by Sharon Sala
He'd been driving since daybreak, heading north on Interstate 35 through Oklahoma. He'd come this way before. It felt good to be retracing his steps. It felt right to be going home. Just as he topped a small rise, his belly knotted in a new fit of cramps. Frantic, he began searching the roadsides and the horizon for a place that would provide some privacy. There was none. The ache twisted deeper. Wild-eyed, he took the next exit, uncaring where it would lead, as long as it was away from civilization.
The speedometer was on seventy-five when he came over the hill. To his left was a large stand of trees and a herd of cattle grazing in the pasture beyond. A little farther down on the right, the roof and company sign of a rural gas station were just visible. His brain went in overdrive as he weighed his options. Stop now and brave the woods and the cows. Hold off a few seconds longer and opt for an outhouse with walls and a roof. He flew by the trees in a blur of black.
The station it was.
He saw the bathroom doors as he slid to a stop outside the station. One marked His. The other marked Hers. He headed for the one that was standing ajar. That it was the one set aside for the female sex no longer mattered. It was as far as he could go.
He emerged from the small, unlit room pale and shaken. For now, the pains were gone. But his legs felt as if the bones had turned to mush. He wiped a shaky hand across his face, feeling the wiry brush of facial hair against the palm of his hand. He sighed. His beard needed a trim.
"Anything I can do for you, mister?"
The unexpected voice made him jump. He turned, coming face to face with a teenage girl. He wouldn't have put her at more than fifteen. She was tall and gawky, her oversize clothes conveniently hiding the evolution of her femininity. Her hair was short and greasy, her skin marked with acne, both old and new. Tommy Boy looked at her and, except for the fact she was of the opposite sex, saw himself in her. A misfit. It was instant empathy.
"No. I was just resting myself a bit," he said.
She shrugged and started into the station.
As she reached the corner, Tommy Boy thought. "Hey, girl."
She stopped and turned.
"You happen to have anything for an upset stomach?"
She shrugged. "Just some of that pink stuff."
"That'll do," Tommy Boy said, and followed her inside.
She dug through a shelf behind the counter. Tommy Boy strolled to an old red pop box beside the door and opened it up. He grinned.
"Man, I haven't seen one of these in years," he said, looking at the cans of pop floating in the ice.
The girl didn't bother to answer. It didn't matter. Tommy Boy's remark had been more to himself than to her.
He thrust his hand inside, digging through the numbing water for a red and white can containing his favorite drink.
"Whoo, that's cold," he mumbled, as he pulled up his prize and carried it to the counter.
"Need any gas?" the girl asked.
Tommy Boy shook his head. "Nope, this'll do me."
"That'll be three dollars and twenty-seven cents," she said. Tommy Boy reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of bills and some change. A couple of quarters fell to the floor. He stomped on them quickly, trapping them beneath the soles of his shoes before they could roll under the counter. He tossed her some money and bent to pick up his coins as she began to make change. His gaze absently slid to a nearby newspaper rack. It took a couple of seconds for the face on the front page to register, and when it did, he stood with a jerk.
The girl was waiting. He held out his hand in a daze. She handed him his change.
"How much for a paper?" he asked.
"Fifty cents."
He laid two quarters onto the counter with quiet precision. His mind was racing as he watched her drop them into the register.
It was his face. The image was unmistakable. The headline beneath was even worse.
Have you seen this man?
His belly roiled and he broke out in a cold sweat, uncertain if it was nerves or another wave of peristalsis. Condensation from the can of pop was dripping through his fingers onto the floor. He kept staring at the young girl's face. At the expression in her eyes. Was she faking it until he drove out of sight? Would she tell? Did she know? His fingers twitched beneath the chill of the can. The switchblade in his pocket was heavy against his thigh. It would be an easy kill. Just set down the can and pop the blade. One swift, clean cut was all it would take. She wouldn't suffer, he'd see to that.
While he was thinking, the phone rang. He watched, his heart in his mouth, as she lifted the receiver. It still wasn't too late. He set the can on the counter and stuck his hand in his pocket. Do it now, before she can tell.
As his fingers closed around the shaft, a feeling of power came over him. He was in control. It was in his palm, the weight of it making his pulse accelerate. He shifted from one foot to the other, testing his balance, testing his nerve.
"Yes, Momma. See you in a little bit, and I love you, too," the girl said, and hung up the phone.
Tommy Boy froze. Her voice had lost its sullen tone. Her acne-scarred face had taken on a beauty he wouldn't have believed. When she turned, she was smiling to herself. He saw the child she had been and the woman she could be.
"Anything else?" she asked.
He looked at the medicine on the counter beside his pop. He rolled the knife in his palm one last time and then let it drop into the depths of his pocket.
"Nope. I guess I've got everything here that I need."
"Come again," the girl said.
Tommy Boy dropped the medicine in his pocket, took his pop in his hand and lifted a paper from the rack on his way out the door. He never looked back.
* * *
Night came, and Tommy Boy was low on gas and afraid to stop. The newspaper had been brutally frank about the way the women had died, but he was angry they hadn't told all of the facts. No one had seen fit to mention what they'd done for a living. No one had seen fit to add that they had ruined good men's lives. In his eyes, their deaths had been righteous. They hadn't suffered nearly as long as his daddy had. It didn't matter to him that their bodies had rotted before they'd been found. At least they'd been dead before the rotting occurred. His daddy's flesh had come away from his bones while his heart was still beating.
But how? he wondered. Who had seen his face? Not the other waitress at the Amarillo truck stop where Darcy Petrie had worked. It had been raining, and dark. All she'd seen was his truck. Then who?
Giving the gas gauge a nervous look, he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Only a few miles from the Kansas border, and he was running on empty. He was going to have to chance a stop. The only satisfaction he had was that his looks had altered dramatically since this morning.
About an hour after reading the paper, he'd pulled to the side of the road and hacked off his ponytail with his knife. It had hurt like hell, but not nearly as much as when he'd tackled his beard. Two hours later, he was minus all but a thin, scraggly growth, nothing a good razor and a can of shaving cream couldn't fix.
The only decision he had left to make was what to do about his truck. The description in the paper fit his rig to a T. And while it wasn't the only black truck in the country, he felt like he was driving a big neon sign that said, Here I Am. Come And Get Me.
But he'd taken the risk and crawled inside. And here he was, still driving north and almost out of gas.
A green highway marker pointed east. Medford Blackwell exit. He took it without slowing down, rounding the sharp curve and sliding to a stop. He sat with his engine idling, reading the road signs and deciding where he would spend the night. Medford was twenty-two miles west, Blackwell only three east. Blackwell it was.
But first things first. He turned right and right again, coming to a stop at the self-service pumps of a busy gas station. He got out with a groan, stretching his legs and rocking his head from side to side on his neck. Bones popped. His head felt unusually light. He attributed it to the missing po
nytail, which normally hung down his back. As he reached for the hose, a dark-haired woman walked into his line of vision. Her hair was long and pulled from her face with a thin, red ribbon. Her shorts and T-shirt were white, offsetting a well-oiled tan. He stared, trying to remember where he'd seen her before. Then he shrugged, stuck the nozzle into the tank and released the flow.
Gas fumes rose between him and the truck bed. He wrinkled his nose and stepped to one side, taking advantage of an intermittent breeze. It wasn't until he started inside to pay that it hit him. He stopped and spun, staring in the direction where the woman had been. But she and her car were long gone.
"Oh, man," he muttered. "Oh, man."
He'd just remembered why the woman had seemed so familiar. She looked like the whore down in Texas who had refused his ride. She'd seen his face. And she'd probably seen what he'd been driving. It had to be her. She was the only person who'd seen him up close and personal and then walked away. But where the hell was she now? He wanted to puke. Instead, he went in and paid for his gas.
* * *
Maddie burst into the house a few steps ahead of Roman. She flung her overnight bag aside and jumped into her daddy's arms.
"I'm back," she cried. "Did you miss me?"
He laughed and kissed her soundly. "No. Not me. I didn't miss you at all." Then he looked at Roman. "Thanks for everything."
Roman shook his head. "Don't thank me. And I'm sorry to dump and run, but I've got to meet a client in a couple of hours. See you guys later."
He was gone.
Maddie was unfazed by what she knew to be a monumental lie. She knew good and well that she'd been missed. She giggled and returned his kisses twofold. Everything was back in order. Then it dawned on her that her welcoming party was one person short. Her smile shrunk and a frown slipped into place.
"Daddy?"
"What, baby?" he asked.
"Where is my angel?"
"She's in the—"
Angel interrupted. "I'm right here," she said. "Do I get a hug, too?"
Maddie squealed and laughed as Royal pretended he wasn't going to give her up. By the time Angel got her kiss and hug, Maddie was weak from giggling. She leaned into Angel's embrace, melting against the loving welcome she knew was there.
"I missed you," Maddie said softly.
Angel's heart skipped a beat as her arms tightened. "Oh, baby, I missed you, too."
Royal watched them, his heart too full to speak. Maddie turned, her face alight with joy. Her world was back in its orbit.
"Did you take good care of my kitties?" she asked.
Royal rolled his eyes and pretended disgust. "If that isn't just like a woman."
Maddie giggled. "Daddy. I'm not a woman. I'm a little girl."
"Oh, well, then," he said. "I suppose it's still all right. And yes, I fed your damned cats, every morning and every night. They are so fat now that their bellies drag the ground. Are you happy?"
Angel arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say watch your language, but it was obviously a case of too little, too late. And it wasn't as if Maddie was paying attention. She'd heard his fussing too many times before.
"I want to go see them," Maddie shrieked. "I want to see if their bellies really do drag the ground."
"Why don't you take your bag to your room first?" Angel suggested. "You have a new bed and new carpet and curtains."
"Yeah!" Maddie shrieked, and darted toward her room.
"Your bag," Royal shouted, but it was too late. She was already gone.
Angel picked it up and handed it to him as he started out of the room. He took it without thinking and was halfway down the hall when he suddenly stopped. He dropped the bag where he stood and went to Angel.
"Did you forget something?" she asked.
"Hell, yes," he said softly, and scooped her up, leaving her feet dangling as he planted a hard kiss in the center of her mouth.
By the time he turned her loose, his ears were ringing and he had an itch he sure couldn't scratch.
Angel was reeling from the unexpected pleasure when she suddenly remembered that Maddie was just a short distance away. She glanced over his shoulder, making certain they were still alone.
"It doesn't matter if she sees," Royal said.
Angel looked startled. "But she will—"
"Look, lady," he said softly, and cupped the side of her cheek. "I wasn't playing games when we made love. I fully intend that it will happen again." He leaned down and kissed her. "And again." He kissed her again. "And again." Her sigh was warm against his face as he kissed her one more time. "And again."
Angel was still standing with her head tilted and her eyes closed when Royal lifted his head.
"Do you have anything to say?"
"Again," Angel whispered.
He obliged with a grin.
* * *
A week came and went without disaster. Maddie was in her routine, down at the barn with her kittens or begging Angel for afternoon treats. Royal had begun cutting hay, and only now and then when they happened to catch a newscast would either one of them remember what had transpired. The FBI had not called. Angel liked to tell herself that her part in the dirty business of murder was over. In the back of her mind, she knew there might come a day when she would have to pick him out of a lineup or even testify against him at a trial. But those days were so far out of the realm of her reality that she let the ugly thoughts slide.
At night, after Maddie was asleep, Royal would come to her room and lie beside her. The gentleness with which they made love was coupled with the growing bond between them. The times when he would just hold her brought tears to her eyes, and the nights as they planned the next day were the most precious to Angel of all. It was for her proof that she'd become a real part of his world.
On the days she was alone in the house, she let herself pretend this was her house she cleaned and her family for whom she prepared meals. Because even though she knew Royal loved her, he had yet to say the words she longed to hear. To belong, truly belong to this man and his child, she needed to be his wife.
And then the day came when she turned on the television and sat down to rest. She had a glass of iced tea in one hand and a freshly baked cookie in the other. Lunch was ready and waiting, but Royal and Maddie had yet to come back from town.
Condensation from the glass was making a wet spot in her lap, but she didn't care. She took a bite of the cookie, savoring the burst of brown sugar and chocolate chip in her mouth. The show in progress was interrupted for a bulletin. She listened absently, mentally preparing what would need to be reheated first upon their arrival, when the announcer's words began to sink in. Stunned, she laid her snack aside and leaned forward, focusing on every word.
"Today it was revealed that there may be a mystery witness to the interstate killings. Through unimpeachable sources, we have learned there was a woman near Dallas who narrowly escaped the killer's knife, and that she is working in conjunction with authorities to see that the killer is brought to justice."
Angel stood and screamed Royal's name. Only after she heard the echo of her voice in the silence of the house did she remember that he and Maddie weren't home.
"Oh, God, oh, my God."
Her hands were shaking as she locked all the doors. Before she could think what else to do, the phone began to ring.
* * *
Royal was at the feed store, arguing with Maddie as to why she couldn't have a grape sucker from the jar on the counter, when he heard the high-pitched beep that was the local television's signal of an upcoming bulletin. He looked at the small black and white television.
"Hey, Will, turn that up, will you?" he said.
The owner of the feed store picked up his remote and aimed it at the screen.
Royal's face turned pale and then a dark angry red. He heard enough to know that Angel's safety had been seriously compromised. Without asking for permission, he reached for the office phone and started punching in numbers.
"Dad
dy, who are you calling?" Maddie asked.
He yanked a grape sucker from the jar on the counter and all but stuffed it into her mouth.
"Here," he said. "Don't talk. Suck."
Her eyes alight, Maddie grinned. For one of the few times in her life, she did as she'd been told.
The phone rang once, then twice, then again, then again. Royal's belly was in knots. He didn't know what she would do if she saw it, but he kept remembering that once she'd offered to leave. Dear God, if she got it in her head that the killer would come looking for her, she might up and run.
"Come on, baby," he muttered. "Pick up the phone. Pick up the phone."
* * *
Angel closed her eyes and said a quick prayer as the phone continued to ring. It rang so many times the sound became human. But was it a warning—or was it a threat? Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer. Her hands were shaking and her throat was burning as she lifted the receiver to her ear. When she spoke, all she heard was her voice, high-pitched and tinny, and the fear coming out in a single word.
"Hello?"
Royal heaved a great sigh of relief. "Angel, thank God. Are you all right? Why didn't you answer the phone?"
She started to cry.
He cursed beneath his breath. It was just as he feared. She'd heard the broadcast.
"Angel … sweetheart, listen to me."
She choked on a sob. "What?"
"I'm on my way. No one's going to hurt you. I promised, remember?"
She nodded, then realizing he couldn't see her response, she said yes.
"That's a great big area they named. There is no way anyone could know it was you. Right?"
She shuddered. He was right. She'd panicked too soon. "I guess," she said.
A little of the tension went out of his body. Without missing a beat, he pointed a warning finger at Maddie to keep her sucker away from the feed store cat while adding a footnote to his call.