Predator

by Michelle Heard

  “I’m… ahh… just traveling,” I blurt out the first excuse that comes to mind. I still have my South African accent so the excuse should work.

  She gives me a once over and smirks. “With no bag? You’re backpacking through Chesnee with nothing but the clothes on your back? Why would someone wanna see this little old town?” She looks at me as if I’m some escaped lunatic.

  I don’t even know where I am. How screwed up is that?

  “I like quiet places.” It’s the only defense I can come up with.

  “Annie Wilson. That’s my name. You can just call me Annie, like everyone else.” She starts to ramble. “I’m heading home. Came here for my sister’s funeral. Awful bout of lung infection took her in the end. Told her the weed was no good for her, but she kept smoking that stuff faster than she could grow it.”

  I stare. I tell myself to stop staring - it’s not polite to stare and who am I to judge?

  “But no, she kept saying it was good for her ailments. Well, she ain’t got no ailments no more.” Annie sighs and I finally tear my eyes from her rosy cheeks and tearing eyes. “So yeah, I’m heading back home.” She glances at me and then says, “It’s in Lackawaxen, a small historic town in Pennsylvania. Moved up there when I got married. The old man used to work for the local lumber company, but then he went on to greener pastures. I have a few acres of land outside of town. It keeps me going. I work the ground, or hell, the ground works me.” She chuckles. “We have an understanding. What I put in it gives back.” She keeps quiet, and I glance at her. She takes a deep breath, and my stomach ties up in knots. “I sure don’t know where you’re heading, but that’s where the road is taking me. You’re welcome to tag along.”

  “That’s it?” I blurt out. “You’re just going to let me go with you?” My mouth hangs open.

  “I don’t sit in church and pretend to be what I’m not,” she says. “I believe that the Lord works in mysterious ways. It’s not what you give Him between those four walls that matters, it’s what you do to his children when they come asking for your help. I’m sure as hell not gonna be saying no to my Lord when He sends me one of his flock to take care of.”

  Now I’m the one staring at her as if she has escaped from the nuthouse. Is this woman for real? Talking about God and flocks and stuff?

  “I won’t be asking what you’re running from. You’re welcome to come my way. There’s work I can give you. You’ll feed yourself. Annie sees a lost one, and she sure ain’t gonna show you the door.” I look at the door and consider jumping, not sure if the woman is all there upstairs.

  But I don’t jump. Of course, I stay because I’m a coward and this is the easy way out.

  We’ve stopped three times for gas before I get out to go to the toilet. I use the toilet quickly, not closing the door all the way. Damian won’t come running to save my butt this time.

  After I’ve washed my hands, I take the passport and I.D from my pocket so I can inspect them. I need to know what my new identity is so I can at least give Annie a name. When I open the passport and see the name, I feel a piece of me crumble away. I stare at the name until tears well in my eyes.

  The face is mine, but it’s a much younger and happier me. He must’ve gotten it from Uncle Tom.

  But the name … Karen Weston. He gave me his name. Back when he hardly knew me. The little card shows my face, my new name, and his address. Chesnee, South Carolina.

  I look at the passport, and I swallow hard. He did all of this for me. He was going to take me in and look after me from the start. It wasn’t just a fly-by-night, hero trip he was on.

  Did I do the right thing leaving him? Was he a friend, after all?

  “Honey, did you fall in?” Annie calls from outside.

  “No,” I croak. I clear my throat and quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I’m coming.” I shove the documents in my pocket and flush the toilet, so Annie will think I was using it all this time. I square my shoulders, and when I walk out, I lift my chin and smile at Annie.

  “I’m Karen Weston, and thank you for letting me come with you.”

  “Pleasure meeting you, Karen.” She smiles, but her eyes search my face as if she knows I’m giving her a fake name.

  We head back to the RV, but before I get in, I look down the road. For a moment, I have the insane thought of going back to Damian. I’ll be safe there. I’ll have some sort of a home.

  Damian …

  I shake my head hard and get in. I can’t go back to so much uncertainty, but I will take a piece of him with me.

  The road is long, and I can’t sleep. We drive forever and then some. Night becomes day, which becomes night again. Time just blurs right by me. We might as well be halfway to Africa already for all I know.

  Annie talks a lot. I mean the woman must’ve swallowed a gramophone because she just doesn’t stop. After a while, her voice is a hum, and I nod and say yes to show interest until she hits the palm of her hands on the steering wheel in excitement. My eyes dart to her, and I frown when I see the huge smile on her face.

  “Really? You think that would be a great idea? I think so, too,” she babbles.

  I lift my head from the window and look at her. She’s a happy looking lady, a bit on the large side, but it makes her look all the more friendly. Her brown hair is graying at the sides, her brown eyes soft.

  “Why did you think it’s a great idea?” I try to fish. I have no idea what I just agreed to.

  “Well, I’ve wanted to try the wholesale thing for a while now, but I never had someone to help me work the land. With you there it might just work,” she explains.

  Oh, hell no. I’m not starting a farming thing with her. I take a breath and stare back out the window. Maybe I can somehow disappear at one of the stops. But I know I won’t because I’m a coward.

  “We’re almost there,” she suddenly says.

  I look around me, and I’m stunned by the beauty around me. Everything is so green! It’s all just a wide open space of green.

  When we pull into a dirt road, I get out to open a rusted gate. It rattles as it swings. We drive quite a way up the dirt road before we get to a house. It’s simple looking. An almost flat roof, wooden structure stands practically in the middle of nothing.

  “It’s one of those trailer houses. They bring them on wheels when you buy one,” she goes on talking. I get the feeling that talking puts her at ease. “It works for me. Who needs more than two bedrooms and a bathroom? The kitchen’s big enough to cook what I eat, and I can rest my old behind in my living room. I don’t need something fancy. The land is out back, closer to the river, so I don’t have to walk far for water. I’ll show you later. Let’s get ourselves settled first. My back is about to break in half.”

  I follow her into the small house, not sure what to expect. Her home is … peculiar. I suppose it’s just like her in a way. Little relics decorate just about every open space and mismatch carpets cover the floor. The two couches are from another era, and I’m not sure they make her kind of television anymore. It still has those knobs you have to turn.

  The kitchen is another story. Pots and pans hang from the ceiling, along with dried chili and garlic. A row of little herb pots fill the windowsill, and there are tiny magnets with bible verses decorating the fridge.

  “It’s home, Honey,” she sighs. I smile at her because she’s right. This is her home. “This way,” she says, pointing down a short passage.

  It’s not really a passage, it’s more like four steps. The guest room is decorated in shades of purple. I swallow and walk in. It’s really pretty. A single bed stands in the middle of the room with a simple chest of drawers rounding out the furniture.

  “Thank you for letting me stay,” I whisper. The words aren’t enough, I know.

  “At night I like to sit outside before I go to bed. I talk to my Lord, tell Him of my worries, and give Him my thanks. I don’t know who you talk to, Honey, but the stars sure shine bright out here and they don’t talk back like us no
sy folk.” She leaves me standing alone in the room, feeling miserable.

  I’ve never been the praying kind, but I might just give the stars a try because nothing else is working.

  DAMIAN

  I’m up early as always and walking down the stairs when I notice the front door is open wide. For a moment, I freeze before I run back up.

  I open Jean’s door and see her still in bed. Then I race to Cara’s room, slamming the door open.

  My breath wheezes from my chest, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel a flicker of fear. Where the fuck is she?

  The bed is unmade, and the cupboard door is open. I race back downstairs and take a look at the door. No force of entry.

  Frustrated, I rub my hand over my beard. I would’ve heard if someone broke in. I would’ve heard something if someone came for Cara.

  There’s no way anyone could’ve found out where she was staying.

  “Morning,” Jean mumbles as she comes down the stairs. I groan when I see she’s only wearing a top and panties. This woman is driving me insane.

  “Did you hear anything last night?” I ask.

  She walks toward the kitchen. “No, nothing.” I stare back outside, wondering where to start. “Oh wait,” Jean calls from the kitchen, “Karen went for a walk just before I passed out.”

  “What?” I ask, stunned. The glimmer of fear grows in my chest, leaving my thoughts scrambled. I’m always calm and in control. I hate not being in control. Things go wrong if I lose my shit.

  “I said,” Jean appears in the doorway, sipping on a cup of coffee, “she went for a walk. She didn’t even bother closing the door behind her. A bit risky if you ask me.”

  “Was there anyone with her?” I can’t get my mind around what Jean is saying.

  She frowns at me. “No. It was just her.”

  “Fuck!” I race back up the stairs to my office. My eyes search for the camera and memory cards, and when I find them, confusion sets in fast. She didn’t take them with her. Everything is just like I left it last night.

  I pace the floor, and dark thoughts start to brew in my mind. Why would she just leave? Did something happen that I’m not aware of? Is she really so upset with Jean being here?

  My gut instinct tells me to search for the answer so I can fix this mess. I stalk to the filing cabinet, and I take out her file. Maybe there’s something I missed about her. I open it, and for a moment it looks weird, then it hits – the passport and I.D. are gone.

  “Fuck,” I curse in anger. “She’s been planning this all along. That’s why she’s been acting so weird the last couple of days.” I throw the file and papers scatter across the floor. “Shit! I should’ve seen this coming.” One panicked thought after the other starts to slam into my mind. “They’ll find her. Fuck, this time they’ll kill her!”

  I rush to my safe and quickly open it. I take out my gun, some ammunition, an I.D. with the name Damian Weston, and some cash, and then I run to my room. I pack a small traveling bag, the absolute basics.

  On my way out, I remember Jean. She’s standing by the front door still drinking coffee. I shove by her, and then call back. “You have five minutes to pack your shit. I’ll drop you off at your house.”

  “What the fuck!” she yells. “Why?”

  “I have something important to take care of,” I snap, already going into mission mode. No feelings, only facts.

  “I paid you!” Jean screams.

  I throw the bag in the back of the car and stalk back to the house. I take the cup from her hand and throw it across the yard. I take my wallet out and count out a thousand bucks. I shove it against her and then walk to the room she was staying in. I rush through the room, throwing all her stuff in her bag, and then I race down the stairs again.

  I throw the bag on the porch, shove Jean outside and then lock the door behind me.

  Cara. I can only think of her as I get in the car.

  Cara.

  Her name becomes my every heartbeat. I fucking let her feel unsafe in my house by bringing Jean here. I shouldn’t have done that. I screwed up, and now it’s time to fix it. The last I see of Jean is her waving her arms angrily at me, dressed in that skimpy top and panties.

  “Fuck, Weston! You fucking screwed this up bad.” I slam my fist against the steering wheel when I reach the main road. “Which way did you go, Cara?”

  Using only instinct, I turn left, towards town. I will go over every piece of ground with a fine comb until I find her.

  I take my phone out and quickly dial Jeff’s number.

  As soon as he answers, I don’t give him time to talk. “Put a trace out for Karen Weston. We need to find her, Jeff. She’s on the run.”

  “Fuck,” he groans grumpily.

  “Let me know when you have a hit.”

  When I’m done with the call, I become aware of my heart racing a mile a minute.

  Two months… that’s all it took for Cara to crawl into the space my heart used to be.

  CHAPTER 11

  CARA

  I wake to The Carpenters harmonizing and I shove the pillow over my head. Annie will drive me around the bend with that record player of hers. And she only listens to two records - The Carpenters and the one of Elvis with the scratches on. It hiccups on two of the songs. When she hums along to it, she hiccups with it.

  The first week I just followed her around like a lost puppy, and she let me. She showed me how to turn the ground, how to plant seeds, and I stared when she began pumping the weird looking thing that made water come from the river up to the little patch of land.

  Some guy named Jason made it for her. She gave me the impression this Jason is like a son to her, maybe some boy that goes around doing odd jobs for the elderly. Who knows?

  I watched her make bread. I mean from scratch – like from flour and eggs and things. And she pickled some chili. I’ll never remember how she did it all, but it was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. It was also the first time I let myself wonder, why not?

  Why can’t I just be right here? With Annie. I miss my parents and Annie doesn’t have anyone. We could be together out here in the middle of nowhere. No one will ever find me here.

  “Annie,” I call as I walk out of the room that has now become mine. Believe it or not, I’m wearing a dress. Annie adjusted some of her old dresses for me. Some brush the floor when I walk, but most hang under my knees. I’m fine with it. It covers everything and Annie’s happy. “Annie, you want me to run up to the patch so long?”

  I find her on the porch, sipping her homemade tea. I won’t touch that stuff ever again. Annie drinks flowers. She picks them right out back and lets them dry, and then she drinks them. She calls it her version of Chamomile tea. I’m not so sure about that, it just looks like plain old daisies to me. She started explaining that Chamomile is a type of daisy, and I watered the roses nearest to me with the rest of the tea I had left.

  “Come sit next to me, Honey.” She gives me her all-knowing look. The one that I’ve quickly learned leads to a serious talk.

  I sit down on the swing and look out toward the trees to where the river lies.

  “Tell me,” she starts, “is there something you need from town?” she asks, and I let out a breath of relief. I was expecting questions or worse.

  “No. No, thank you.” I smile. She’s already giving me so much.

  “So you don’t need any lady stuff, for you know, down south?”

  I flush red at her question, and I start nodding, because duh, I do need those – then realization slams hard. “I haven’t had my period in months.”

  “Oh, dear,” Annie sighs.

  I shake my head at the ugly possibility staring me right in the face. “I can’t be.” I jump up and start to pace in front of Annie.

  “You’re going to make me dizzy. Sit down, child. No need to worry until we know for sure. I’ll get one of those tests for you.”

  “Still,” I mumble in shock. “I… I’m going down to the land. I�
�ll see you later.”

  I rush away from all the questions in Annie’s eyes.

  Pregnant.

  All the memories flood me, threatening to drown me out in the open. I thought I could run away from the nightmare. I thought if I just ignored it all, then it would be just that… a nightmare.

  I can’t be pregnant. I don’t even know which of them impregnated me! They’re all dead anyway.

  Pregnant.

  Every second will be a stark reminder of being raped, of being beaten – of being degraded. Maybe my period is staying away from the beating and being raped? Maybe it’s just stress. Shit, I hope so.

  If I’m pregnant, it’s a good thing I left Damian. With the job he does, it would be too dangerous for a child.

  I’ve been with Annie for eleven days. Damian said it takes two weeks to break a habit. I only had three more to go, hoping the pain of leaving Damian would start easing up some because whoever said time heals all never felt the pain I’m feeling.

  “We did that piece, already, Honey,” I hear Annie call. She gave me some time to myself this morning for which I’m grateful.

  I don’t know what to do. What if I’m pregnant? What will I do?

  Instead of mulling over all the dark memories, I now chew over questions I have no answers for.

  I look over the row I’ve just scuffled. We did it already? I’m so screwed up. I can’t even think straight.

  “We did it two days ago. Today we plant tomato and potato seeds.”

  I get up and dust my hands off and then walk over to where all the packets of seeds are.

  I glance over my shoulder and fear ripples through me as I see a man coming towards me. I rush over to the packets of seeds. I don’t see the pictures, the words – I just move closer to the bench and take hold of the garden scissors – a weapon.

  “This here is Jason,” Annie says proudly. I don’t loosen my grip on the scissors. They’ll have to pry it from my dead hands.