by M. Garnet
I could tell we were staying on highways, but not any so-called superhighways as there were cross roads and a few traffic lights. He finally pulled in at a gas station and stopped at the pumps.
“Stay on the bike,” he instructed me as he kicked the stand down to slide off. He put a card in, then pulled a pump handle over. It seemed so normal as he opened the gas tank and put a few gallons into the bike. He returned the handle, closing up the gas tank. I became aware he was staring around and then, his eyes rested on me.
“Cold?”
I cleared my throat when I realized that my voice wouldn’t work. Then, I was able to answer. “A little.”
He walked around to the saddlebags over the back wheels, opening one, and pulling out a Denim jacket. He held it out and I took it to put it on. It was large, but I took off my backpack, put it on, and snapped it shut. I put my backpack back in place. Now that I could talk, I felt the need for information.
“Where are we going?”
He looked at the bike a moment. “Toledo. It is only about a two hour ride.”
“What’s in Toledo?” I was getting brave, but still shaking.
He stepped over the bike, but before he turned the key, he answered. “A safe house.” He then turned the key and the powerful engine revved and we moved off. I quickly put my arms around him, warmer in the jacket.
The lights went by in the darkness that seemed to be surreal and part of the nightmare I had found myself in. I held on tight to this man who was taking me through the nightmare that was keeping me awake. I had my cheek, the sore one, against the leather that covered his broad back. I slowly felt the heat come through. It felt good against the swelling on my face.
I couldn’t understand my own feelings. I felt a type of attachment by hanging on to him. Yet, in my mind, I played over and over the bloody scene in the alley. It was beginning to lose some reality, as distance created some safety for me. My mind began to forget the details, but not the results.
We finally came into an urban area. Due to the lateness of the hour or perhaps its earliness,, there was little traffic, but the streetlights gleamed on the damp roads. Houses began to line the sidewalks. There were strip malls, but the area was clean and seemed to be a pleasant community. Tim pulled down a couple of side roads in a very pleasant neighborhood that was very quiet. Then, as he continued, the houses grew further apart. The lots became larger. The houses were not larger, but older and well kept. The road curved and got darker, then we were out in the country with lots of forests full of old trees. There were long driveways to the houses separated by heavy tree growth among untended lots.
Tim finally pulled into one of the driveways made up in well-packed dirt. He drove slowly back to an unlighted large house, pulling around behind into the yard near the porch under a lean-to that would protect the bike from weather or from people seeing the machine. It was too dark for me to see anything or anyone.
Chapter Eight
I learn of Tim
He raised his hand for me to get off the bike, then he got off. I saw him pull the key out and put it in his pocket. He grabbed the little bag from in front—the one with the gun—and the two large saddlebags from in back. He pointed to the house. It was dark, no lights in any window. If anyone had heard the bike, there was no sign of habitation.
“Where are we?” I looked up at the sky through the trees, a blur of stars, but no moon showing at this time.
“A suburb east of Toledo called Perrysburg—a nice quiet town with a lot of outlying small farms and homes. You will be safe here.” He was walking towards the dwelling, not even looking over his shoulder to see if she was following.
“Safe from whom, that is the question,” I mumbled, but I knew he heard me. I followed him as he went up the porch. He opened the screen door. He messed with the door until he finally got it opened. He flipped a switch inside the door. The light showed a coat room, then a country kitchen. He stepped back to allow me to enter. I just stumbled in through the small room and went on into the pretty kitchen, still not entirely running on all gears.
He came into the kitchen taking off his jacket and threw it on a chair,then went on into the house. I heard him calling. “Charley, wake up, it’s me, Timothy.” His voice faded as he went through the house. I guessed he was going up some stairs.
I didn’t know what to do. I took off the backpack and the jacket, then went to the sink to turn the tap on. Cold water came out, so I looked in the first cabinet finding assorted glasses. Taking a small one, I filled it. While taking a long drink, I caught my reflection in the dark window behind the sink. I choked on the water.
I had streaks on my face and I remembered the head exploding. I had the man’s blood on my face. Also, one side of my face was swollen. I had a cut on my cheek that was seeping a little blood. My eye was starting to swell up. Everything on the left side of my head was beginning to ache. I looked like I was a reject from the movie The Walking Dead, or whatever.
I looked around, saw the refrigerator, and went over to the upper part to pull out an ice tray. When I got it on the table, my legs gave out and I had to sit down. I put my head down on the table for a moment. Now, I was beginning to feel the hurts from all over. Nausea was sending the taste of bile up the back of my throat.
I heard Tim with someone else come back into the room, but I couldn’t lift my head. Tim came over, taking my shoulders to lift me back up. I looked up at him and heard someone behind him swear.
“I hope you killed the son of a bitch who did that to her.”
This voice was older and gruff, as if from years of smoking or yelling.
“Charley, give me your first aid kit and make some coffee.”
Tim moved away.
I sort of lost track of time just trying to keep my head on my shoulders, then he returned as he tilted my head back. I felt a cool cloth as he began to clean my face. Everything was fine until he worked on my eye and my cut cheek. It hurt like hell, aching to the bone and beyond. I only gritted my teeth, but didn’t make a noise. I felt the tears move down the side of my face.
I kept my eyes closed until the other man spoke.
“Here, some warm coffee with a lot whiskey. It is the only pain killer we have in the house besides some aspirin that I’ll give you later.”
I opened my eyes and through the blur of tears of pain, I saw a grey-haired man in a ragged grey tee shirt. He was pushing a cup over to me. I turned away from Tim and took the cup in both hands. I saw that the cup was shaking as I brought it to my mouth. I took a swallow. I guess Charley had also put in a lot of milk because I could get it down without getting burnt. The whiskey went right to my stomach, turning to heat immediately. Somewhere inside, I thought I shouldn’t be drinking, but, then the pain wiped all common sense away.
Tim insisted I take another drink, then went to work on my cheek. I couldn’t help it, I did moan a little.
“Sorry, but I need to get this clean and closed up. We should have done this before it started to scab over, now I am breaking it open again to get it clean. We don’t want infection and you don’t want a scar.” Tim spoke softly as he worked.
I nodded my head in agreement, but I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. Charley held my cup up for me to take another drink. I shook my head. “I can’t drink anything that strong.” I held up a shaky hand. He held it up to my lips so I did swallow another big gulp.
“Believe me, honey, it will help with the ache. Nothing hurts worse than a bump on a cheekbone. Don’t worry, you can sleep it off tonight, even all day tomorrow if you want.”
Tim had gotten up and I lost sight of him. Then, he came back with more first aide material. They must be running a hospital here, I thought. He took a washcloth to wipe my face and my hair, in front. I was so out of it, I just sat there. Then, he returned to my face. He found another cut in my eyebrow. He began to place butterfly bandages to pull cuts together, but the more he messed with it, the more my head pounded.
Charley lifted the cup to have me finish the coffee-whiskey mixture. I began to have that warning I got when I had too much to drink. I felt the room going dark. I just pretty much floated away and actually welcomed the escape.
I woke up the next day. I assumed it was the next day. It was daylight outside. I was in a large old fashioned bed, soft with lots of pillows, covered by a big comforter. I started to sit up only to find out that I hurt all over, but mostly in my head, so I decided to take stock. My thigh hurt, my ribs hurt, my arm hurt, and let’s go back to the head. No, forget that.
The bedroom was small with a dark wood dresser about five drawers tall topped by a small mirror. The floor was dark wood with a couple of braided rugs. There was an actual lace curtain on the window. After I was certain I could sit up, I put my feet over the side. This was when I realized I had on a large tee shirt, but nothing else. Someone had stripped me down, put the shirt on me and put me in bed. Shit.
I couldn’t see my backpack or my shoes, or any of my clothes I had started out in. I stood up slowly and walked over to the mirror. I didn’t look as bad as I felt, but I still looked bad. The left side of my face was all black and blue, turning a nice yellow. I had some pretty little bandages on my cheek, then some matched ones on my eyebrow.
I peeked out of the door but didn’t see anyone. I did see an open door to a bathroom so I went over, closing the door behind me. I used the facilities, then stood over the sink. I lifted the long tee shirt examining a great many bruises. I assumed Tim had also taken care of the cut the bullet had made on the inside of my thigh as it had an orange look to it from an antiseptic. I found a nice bruise on my hip and on my back where I had been shoved into the wall. I had one very sore knee where I had fallen with the man Tim had shot. I also had an assortment of bruises the size of fingers on my upper arms. My palm was raked with skin missing from being torn by the alley pavement. A girl could get problems from this type of life.
I came out of the bathroom, but was undecided. I heard noises downstairs. Okay, I needed my clothes. I also needed to find out what was going to happen next. I needed something for this headache. I went down the stairs in my bare feet, following the noise until I ended up in the kitchen doorway. There was the grey haired man working at the stove with Tim sitting at the table working on some type of equipment laid in pieces on a spread out newspaper. I thought I made a pretty picture with my hair uncombed down my back, my swollen discolored face, and dressed only in a large baggy tee shirt.
I did attract attention, as both men looked at me at the same time. Tim didn’t move, but Charley set aside the pan he was working with to come over to me.
“Well, sweetheart, you look a little better, for someone who fought a grizzly. Your backpack is right behind you. There is also a bathroom down the hall on this level.” His voice had a bit of a drawl to it. His hands were work-worn, but tough looking as he pointed in a direction.
I looked over my shoulder and saw my bag sitting on a chair in the simple living room. I looked back and nodded my head. I turned picked it up and walked down in the direction he had pointed to find the downstairs bathroom.
It, too, was a simple country bathroom, but the old fashioned bathtub with legs was large. The mirror over the sink was lit up with enough lights that I could really see what a mess I had become. I locked the door, pulled the curtains around the tub, and took a shower. I felt so good. I washed my hair and between my toes. Everything hurt as I touched it, but it also felt so much better to be clean. I spent a lot of time on my hair when I saw the red rinse out the first time. The shampoo on the shower corner shelf was just a cheap drug store brand, but it cleaned everything out. It left my hair with no smell—that was better than before.
Feeling clean, but extremely sore, I got dressed in my only other pair of jeans and pulled a loose shirt over the top. I found a large comb in a drawer to run through my hair. I made sure the bandages were still in place. I picked up my bag and went back out. I had no shoes in the bag so I just carried my extra socks, hoping to find my tennis shoes somewhere in the house. Once again, I halted in the kitchen doorway.
Charley had set a place at the table with a cup of coffee already steaming beside the usual utensils. I hesitated, not because my screaming headache didn’t want the coffee, but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit across from Tim. Then, I realized that I wasn’t feeling the tingle. Maybe the headache was covering it up. No, wait—there was a little heat. The bumps I had suffered had shuffled everything up inside.
“Have a seat. It’s a little late for breakfast, but I have some good soup and it might be better for your stomach, so let’s see you try it.” Charley pulled out the chair. I didn’t want to be rude. Then, I thought how silly that thought was, but went ahead and sat down. I pulled the coffee over and put a lot of cream in it from the Half and Half container on the table.
Charley set a bowl of soup in front of me and the smell was wonderful. It helped the heat in my stomach caused by being so close to Tim. He also set a plate of fresh thick sliced bread down with a saucer of butter. I picked up a spoon to try a small sip. The soup was great. I took a bigger spoonful, feeling it bring relief to my sore body.
I didn’t want to look at Tim, but I did look at what he was working on. He had stripped down a gun that he was cleaning. I stopped with the spoon frozen half way to my mouth. Just in case I forgot what had happened in the alley, I now had a reminder sitting right in front of me. My headache got worse, so I looked back down at the soup deciding the spoonful was cold. I started over doing a good job of eating about half of it along with a chunk of bread covered with, butter. I drank the coffee, holding it in both hands.
I had managed this without saying a word, even without meeting those amazing black eyes. By this time the gun was assembled. He stood up and went out the back door with the weapon.
With Tim gone, I wanted to talk to Charley, see if he would answer questions that Tim would not. “Charley, about last night.” I looked up at the older man doing dishes.
“Don’t think about it, sweetheart. Anyone would pass out going through what you did. Timothy carried you up and tucked you in. Sleep was what you needed. He told me about the guys from F. J. Franklin. They don’t hire guys with scruples.”
I sat there thinking through everything he had just said. Without being aware, he had just told me a lot. It was Tim who had stripped me and put me in the tee shirt. I felt a flush build up behind the bruising on my face. I was disturbed with that knowledge, but not sure why.
Also, both Charley and Tim felt the guys who had attacked me were bad. I had to agree that I also thought they were not very nice. I wasn’t sure what would have happened if Tim hadn’t shot the guy who was pulling his gun up on me. I knew I had made that man mad. He had been aggravated when his buddies laughed.
“Is this your home?” I looked over at Charley to see how he reacted to my question. Even with my aching head, I tried my lie detector.
He turned around to face me and smiled. “Nope, I just take care of it. I try to take care of anyone who stops by.” He leaned back against the counter to pick up a cup.
A safe house. How many were involved and what were they involved with? “How long do people stay here?”
“Well…” He finished his coffee turning to wash the cup. “Some stay for days and some stay for months. Whatever is needed.”
“Tim has been here before?” I watched the movement of Charley’s shoulders. I knew I was pushing my luck. Charley turned back to look at me. “He has brought people here before, and yes, once he had to stay while he healed. How much do you know about what he does?”
At last, could I get the truth? “I know nothing.”
Now, I read the hesitation in Charley. He was not going to lie, he just wasn’t going to tell me everything I wanted to know. “Oh, that makes it interesting.”
I stood up. “Where are my shoes?”
Charley pointed towards the back door. I wen
t that way and looked in the side room that served as a coatroom. There were coats on hooks with boots and shoes on racks on the floor. I saw my tennis shoes were among the variety of footwear. I sat down on the floor and pulled on my socks, then the shoes. My hair had dried by this time and it fell forward around my face as I pulled up my knees to finish the ties. I heard the door open and looked up to see Tim staring down at me.
“How do you feel?” The deep warm voice with the cold air from outside was a strange mixture for me as Tim spoke.
I felt the warm feeling, but took a breath telling myself to suck it up. “Just about how I look.” I shrugged my shoulder. “I found sore muscles where I didn’t know I have muscles.” I put my hands flat on the floor to push up, but he reached down to pull me up. I wasn’t happy about the close contact with him. I stepped back looking up at him. I could see him returning my look with a question. But he didn’t ask, he turned and walked away.
I now had my shoes on. I saw Tim and Charley talking. I walked into the kitchen slowly as they turned together to look at me.
“I can get a clean car, but it will take a couple of hours,” Charley said to Tim, but looked at me.
“Make it four,” Tim answered low in his throat. He then went into the living room.
Charley looked at me for another moment, smiling before he went by me to get a coat from one of the hooks. I heard him go out the back door. I just stood with my hands hooked in my back jeans pockets. I heard a car start up, then fade away as it went down the driveway. I stood still in the kitchen until my curiosity got too much. I slowly walked through the doorway. No one was within sight. I was starting to get my alarm signal. What was going on here? I went up the stairs and looked in the empty bathroom. I then went on to the room I had woken up in.
The door of the bedroom was half way shut, so I pushed it open. Tim was standing at the window with his back to the room. I had not made the bed so I went on in and began to straighten up the covers. Come on, this had to have been one of the weakest excuses to get in a bedroom with a hot guy that I had ever come up with.