Witness On the Run

by Wylder Stone

  “It isn’t forever. Just keep reminding yourself of that. I will remind you, too. This will be over before you know it.”

  “Only if I keep drinking these beers.” Trista picked up Owen’s half-full bottle and tossed it back, finishing it for him, then letting out a satisfied sigh when she was done. “Because it already feels like a life sentence.”

  “I won’t take that personal – stealing my beer or the life sentence thing.”

  Smiling for the first time in days, Trista tilted her head and tossed him a wink. “So what’s the plan, besides sleep? You have got to be exhausted.”

  “We hit the hay and get a good night’s sleep in real beds for starters. Then we lay low, react when and if we need to,” he finished.

  Taking to her feet, she stretched, then grabbed the two empty beer bottles and headed for the rear door to the house. “I don’t know how you’re even upright. I’m headed to bed. Maybe tomorrow things will seem…easier.”

  “It will, each day. Keep your bag packed and in the trunk of the car in the garage,” Owen said over his shoulder, halting her in her tracks.

  “Excuse me? Car in the garage? Why is there another car in the garage, and why are we keeping our bags in it instead of the house?”

  Owen stood, turning to follow her inside. “If we have to leave, it’ll be in a hurry. We never unpack or leave in the same car we arrived in. People won’t notice us leaving if we’re not in the car they expect to see us in. And if you don’t leave your bag in the other rig, and we can’t come back for it, then you go without.”

  After a short pause, she met his stare and replied with a bob of her head, then went inside for the night.

  Watching her leave, Owen got lost in thought – about her, who she was, who she was yet to become. Trista wouldn’t come out the other end of this the same person she was when it started. They needed to grieve their losses and the loss they were about to endure when tomorrow’s events played out, and she was declared dead. That would be Trista’s hardest day yet, the hardest to accept and the hardest to get through because she would be grieving her son and sister, too. It might be a ruse, but loss was loss to those involved and grieving that loss would hurt.

  Tomorrow was the kind of day he needed to take special care. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but somehow it sounded right in his head. Hanging out in town wasn’t the best idea and certainly didn’t contribute to laying low but getting her out might be the right move.

  They might not be able to enjoy all that the town offered but becoming familiar with it was appropriate. There was a Friday farmers’ market that she might enjoy. It wasn’t personal – large crowd, easy to blend in. Then maybe Owen could gather things for a nice dinner that didn’t include eating animals of any kind and further upsetting her. It was a distraction at the very least.

  He was feeling a bit sensitive and emotionally aware – not him at all. All he could feel at that moment, when thoughts of vegan cooking and emotions raced through his head, was that he was becoming a giant pussy, and he didn’t hate it. He even laughed at himself over that one.

  9

  Friday came and went. Word of Trista’s death, and those who were named to be in the vehicle with her, spread quickly – just as they wanted. It was a shock, especially to the upper-crust social circles that the Ryan sisters were known to run in. The horrific accident, oh so tragic, was splashed on every gossip TV, internet, and print outlet imaginable. Foundations were established in the Ryan sisters’ names, even one in baby Mason’s name, but really, it was just how the elite dealt with life events. They threw money at it, had their five minutes of air time, and went on about their lives.

  Owen knew that Trista would need time to mourn the loss of her own life – her old life – and come to terms with the new. He didn’t, however, count on her hiding in her room for days while doing so. It just wasn’t like her.

  It worried him – that surprised him too – and he was at a loss. Maybe this was the new Trista and how she would deal with such a thing. Maybe that was the point. The behavior wasn’t like her because the person she was, the life Trista knew, was gone. She died in a car accident, and this was what was left.

  On day four, it appeared the mourning was over when Trista came out of her room, dressed and ready for the day, wanting to hit up the Tuesday evening farmers' market the town hosted. Same plan, different day. Small towns and their endless community socials worked to her benefit it seemed.

  Distracted by short shorts that revealed her toned legs and a fitted T-shirt that showed off her perfect curves seemed to be her outfit of choice. Had he realized just how much of her it put on display, he wouldn’t have tossed it in the bag of few clothing options. Her long chocolate brown hair was pulled back, her golden eyes catching his attention. It was wrong to see her this way, but he couldn’t help the impact she had on him. She was all woman, and he was all man. That was the beginning and end to it all.

  “So, it’s a Tuesday evening and pretty warm out. I’m guessing that means it’ll be pretty crowded and easy to blend in. What do you think?” Her tone and demeanor were upbeat and carefree. As if suddenly all was right in her world again.

  So upbeat and carefree that Owen almost worried more about that than her hiding out in her room. He figured, like anything, this too would have varying degrees of emotional highs and lows. This was just one of the highs. Going along with it and keeping a close eye on her was all he could do, so he was there when the rise inevitably fell again. Because the fall would come. It was unavoidable.

  Testing the waters to see if indeed it was smart to have one of those moments in a very public place, Owen held up a section of the paper, the one that talked about her. “You haven’t said anything about what happened. Do you want to…read it? The article, that is.”

  With a simple, unaffected shrug, Trista came closer and took the article. “Hmm, well written. Let’s go.”

  She set the article down on the kitchen counter next to Owen and headed out the front door like she was on a mission. That little to no reaction was all Owen needed to know that Trista was far from fine. In fact, she was anything but.

  A part of staying hidden and safe was to remain anonymous, and they’d established that. The other was to always be ready for a quick getaway. Driving around the outskirts of town as both a means of surveillance and the other searching for a getaway spot, Owen finally parked several blocks from the actual market. It took cutting through a few alleyways and a zigzag path to get there, but in a hurry, those annoying extra steps could be the difference between life and death. A way to disappear quickly and unscathed.

  “Why are we parked way over here? There is nothing around.” An annoyed sassy tone was her flavor for the time being.

  “That’s the point. Hiding, quick getaways, time to lose anyone in pursuit.” He expected her questions since she was still getting used to a new way of life.

  “Of course, since the whole world is out to get us. You know, the dead people.” She was snarky. Sarcasm hanging on the fact they were supposed to be dead. Yeah, she was nowhere near okay.

  He let it slide. Trista was entitled to her feelings and that rather large chip on her shoulder. She was figuring this life out, and Owen would be patient for now. He was used to anonymous lifestyles, covert living, and being something he was not. It came with the job, and this was exactly that – just another job. For her, it was a whole new life, one she didn’t ask for or want.

  “Money. How do I buy stuff since you took all of my cards away?” She blamed him. It was clear that he would be the source of her anger for the time being because he did take everything away from her, including her son. It didn’t matter that it was in an effort to keep everyone alive and safe. The fact of the matter was…he’d done that, and she needed someone to blame. She couldn’t blame Cesar because even Cesar was unaware of what was happening. He thought his family was dead, after all.

  “You’ll have your own money to use – cash only – always. We
travel light, though. We aren’t settling in, so only buy what you need. It needs to fit in your bag and you need to be able to carry it yourself with ease. I’ll pick up whatever you want today. We’ll get you set up with your own cash soon.”

  Trista chuckled as she walked ahead. “Awesome, I have to ask permission. Just like a true prisoner. This is going to be so…neat.”

  Owen grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “This isn’t a prison. You’re free to go at any time. Just know, if you leave, you are completely on your own. This is all meant to keep you safe, your son safe, and your sister safe. I know it isn’t easy, and it’s a far cry from the life you are used to, but this life won’t get you tossed in prison or worse, killed. Now, feel whatever you need to feel, but remember…I am not the enemy. I’m just the guy trying to keep your spoiled ass alive.”

  Without a word, she turned on her heels, and with her nose in the air, Trista marched off toward the small-town event. Owen followed closely, waiting for her to react, but she didn’t. They wandered about, hitting each booth as they went, enjoying all that this small town had to offer.

  There was much to choose from, and Trista wasn’t shy about asking for everything she wanted. Straight from the oven-baked goods to locally grown produce and fresh-cut flowers, she filled several reusable bags that were each stamped with the city logo. Owen wasn’t sure if Trista was doing this to empty his wallet and inconvenience him, or because she enjoyed weighing him down with so many bags.

  Credit was due where credit was earned, however, and she didn’t spend frivolously. Just things to eat, flowers to enjoy, and a couple of organic, vegan soaps and candles. The vegan part of non-food items stumped him, but Owen left that alone. He really didn’t want to know. Trista smiled a lot as she interacted with vendors, and he was happy about that, even if she didn’t have a lot to say to him.

  “Oh! Look, they have a yoga studio! Let’s go check it out!” Trista tugged at his arm, headed in the direction of her excitement, but he didn’t budge.

  “No. No personal relationships and cash only,” Owen replied matter-of-factly.

  “So, I’ll pay cash per class. I’m sure they have a walk-in deal. You don’t talk during yoga so no personal relationships.” A charming smile and a few bats of her eyelashes usually worked, but not today. It didn’t work on him.

  “Trista, it isn’t a good idea. We don’t want people used to seeing us anywhere. And we may have to leave soon for the trial.”

  If eye-rolling were a sport, along with dramatic tosses of the head, then she was a gold medal recipient, tenfold. “Prison. At least in real prison, they get to exercise. How am I supposed to exercise and stay healthy? You know, in case I actually do have to run?”

  “Do it with me,” Owen offered, not realizing how suggestive it sounded until it was too late. “I mean work out…with me. I mean if you think you can keep up.”

  Her brow arched, and she crossed her arms with one hip popped out. “We can work out at a gym but not a yoga studio? This should be good.”

  “You can put the attitude away. It isn’t cute.” He matched her cocky stance, crossing his own arms, the weight of the bags posing no challenge, and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t work out at a gym. I run and use my surroundings. The way things were done before they had gyms. In the middle of war zones in third-world countries, they don’t exactly have treadmills and shit. I’m up at dawn, and I won’t go easy just because you’re along.”

  Death glare engaged, she cocked her head, gritted her teeth, and poked him in his chest. “Oh, you…are…on.”

  He wasn’t sure when he became the enemy, but it was probably better that she saw him as such. It would make their time together and their eventual separation easier.

  10

  Owen made a nice dinner using the items she picked out at the farmers' market. He enjoyed cooking when he had the time or had a reason to. It wasn’t a hardship but a guilty pleasure, and probably the better choice since he knew Trista didn’t cook – at all. For some reason, he wanted this meal to impress her, make her happy. She needed something good, and maybe it was a decent home-cooked meal. Deep down, he knew it couldn’t be that simple, but he had to try, and since they both had to eat, it made sense.

  Trista sat on the deck, staring off at the view beyond the pond, lost in thought. He gave her the space she needed to work through whatever it was she was working on at that moment. He couldn’t help Trista if he didn’t know what she needed help with. It was apparent she didn’t even know what she needed. Her emotional highs and lows throughout the day confirmed that.

  The clinking of glass caught her attention, and she moved to the table to help Owen unload his full arms. At some point, he had placed her fresh-cut flowers in a vase at the center of the teakwood table along with a couple of beers, a glass pitcher of lemon water, and a candlelit decorative lantern. It was a nice touch and thoughtful, too. When he set the plates before them, however, her tone changed.

  “This is steak,” Trista said, pointing out the obvious.

  “Yep, sure is,” he proudly replied, seeing his plan was about to pay off. Or was it?

  “I can’t eat this. It’s meat…” she chided, “Animal meat isn’t vegan.”

  Already cutting into his steak, Owen sat with his fork in one hand and knife in the other, one hundred percent unaffected. She was trying to start a fight and already fully committed to one? He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, however. “Then don’t eat the steak. There’s salad, grilled vegetables…this is all stuff you bought today.”

  Scooting her chair back from the table, she crossed her arms and turned her head away as if just being in the steak’s presence at all was putting her life at risk. “I didn’t buy steak.”

  The vegan bullshit was getting old. It was just her exercising control. Again. Owen decided to remove the offensive meat from her plate so she could actually sit at the table and put a damper on the brewing feud she was trying to muster. He reached across the table, stabbed her steak with his knife and pulled it to his plate, offering Trista the best grin he could with a mouth full of whatever he was chewing.

  “Ohh. That was classy. You’re really going to eat two steaks?”

  “Maybe…it’s pretty good if I do say so myself.” Taking another bite, Owen rolled his eyes back in a dramatic motion, and he hunched over in his seat. “So good. You’re really missing out.”

  “Doubt it.” She would never admit it, but watching him eat that steak made her stomach silently ache. It smelled heavenly and looked it, too.

  “Dig in, Tris. It’s getting cold. Vegetables are vegan, right?”

  Ignoring his question, she grabbed a fresh roll that they had picked up on their outing, adding plenty of butter before digging in. She picked at the vegetables at first, spending more time on the roll, clearly enjoying it.

  “So…is that roll vegan?” Owen asked with a smug grin.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a roll. It’s…” Trista couldn’t even finish the thought because it dawned on her that he was likely asking because he already knew the answer. This was a trick.

  “I mean, did the baker say it was vegan? Was there a sign or something saying it was a vegan bakery? After all, it’s bread…you know, made with eggs, sometimes milk. I think these are buttermilk. Let’s not get started on the butter. The grass-fed label doesn’t mean it was made from grass milk.” He paused, giving her a chance to catch up. “Grass-fed means the cows were fed grass, not grains…cows meaning cow milk…animal…not vegan. So that’s why I ask. I wouldn’t want you to hit an early grave or anything. How are the vegetables?”

  Dropping her fork on her plate in a loud clank, she crossed her arms yet again and said, “I need to order protein powder. A vegetable-based protein powder for my smoothies. I may be trapped, but that doesn’t mean I have to compromise my health.”

  “Vegetable protein? Is that a thing?” He laughed, adding insult to injury. “You need a cow for protein, not a cucumber, sweetheart. Anywa
y, no ordering online. It’s traceable, and we’re using cash only.”

  As she tossed her hands in the air, the real reason for her mood came to life. “I’m in a damn prison when that…that…asshole, Cesar, should be! This is…is…crap! Stupid…crap!”

  Trista pulled her chair back up to the table and grabbed her beer, taking a big long chug before slamming it down. When she reached across the table with her knife, Owen leaned back, pulling his hands out of reach. She stabbed the steak on Owen’s plate and put it back on hers. She muttered something under her breath about kicking ass and taking names before digging into the steak on her plate.

  Owen wore a satisfied smile while they finished their meal in silence. It didn’t seem like much, but he’d chalk it up to progress. Breaking down boundaries wasn’t required, but it made things easier in the long run, and that was what they’d just done. He was ready for the fucking vegan thing to be over.

  Switching roles, she cleared the table, taking everything inside while he took some quiet time to himself on the back deck. Trista was in his head, and he wasn’t sure why, how, or what any of it meant. She challenged him – that he did know. But was that a good thing or dangerous?

  Finally, Owen carried in the empty beer bottles they left behind and locked up for the night. When he went down the hallway to his room, he noticed Trista’s door was open with the lights out, but she wasn’t in there. When Owen disposed of the beer bottles, the kitchen had been completely cleaned up and was empty, so she wasn’t there either.

  He went back through the house searching for her, guilt washing over him. Sure, she gave as much as she got in their dinnertime banter, but he knew Trista was having a rough time and could’ve cut her some slack. But he didn’t, and now he didn’t know where she was. Surely, she wouldn’t just leave – or would she?