to take some more pictures. I miss it."

"Cross-continental photo expedition," she said. "I like it. My mother always said that everyone should see the country before they die."

He didn't say anything.

"Ronald know where you are?"

"No. He's looking, though."

"How can you be sure? He might still be waiting at home for you to come back."

"I'm sure," she said.

The city was behind them now, and they were in some low mountains. There were no clouds and so the day was bright, and they could see everything their side of the horizon line. The highway cut a path through the hills, a black and yellow snake in a green sea. There were houses with acres and farm style fences and brown cows eating the grass. There were flowers, not many and not few, living in clusters in the dirt next to the highway, holdovers from spring. Some were pink and a few were blue, but most were white and yellow daisies.

He wished they were stopping before Columbus so that he could take pictures of this place. He knew they wouldn't, though, and the landscape would be much the same in Ohio. He could get some good panoramics there.

And maybe a few personals, too.

*****

He stood in front of a glass case in the Arts and Letters building. Erynn stared back at him, smiling big and holding a snowboard. She was on a mountain, and there was snow. There were two or three people in the picture with her. They were smiling, too. One of the men was holding skis instead of a snowboard.

Aspen, CO. it said. 2004.

There were a few others next to this largest one, but they were landscape shots. Ronald wondered why anyone had bothered with them; all they showed was snow covered ground. He moved on to another case.

The next one had trophies in it. There was one giant one with a football on top, and two smaller ones for soccer. He noted that they were intramural; Wilshire didn't have sports teams, it seemed. He looked around for skiing or snowboarding trophies, and found none. He frowned.

He walked back out of the building, heading toward the main office. He thought they might still have records of the teams, and at the very least he could get his hands on yearbooks there. He could find the people in the photo with her. Maybe give them a call, maybe drop in. It made no difference to him.

The office was a small building, little more than a bungalow. It stood alone between Arts and Letters and Jackson Hall, short and squat, but ever-present. Ronald walked in.

The receptionist was a plump woman of about forty. Her hair was platinum blonde, and she had a mullet. She smiled when he came in, and she didn't miss her eyes' journey from his head to his feet. He grinned back at her.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said. She beamed, and folded her hands in front of her.

"How can I help you, sir?"

He sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

"I was just looking for some information," he said. "You've thrown it away by now, I'm sure, but I gathered it was worth a shot anyway."

She turned to her computer, trying to keep him in her peripheral vision. He kept grinning.

"What are you looking to find out?"

"My wife attended this school a few years back. Not many, mind you, but a few. She was a Wintersport Science major, I believe, and she was on whatever skiing or snowboarding team y'all have here. I was wondering if you might have kept records of the other players and their wins and losses. She still skis, you see, and I'm having a surprise party for her birthday in Aspen. I wanted to invite some of her old friends. I thought it would be nice."

"Your wife," she said. Her smile dimmed. "Well, we're technically not supposed to give out information about former students without their permission, but what the hell. What year were you looking for?"

"2004," he said.

"She got up and disappeared into a room at the back of the office and came back a few moments later with a thick book in her hands. Her smile was gone now. She handed it to him.

"Intramural sports teams start on page 216," she said. "Knock yourself out."

He thanked her, then began looking through the book. He found her on page 264. She and her teammates each had their own picture with their stats beneath it. He ran a finger over hers, smiling.

You looked real happy when I met you, he thought. What happened? A few slaps, that all. Some cuts and bruises. That's all it took to make you miserable?

He went on to some of the other player's pictures. There was one man in particular who stood out. He had been in the picture case in the other building, Ronald realized. One of her friends.

Erie, it said. No last name, just stats. He went back to the regular pictures, scanning the faces. He found him, in the M's. McDonough.

He thought he'd heard her mention the name once, but he couldn't be sure. He was closing the book when it settled on a random page. It was a get-well spread. In it was a smiling boy, and all around it there were little get-better-soon quotes. Apparently the boy had cancer. Ronald's eyes narrowed. This boy had been in the photo with Erynn, too.

He decided to take a chance, and err on the side of caution. He recorded the name, then closed the book, handing it back to the receptionist. She took it without a word.

"Thank you ma'am," he said.

"Anytime," she said. She was looking at the computer again, playing solitaire. She ignored him as he walked out the door.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and pressed speed dial three again. When it picked up, he spoke.

"Loren," he said. "Loren Carthan. Find him. I might have another name later, but go with that one first. Chances are he's still around here."

*****

Erie had fallen asleep.

She looked up at him. His head rested against the back of the seat. Her head rose and fell with his chest as she snuggled closer to him. She reached up and ran a ringer over his lips, then his nose. They were soft and smooth, and she could feel the air graze her finger when he exhaled. She smiled a little, and, feeling brave, ran her palm across his cheek. She sat up slow, not wanting to disturb him; one arm was still wrapped around her shoulders. She shrugged him off and laid his hand in his lap, leaning back into her own seat when he didn't stir.

The high green hills had given way to lower ones. There were no farm houses here, at least that she could see; only wide open space. The cows still grazed, but these were black and white and not brown, and they didn't need a fence. They stayed far from the highway, leading their calves around the fields to the greenest patches. She smiled a little more as one stumbled and fell.

It was later now; the sun was much lower in the sky. She picked up Erie's cell phone, which was sitting in his lap. The time read 2:55. They would arrive in Columbus by four.

She put a hand to her head, then ran her fingers through her hair. She must look a mess; half of the hair on her head had come free of her ponytail, and was probably swirling about her face. She sighed, not caring.

She looked back over at Erie. He was still asleep, and his own brown hair was as unruly as hers must be. She resisted the urge to run her hands through it.

She was acting like a silly girl.

She thought she had learned her lesson. She'd had the biggest crush on him for years, ever since they'd arrived at Wilshire and they'd had their first class together. It had been Introductory Communications, and they'd been in the same discussion group. Their first presentation had been about water conservation. She remembered, because Erie couldn't say 'conservation' for the life of him. It had always come out 'conversation,' and so everyone laughed.

She'd thought it was adorable.

She'd been pretty sure he'd liked her, too. A little. Maybe. He stopped by the coffee shop often to see her, even when he didn't want any coffee. And he'd brought her flowers on Valentine's Day once. Chocolates, too.

Then, Loren had come.

She'd served him in the coffee shop before she'd even met him. She remembered that he'd looked sad, and had forgotten his muffin, or whatever. Erie said he would take it out to him. They'd come back the next day and sat at a little table together, looking very cold but also very happy. When she'd gone to take their order and she saw the look in Erie's eyes, she knew for sure she had lost.

And Loren was a wonderful man, she knew. He had made Erie happier than she'd ever seen him, had taken his mind off of Tyler, which was something even she couldn't do. Still, she'd hoped it would only last for a little while. That it might be a phase, or something.

It wasn't a phase. That was clear after New Year's.

She'd been happy for him. Really, she had. But even after she was sure they were never going to be together, she'd held onto her little fantasy, in which the two of them would move to some place with mountains and live in a cabin. They'd ski in the day, and make love all night, and everything would be perfect.

Then Loren had died, and Erie moved away, and she'd given up hope. But now here he was again, and as hard as she tried not to, she couldn't help the thoughts of roaring fires and fireplace s'mores that surfaced in her mind. She could feel the embers and taste the chocolate.




Grand Junction Ch. 04



Since their next scheduled transfer wouldn't take place until St. Louis, Missouri, the new driver opened the storage area under the bus and let the passengers line up to retrieve any belongings they might need for the next eight hours. Erynn lined up behind the woman with the baby and a redheaded man that had been sitting near them, tentatively holding Erie's hand. His thumb grazed her palm absently and she started. He tried to look innocent, but she saw one of the corners of his mouth twitch. She glared at him, and tried to still her shakes with a deep breath.

"Behave," she said.

He winked at her.

Winked.

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, looking ahead to the pile of luggage on the ground ahead of them and trying to spot her bag. When she did, she pointed it out to Erie, glad to have an excuse to break contact with his skin.

"There's my bag," she said. "I want to change clothes. Since you're in such and active mood, make yourself useful and go get it for me, would you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He looked - very pointedly, she thought - down at her chest, then tickled her palm with his thumb again. When she jumped again, he didn't bother to hide his smirk. He did let go, though, and moved forward to grab their bags; his had emerged not long after hers. She stood under the overhang near the doors, watching him.

He looked as though he'd been exercising since she'd last saw him. He'd been fit before, sure, but now he was...leaner. Swimmer-ish. She supposed he'd been spending all of his free time in the Pacific; he was tan, as well. She watched the muscles in his forearms tense as he tugged her bag out of the pile. He set hers aside, then went back for his own. It must have been a great deal heavier than hers, because he squatted to pick it up. Now she could see his thighs and ass tightening up, too, and another little shiver moved through her. He set it down beside hers, then took both of them by their handles and tilted them back onto their wheels, rolling them across the blacktop toward her. He stopped in front of her, then stepped back. He bowed deeply.

"You're Excellency," he said. "I present to you a fresh change of clothes, some food, and anything else you have brought with you."

She rolled her eyes again, but she couldn't keep herself from grinning. "Thank you," she said.

He stood back up, still grinning.

"So, you go ahead and change clothes, and I'll get us some food; when you get out, I'll go in."

"Okay," she said. He headed inside, rolling his bag along with him. She pulled her bag behind her and into the restroom, grateful that nobody else was in there with her. She walked into the handicapped stall, locking the door.

She knelt down beside her bag and unzipped the largest compartment. He things had shifted during the ride; her clothes were now on the bottom of the suitcase. She rifled through things, trying to decide what to put on. She pulled out a green cotton top that looked promising - it had scoop neck and mid-length sleeves. The color contrasted nicely with her skin, she thought. She set it on her lap, looking for some bottoms to go with it.

She settled some chocolate brown Bermuda shorts; they looked great with the green, and she had brought a pair of white flip flops with her. Wait until Erie got an eyeful of this. He would really be looking at her chest in this top. She caught these thoughts passing through her head, and she could still see Erie's snide expression. The thoughts kept coming anyway, full of tanned muscle and fine, brown hair.

"What are you doing?" she said aloud.

After a few moments passed in silence, she assumed the bathroom didn't have an answer and stood, kicking off her shoes and standing in her suitcase on top of the clothes so her feet wouldn't touch the floor. She tugged her shirt off, dropping it on top of her feet, then moved to unsnap her bra. She looked down at her midsection, and her giddiness faded.

Fat scars crisscrossed her abdomen, some wrapping around to her back. She ran her fingers over them, slowly, remembering where they'd come from. She looked away quickly, pulling on another bra and her green top without looking down at herself, markedly less confident about its attractive contrast with her skin. What would it matter how well the top went with her tone? If things kept going the way they were going, the top was going to come off, and then the magic would disappear faster than a three year old in toy store, wouldn't it?

She chucked her bra on top of the shirt she'd dropped before, hurrying to remove her pants and put on her shorts without having to look at the scars she knew covered her upper thighs. She finished dressing, tossed the dirty clothes into the suitcase, and zipped it shut, unsmiling. She stepped into her flip-flops and opened the stall door, heading out into the common area.

She stopped in front of the mirror, sighing when she caught sight of her hair. She reached back into her bag for a comb or a brush or something. She found a small comb in one of the outer pockets and set about combing through the tangles that had formed while she slept.

I don't know why you're botherin', a nasty voice said. Soon as those pretty clothes come off, he's gonna be runnin' away so fast he won't even notice your matted hair, honey.

She grunted and put the brush back into her bag, deciding her hair wasn't getting any smoother without any kind of product. Pulling her top down again to make sure it was covering all of her midsection, she tilted her suitcase back onto its wheels and sighed, walking out the door.





Grand Junction Ch. 05



Nobody else was paying much attention to the television. They sat there in silence until it was time to board, and did so without event. If anyone had noticed that the woman on the screen was in the station, they didn't show it. 

They picked a seat closer to the back this time, and Erie took the aisle seat. Erynn didn't say anything until they were well out of the city an into the countryside.

"We have to stop," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"We have to find some other way to travel than this. Someone is going to see me."

"Nobody's really paying any attention to us," he said, taking her hand. He traced circles on her palm. "Everyone's a lot more concerned with their own problems."

"For now, we've been lucky." The shook off his hand and clasped her own together. "It won't continue to be this easy. We have to do something else."

"Well, what did you have in mind? Hitchhiking?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe," she said. "Where are we stopping next?"

"Uh," he said, pulling out his ticket. "Some place called Colby. In Kansas, I think. That's what KS stands for, right?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

They were quiet for a little while longer.

"So what the hell happened?" he blurted, then regretted it. He looked down at his lap.

"Sorry."

But she was smiling, and looking nostalgic. "You're still the same, you know that?"

"No," he said. He took her hand again. "I'm not."

"Well," she said. She took a deep breath. "He knew I was running to my mom's house."

"Okay," he said carefully. 

"He beat me there...he must have flown, or something. I got to Pittsburgh, and I was calling to tell her I was coming. He'd already done whatever he did by then, because my sister told me she was gone."

"That's why I found you like that."

"Yeah."

"But wait," he said. "How did she die?"

"Pills. My sister thought it was suicide."

"Are you sure it wasn't?"

She looked at him.

"Point taken."

Silence.

"Erynn?"

"Mmm?"

"Who the hell is this guy? I mean really?"

She was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I thought I knew," she said. "I thought him hurting me was the worst of it. But now I know...it's only a side effect of something worse."

Erie waited, but she didn't say anything else, and he got the impression she didn't really feel like talking anymore. He took his phone out of his pocket and opened it, hoping to find something to do online the next time they passed through a city. He could usually hijack the wireless for a few minutes when that happened.

Someone must have had a wide net, because he logged on. Trying to decide what to do, he went with the weather, more because it was the first option than because it actually interested him. When it opened, he thanked the heavens for whoever had selected the order of the options on mobile phones.

"I think we'll have to stop here for a while, anyhow," he said.

"Hmm?"

"Weather."

"What about it?"

"It's gonna get pretty ugly, if this weather app is right."

"What does it say?"

"Tornado warnings. Lots of them. They're advising that people stay off the roads."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "That's just fucking perfect, isn't it? What are we going to do?"

He blinked. He was surprised at her choice of words. "Potty mouth, today, huh?"

She didn't respond; she just looked out the window at the sky.

"Well, we'll be lucky to even get as far as Colby before they make us stop," he said. "We could go to a motel, I guess." He looked down at his hands again so that she wouldn't see the color that he knew was in his cheeks. "You know, so that we would be safe and all. From the wind. And stuff."

"How will we be any safer in a motel than any other building? Surely you don't think they have a superior construction to a bus station."

"Colby doesn't have a bus station," he said quickly. "There's a Super 8 right off of I-70 in Colby. It has a basement in case of storms like these."

She smirked again, and turned away from the window to look at him. "Well, it would seem that you've given hotel time with me a lot of thought, wouldn't it? Or do you make a habit of knowing all of the fleabag motels off of major interstates?"

"I...I was planning a trip through here," he said. He could hear the coy go out of his voice. "I know where most of the motels are, just in case we got stuck or lost or something."

"We? Were you planning on traveling with someone else?"

"Yeah."

More silence.

"Erie-"

"I'll tell you. Sometime. I promise."

She smiled. "Okay." 

"How long have we got left?"

He looked back at the screen. "About two hours or so," he said. "Then we'll be into Kansas and the driver will have to decide what to do."

She sighed and moved a little closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder. They held hands like that as the wheels rolled beneath them and they made their way out of Missouri and into the Great Plains. The rolling countryside they had been traveling through since they'd left the east gave way to flat, featureless prairie, where only a lonely cow or horse or the occasional farm reminded them that anyone but them was alive. 

Ahead, clouds gathered.

***** 

The flight had been rough and turbulent, and the rental wasn't as nice as his own car, but under the circumstances, he thought it would do fine.

The shady little car rental place his man had recommended for him didn't have a wide selection of cars to choose from, but the ones they did have could be rented for cash and without a credit card or identification. He was making a great big mess out of finding Erynn, and had left far too many breadcrumbs for anyone who had an eye out for them. Nobody did, but that wasn't the point; he couldn't allow himself to get sloppy. The only reason he'd been allowed to get away with everything he'd gotten away with in his life was his careful attention to detail. Hunting was a kind of specialty of his, and he never let his needs cloud his judgment of safety. Until now.

Because of her.

He knew he might be opening a can of worms when he first saw her. 

She'd been in the break room, making coffee. It was such a simple thing, filling a coffee pot with mass-produced grains, but she'd been so beautiful. So untouched.

She'd been so good to him - better than any other woman had ever been - and he'd tried to be good to her. He'd given her lots of nice things and nice clothes, and all he wanted from her in return was a little obedience, and mostly she had given him that. He couldn't understand what had gotten into her to make her pull a stunt like this.

He pulled off the interstate and onto the state highway that would allow him much more anonymity as he entered the little town. He reached over and patted his kit. It sat in a leather case on the seat next to him, and he'd brought it just in case he needed it. Since he'd married Erynn, he'd only had to use it once or twice a year, but since she'd been gone, he could feel the need rising in him. He knew that using it would create and even bigger mess than he was creating right now just trying to find her, but he could feel his control slipping a little more each day he was without her. 

Well, fine. If he got near a breaking point, he would simply head into Denver. The last thing he needed right now was the attention of the police, but the alternative was completely unacceptable. He bit his bottom lip some more as the road in front of him rose into the great mountains, turning at a sharp angle not far ahead. So much for cruise control.

A sign blew past his window at a high rate of speed, but Ronald saw it anyway. 

Grand Junction, CO: 42 mi.

***** 

He was clean. 

Too much so, Lester thought, but what could he do about it? The man knew how to cover his ass, and you couldn't fault him for that alone. He had no parking tickets, no outstanding warrants. No late credit card payments, even. He'd never even overdrawn his checking account. Not even once. 

But why was he so careful? What was he doing that was so awful that everything else had to be so spotless?

Lester didn't know. And he was running low on ideas about how to find out.

He'd checked all of the man's records and hadn't found a thing. Where did you go from there? He supposed he could put a tail on this Ronald Adkins, but he couldn't find him - he wasn't at home. He'd left word with his employer that he was "on vacation." And since he hadn't taken one in five years, his employer had given him the green light.

Lester stepped away from the bar and headed into the kitchen for the phone.

He hadn't talked to Santos in almost seven years, but they'd worked together for twenty. Amid all of the cheating spouses and credit card fraud they'd brought to light over the years, they'd only come across one or two real baddies. Lester thought Ronald might be one of those guys.

He picked up the phone, dialing Santos's number and waiting. It didn't take long; he picked up on the second ring.

"What?"

Lester blinked. "Doesn't a phone call typically start with someone saying 'hello?'"

"This isn't a typical phone call, is it Les?"

"My number's blocked!"

"Not to me."

"You hooked me up! You told me it would block me from everyone!"

"Well, yeah," Santos said. "Everyone but me."

Lester rolled his eyes.

"So what do you want? I haven't heard from you in years, I know you want something."

"I've been meaning to call you-"

"What is it, Les?"

"I need you to find someone for me."

"Why? You can find him yourself, can't you?"

"No. He's a real grease man, this one."

"Name?"

"Adkins, Ronald. Adkins, with a D."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"That's a lot."

"I need to know it all, Santos."

"What's this guy done?"

"He's after my kid. And he's a bad one, I think." 

There was silence on the line for a few moments. "I'll get back to you."

"When? How long do you think it'll take to find this info? I don't know how much time we have-"

"24 hours."

Lester sighed. "Okay."

"Les."

"Yeah?"

"Your kid in some kind of trouble? And you know the kind I mean."

"No, not that kind. I think he just stumbled across something...bad."

The line went quiet again. "I'll get you everything I can find."

"Thanks."

"Tell that kid to watch out."

"I did, believe me."

Santos hung up. Lester put the phone back onto its cradle, then went back to his computer. Santos had always been better than him at history-hunting, but he needed to feel like he was doing something constructive. If he didn't stay busy, he would pace and fidget, and then Annie would know something was wrong. He wanted to keep her out of things, if he could. 

He sat down at his desk and brought his computer out of sleep mode. 

*****

Everyone was awake now.

The bus crawled along at five miles per hour, moving slowly toward the exit that would take them into Colby. Hundreds of cars were joining the interstate at the same entrance, and the traffic extended as far ahead as anyone on board could see. Large, steel gray clouds hung low in the sky, and flashes of lightning bathed the landscape in pale purple light. The resulting thunder seemed to shake the ground under them. 

The power was out. 

They were finally able to peel away from the traffic and make their way onto the exit ramp. They rolled to the stop sign at the end of it, then turned right onto what appeared to be the town's main road. They rolled on for a mile or two, then turned into a shopping center parking lot. There were a few fast food places, three motels, and a gas station on the other side of the highway. All of the stores in the parking lot were closed. Some of the windows had been boarded.

The driver pulled the bus close to the structure, then parked. The engine idled for a moment, then went silent. The driver pulled the shades down over the front windows, as if to block the view of what was coming. He stood up and turned to face the passengers.

No one spoke.

"We're gonna have to ride out the storm," he said. A few people shuffled, but most of them simply stared, either at the driver or out of their windows. 

"The motels are open," he said. "They've been instructed to let us in until the storm passes and we're able to leave. There aren't many people here, and they're aren't many people in town, so we'll probably all be able to have separate rooms. Dispatch tells me there'll be food available, enough for a few days, if that's what it takes."

Still nobody moved or spoke, so the driver continued. "We're gonna be fine, folks. Let's move."

Slowly, people came out of the queer trance they'd been in and began gathering their belongings. Coats and hats went on, and MP3 players went off. The driver stepped off first and opened the side hatch. Passengers began to file down the stairs, forming a line alongside the coach. Erie pulled on his jacket and helped Erynn into hers. She picked up his carry-on and he slid his camera strap around his neck. Neither of them said anything; they simply followed the other passengers off the bus and waited in the semicircle of passengers to get their checked bags.

Erie moved closer to Erynn, until his chest was against her back. 

"I've never been to the Midwest," he said. "Do you know what tornadoes are like?"

"No," she said. "And I hoped I never would."

"Guess we'll find out, huh?"

"Yeah," she said. She turned around to look at him. Their faces were less than an inch apart. He breath tickled Erie's lips. "We're gonna be okay," she said. She set the carry-on on the ground and took both of his hands in hers. 

"I've been pretty self-centered, I know," she said. He started to interrupt, but she pulled one of her hands out of his and put a finger to his lips. 

"I know something awful is going on with you," she said. "Don't think I haven't noticed. I still don't know why you're here, what you were doing in Pittsburgh. But please don't think that I don't care."

"I don't," he said. "I don't."

They kissed.

It didn't last long. It was little more than a peck; their lips touched for a second, maybe two, but it was enough. 

People started moving around them, and they pulled slowly apart, still staring into each other's eyes. Then Erie broke the contact, looking down and then moving away from her and toward the pile of baggage near the coach. Erynn looked after him, but didn't say anything.

He found their bags, and brought them back to their spot in the circle. Their eyes met again, but no words were spoken. He set her bag on the ground next to her, then picked up his carry-on and balanced it on top of his rolling bag. All of the other passengers gathered their belongings and then stood, waiting for the driver finish locking the bus. He did, and they all started toward the motels.

The clouds seemed even closer to the ground now that they were outside the bus. The lighting was still striking regularly, but it was limited to the area around the interstate. The thunder was as loud and close as ever, though, and at least one of them jumped every time it clapped. They stopped when they reached the edge of the lot, but it was just habit; there were no cars left in town to watch for. After a brief pause, they continued across the narrow highway toward the buildings on the other side. A few words were spoken, but they were a precious few; almost everyone's eyes were fixed on the sky above.

The group paused again when they reached the parking lot on the motel side of the street, and when everyone had crossed, the driver moved to the front of the group and led the way toward the largest of the motels, the Super 8. When they reached the door, the driver went in. 

"It's scary out here," Erynn said.

"Got that right," someone replied. People chuckled. 

Erie took Erynn's hand.

After a few minutes, the driver came out of the small motel lobby with an attendant. The man was wearing a Chicago bulls t-shirt and had rather unkempt hair. He also had keys, and a lot of them.

"There's plenty of room for y'all," he said. He gestured to the building behind him. "Each one of you, or group, if you'd rather share, can pick a room. Keep it on the first floor. They're all the same, so any one'll do. We have some food stored for emergencies in the back office; I'll be bringing it around to you once you get settled in."

People began walking toward doors and standing in front of them; as they did, the attendant handed them their corresponding keys. He told them that they would typically use cards with magnetic stripes, but since the power was out and they were running on the generator, the card readers weren't working. Erie and Erynn were among the last people to get their room, and were quartered the farthest from the main office. He handed Erie their key, and told them the food would be around as soon as he could get it, and not to use anything electric that wasn't absolutely necessary. He left, and they closed the door behind him.

There were two beds. Erynn ambled over to the one closest to the bathrooms and tossed her suitcase onto it. Then she sat down. Feeling a little awkward, he left his suitcase on the floor and set his carry-on on the bed. He sat down too, facing her. 

"The first one was from far away," she said after a while. She was looking down at her hands, which rested idly on her knees. "I know it from her driver's license. He kept it, you know. He has something left over from all of them."

Erie put his hands together, then took them apart, not knowing what to say. He went with nothing.

"I know about eight," she said. "For sure. There are probably others, but I only know for sure about those." She rolled her shoulders forward. She didn't seem to know how to continue.

"When did it start? Do you know?"

She was quiet a little while longer. 

"Not long after we were married. He might have been doing it before, I don't know. But for the first few months we were together, things were fine." She took her hands off her knees and made fists.

"I first noticed something...off, somehow, when he came home from work one day all sweaty. Ronald doesn't have a sweaty job, you know, so it was odd. So I asked him. And that was the first time he hit me. When I asked him about it."

She took a deep breath, and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. 

"A few days later he came home with blood on his shirt. He told me to wash it. I asked him where it came from. He didn't say anything, just walked up to the bedroom and closed the door. I washed it.

"He didn't mention it again, and neither did I - at least until I found her license under his pillow. I didn't tell him I had found it - I knew better by then - but I remembered her name, just in case. I was still kidding myself that he'd just found it by accident, or something.

"Some more time passed. Then I asked my neighbor about her. I didn't give her any details, mind you, just asked if she knew the name. She did. The girl had disappeared up near the Carolina border a few months before."

She unclenched her fists and hugged herself. "She was a waitress."

Erie sat still, slack jawed. He thought about taking her hand, then decided against it.

"A few months later," she continued, "There was another one. No bloody clothes that time, just the license.

"I got to eight before he moved them," she said. "I don't know where they are now."

He waited, but she didn't continue. 

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," he said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Are you telling me this guy is a serial killer? Like on Criminal Minds, or something?"

"Ronald doesn't let me watch much TV," she said, looking down. "So I wouldn't know about that. But yeah, I guess he is."

Erie chuckled. It was a dry ad humorless sound, like a cough. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands and pressed until his head began to hurt. He stood up, walking between the beds toward the TV.




Grand Junction Ch. 06



"Shit."

He was whispering, but she heard him anyway. She narrowed her eyes at him. He backed away from the door in front of him, stepping slow so his shoes wouldn't squeak. He reached the sofa and nearly backed into it, correcting just in time. She was about to ask him what exactly was wrong, when she heard a thump.

"Oh, shit," Erie whispered again. "He's getting up. We gotta move."

"Where?" Her heart was trip-hammering in her chest. They were going to jail; she just knew it.

He looked around, trying not to move his feet. "Closet."

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, shooting her a glare when her shoe squeaked on the hardwood. They made it to the closet door without further incident, and when they were inside, she slid down to the floor, eyes closed.

"What the hell are we gonna do?" she whispered. "We're gonna get caught..."

"We're not," he whispered, sitting next to her. "We'll just wait until whoever it is leaves, then we'll get our stuff and-"

"The bags!" Erie marveled at her ability to whisper and shout at the same time. She shot to her feet, knocking down a hanger in the process, and started for the door. "They're gonna see the ba-"

They heard a long squeak, and a series of thumps.

"Oh, my god," she whispered. "We're-"

"Shhhh!"

The footsteps stopped, and Erie and Erynn remained frozen. When he thought he would pass out, the footsteps started again, then disappeared as the person walked into the kitchen. The water came on.

Erie exhaled with the least possible amount of noise, leaning against the back wall for support. Erynn remained tensed next to him, breathing in little gasps.

"The bags, Erie. What about the bags?"

"They're behind the sofa, so maybe whoever it is won't see them right away." He hoped he sounded a lot more sure than he actually felt. "Maybe they'll go out before they notice, and we can get out of here."

He could feel her eyes roll in the darkness.

"I'm just trying to be positive, here."

She started to reply, but the footsteps started up again, this time disappearing into the bedroom. They stayed silent until they heard the shower start.

"Do you think we should go for it now?" he said. "We could maybe sneak out while they're in the-"

"No."

Sure enough, the shower went off not two minutes later, and about five minutes after that, the footsteps retuned to the living room. They thumped around for a bit, and then, mercifully, the front door opened and shut. Five minutes after the lock turned in the door, Erie opened the closet door, still tentative. He stepped out, squinting at the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"All clear." he said. He laughed as Erynn flew out behind him, racing over to the couch to grab her suitcase.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, moving toward the front door.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom first," he said.

"Erie-"

"They're not coming back this soon, babe," he said.

"Babe?"

"Babe." He walked off toward the second bedroom.

He was such a fool, she thought, taking a seat. Why couldn't he take this as seriously as she did? One minute he was Mr. We'll Beat This Guy If It's The Last Thing We Do, and the next he was Jim Carrey. What the hell was going on with him? How could he laugh right now?

She sighed, looking out one of the windows. It was a really beautiful place, this was. The cabin was nice, too; she could only imagine it in the winter. It was probably very Norman Rockwell. If they'd been here under different circumstances, it could have been pretty romantic.

And there she went again, thinking about romance. What the hell was wrong with her? Didn't she know by now how romances ended? People you loved either ended up like Loren or they ended up like Ronald. Why was she even thinking about risking going through something like this again?

Chalk it up to too much time on the road, she thought. Too much time to fill my heard with stupid ideas.



She frowned, looking over at the second bedroom doorway. It was taking Erie and awfully long time to take a piss.

She sighed, getting up, and ambled over to the doorway. "Erie?" she called. "What the hell is taking so long in there?"

He didn't answer. Her frown deepened, and she shoved the door open, heading for the bathroom. "This isn't funny, Erie," she said. She reached for the bathroom door handle. "We really shouldn't be here-"

"Truest words ever spoken."

She whirled around and pressed her back to the bathroom door. Ronald Adkins, who had once stolen fourteen gallons of anti-freeze, stood before her, eyes cold. Half in the closet, Erie lay at his feet.

*****

She couldn't move.

"Well, well, well," he said, stepping away from Erie. "Haven't we been busy."

He walked over to the only window in the room and looked out. He smiled, and looked back at Erynn. His smile slipped a little when he did.

"You look...different," he said. He took a sidelong glance at Erie. "I guess he's been busy, too, huh?"

He walked back over to where Erie lay, looking down at him. "I guess he's cute enough," he said. "But he ain't me. Even with those big ass scars on you, I would think you could do a little better than this."

She looked past him, hoping maybe she could make a break for it. He laughed when he caught her, and took a few steps closer to her. "You always did look for a way out," he said. "I guess I...I kind of admired that about you. Always looking for options. Even when you knew you only had one."

He took two more steps, then stopped, planting his feet.

"You're leaving with me today, Erynn. You can ride in the front seat, with the radio and the air conditioner, or you can ride in the trunk with your boyfriend's body."

*****

Lester braked hard as the road curved suddenly, and he nearly overcorrected and crashed. When he had straightened out again, he shook his head, imagining how extremely foolish it would be to roll his car off a cliff when he was so close.

*****

Erynn backed further into the corner made by the wall and the bathroom door. She could feel tears beginning to sting the backs of her eyes, and she knew if she broke now they would never make it.

Gotta think, she thought, scanning the room again. Think think think think think think think-



And then, on the wall behind Ronald, she saw a painting. There was some grass, and a flower or two, but mostly there was blue sky. And down, in the corner of the painting, the artist had signed it. It was one of Erynn's favorite artists - Carolina Redding.

"Who were they?" she spat. "Tell me who they where!"

Ronald blinked, and looked first confused, then wary. "Who are you talking-"

"The girls!" she yelled. She stepped away from the door behind her and planted her feet, just like him. "The ones you keep the trophies for! From the Carolinas!"

Erynn wouldn't have thought it was possible if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, but the color drained out of his face until it was ashen, and somehow pale. She smiled, she couldn't help it; it was the first time she had ever been the one doing the shocking in their relationship.

"That's right," she said, taking a few more steps forward. "I know what you've been up to. So tell me, Ronnie, who were they? Did you even know? Or did you just pick any old girls off the street?"

His shocked expression remained in place for a few more moments, but it was slowly replaced by a scowl that Erynn thought was the most dangerous look she'd ever seen. He sighed through his nose, and crossed his arms over his chest. She took a step backward, but he didn't move.

"You were always the best of them, you know," he said, immobile. "I always liked you the best. I knew as soon as I saw you that you wouldn't end up like the others. I wanted to keep you, take care of you. I was everything you ever needed. And all I asked for was a little obedience; some respect. Is that so much to want, Erynn? Is it?"

"You didn't have too much respect for those girls you killed." She knew she was shortening her life by talking back, but she didn't see the point of restraining herself; if she was going to die today, her pleases and thank-yous could go fuck each other.

The scowl deepened.

She took another step back.

"You don't know anything about them," he said. "Or me, if you think I would pick up a whore off the street for anything. What good would they be? Do I strike you as a man who consorts with trash, Erynn?"

"You strike me as the kind of man who kicks puppies."

For a second he thought he would kill here there and then, but then he laughed. "Well, miss lady," he said. "You certainly have grown a pair since we last saw each other, haven't you?"

She didn't reply.

"If you must know," he said, "they were waitresses. I would give them big tips, and ask them to meet me. I'd do them in the car, leave them near the highway. As far as men like me go, it's pretty standard stuff."

"Standard? You guys have standards?"

"Men, Erynn," he said seriously. "Not guys."

"Aren't you even a little sorry?" she asked. "For ending their lives? Even you must know they didn't want to die."

"It doesn't matter what they wanted. It's just natural selection, sweetie. Survival of the fittest. Would you like to hear what I did to them?"

She was about to answer when a lamp struck Ronald's head. There was a crack, like pool balls breaking, and he slumped to the floor in a heap. Erie stood behind him with a solid marble lamp base in his hands.

"No, asshole," he said. "You can keep that shit to yourself."

She's been so focused on him that she hadn't notice Erie moving on the floor behind him. It was probably just as well; she'd never been very good at keeping her emotions off her face. ran over to him and threw her arms around him, stepping on Ronald in the process, and the tears came, hot and salty.

"Oh, thank God for you," she said, squeezing him. He grunted and dropped the lamp at his side, wrapping his arms around her. "Thank God you're here with me, that you saved me..."

"You saved me, too," he said. His voice was hoarse and barely audible. "You don't know many times you've saved me, Erynn." She stepped back to look at him. There were a series of dark blue and black marks encircling his neck. She gasped.

"Oh, my God," she said, reaching up to run her fingers over them. He hissed. "Are you okay? We should call the hospital..."

"I'm going to be fine," he whispered. He reached a hand up to her face and stroked her cheek, smiling. "We should call the police, though. I know we don't like the guy, but we can't leave him here, either." He patted his pockets. "My phone is in that other closet, I think."

"I'll get your phone," she said, maneuvering around him to the door. "You keep an eye on him. The last thing we need is to be back in the same position all over again."

"I've got my handy-dandy life-saver right here," he whispered, patting the lamp.

She smiled and went to the living room closet to get the phone, when she came back, Erie was touching his throat with the tips of his fingers and grimacing.

She walked over to him, holding the phone out toward him. "I know how much that hurts," she said.

He looked up at her. She was looking in another direction at something he couldn't see. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "I'm sorry," he said. "I-"

Ronald stirred on the floor. He let out a moan, and his head turned a few degrees. They waited, but he went still after a moment. They relaxed.

Erie began dialing his father. "I wonder what he'll have to say about this," he said. "This is definitely one of the wilder things-"

Their heads snapped toward the door as tires screeched on the pavement outside. There was a small crash, and some glass broke.

"What the hell is going on now?" she said.

"I don't know." Erie moved away from her, straightening his back and leaning out the door. He couldn't see much through the front window, and he wasn't sure he wanted to venture into the living room where he might be seen. He was considering whether or not they should hide again when the front door burst open an his father came tumbling in, almost falling over a chair that was near the door.

"Erie!" Lester cried. "Erie, are you here? Erie!"

"I'm right here, Dad," he tried to shout. It felt a bit like his throat was being torn out, and his hands flew immediately to his neck, massaging the skin. He stepped out of the bedroom doorway and into the living room, trying to smile through the pain.

His father turned toward him, and Erie saw the color return to his face. "Oh, my god," he said. "You're okay. We have to leave right now. The man who's after you, he's-"

"Been death with," Erynn said, stepping out from behind Erie. She smiled at Lester; she was holding the lamp they'd used on him. "He's knocked out in there, at least for now. I don't think we should waste time though; he might wake up soon."

Lester narrowed his eyes at her. "I've seen you," he said. "On the news, I think. The police, they were looking for you. Are you all right?"

"I will be," she said.

"They're are on their way," he said. "And don't you worry about a thing; they know you didn't hurt anyone."

They showed up a few minutes later, in all of their flashing glory, and took Ronald away on a stretcher. Erie stood in a corner talking to his father and Erynn sat on the couch, watching the EMTs roll him out the door. He hadn't regained consciousness, and it was just as well; she didn't think she'd be able to keep from apologizing. They lifted him into the back of the ambulance, and closed the doors, speeding off. She looked away from the window and back at Erie, who was now talking to one of the cops. He looked exhausted, and she could see how talking was hurting him.

She looked down at her hands. It was so surreal, all of it; Ronald was gone, likely for good, and the whole horrible nightmare was over. She had been expecting something with a lot more fireworks. Ronald had seemed like a great and terrible force when they were running from him, like he had eyes and ears everywhere and only an act of God could stop him; but when he'd actually shown up in person, he turned out to be just a flesh and blood man, taken out with a blow to the head like common mortal.

She jumped as someone touched her shoulder. It was one of the younger officers, and he looked concerned.

"You're going to have to come down to the station with us," he said. "Both of you," he added when a frown crossed her face. "We have to take your statements for this incident, and if what Mr. McDonough says is true, we'll need your full cooperation to put your husband away."

"I want to go home," she said.

He sat down beside her and took her hand. "I imagine you do," he said. "But there are unsolved murders, Erynn. If we've got the guy, we need to put him away. We'll handle the incident here, but when you go back to Atlanta you'll be dealing with the police down there for a good while."

She pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. "I'm just so tired," she said.

He put his hand on her arm. She opened her eyes and looked into his. "I know it's tough," he said softly. "I see this kind of thing more than I'd like to. But you've got to hang in there, Erynn. Those women...they deserve their justice. And you can help bring it to them. I think it'll be good for you, too."

"Will there be a trial?" Her voice was nearly inaudible, and her eyes were glazing over.

"I don't think so," he said. "Ronald will probably plead out to avoid the death penalty. With this much evidence, his lawyer will insist on it."

"Good," she said. She closed her eyes again and leaned her head against the back of the sofa.

*****

They didn't stay long at the cabin. She and Erie rode together in the back of a cruiser. They didn't have the energy to speak, so they simply stared at each other. At one point he reached for her hand, and she gave it to him.

When they arrived at the station, they were put in separate rooms. She stared after him as they led him down the hall to another interview area, wondering what would happen to them after it was all over.

They made her start at the beginning.

She told them about Atlanta and the beatings and the cuttings, and the bloody clothes. The driver's licenses and the news bulletins came next, and then the runaway. She told them about the buses, and her mother, and Pittsburgh; Erie and the westward run. She ended with the cabin and the fight. She even included the painting. They asked how she knew Erie, and so she told them that, too.

What she didn't tell them was how it had been. To pack a bag and walk out on her own life; to run from a monster that seemed to be everywhere. She'd told them about the fights and the cuts he made on her, but she left out how a part of her loved him and what he did to her, even then. She left out the days when he'd come home with flowers, or maybe candy, and they'd sit on the back porch on the swing and talk about days past. She left out how many chances she'd had to leave him before she had, and how she'd missed him, even as she'd run. She told them she had known about the murders, but what she hadn't said was that she hadn't cared; as long as she and Ronald were okay, what he did while she wasn't with him didn't matter. That as long as she could keep the house and have faith in him, things would be alright.

She stared at a corner of the table when they were done questioning her, thinking of these things and a hundred others, when one of them shook her shoulder and told her it was time to go home. He looked at her strangely and asked if she was alright, but she didn't notice and so didn't answer. He shook her again an asked her who he should call.

"Nobody," she said, barely lucid. "Just drive me to the airport."

The young officer from the cabin came in to get her, and he spoke softly of unimportant things as he guided her through the station to his cruiser outside. He held the passenger door open for her, but she simply stood on the sidewalk, looking at the roof of the cruiser. He let go of the door and pushed her until she was sitting in the seat, and then got in himself and drove off.

The city blew past, and it seemed like only seconds had passed before they were parked at the airport.

"You're completely out of it," he said, looking worried. "You really shouldn't leave right now. You don't have any of your things, and what about the man you were with? Won't he want to be with you?"

"I have my money," she said dreamily. "Thank you." She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek, then opened her door and walked into the airport.

The woman at the desk didn't ask many questions. Erynn gave her the money and her identification, and the woman took it and gave her the change and a boarding pass. She looked at Erynn with narrowed eyes as she floated off toward the security line. It was a slow night, and she was through in a few minutes, sitting in front of her gate.

There were people talking around her, but they sounded far away and unimportant, like background noise at a bar. She sat and stared, wondering who had painted the walls of the terminal and why they had gone with such and awful color, and how neon signs were made. She looked down at her nails after a time, wondering what they were made of, and what color she might decide to paint them if she ever did again. Other thoughts tried to come forward, but trying to hold onto them was like trying to hold water in her hand. It was a shame, because she thought they might be interesting.

She was examining the fibers on her shirt when they called her flight to board, and she stood in line and then got on the plane, glad she had a window seat. She closed her eyes, and was asleep before they had even pushed back from the gate.