Shattered Highways

by Tara N Hathcock

  “Has everyone heard about the attack that happened at the Moberly train station yesterday afternoon?” he asked, immediately capturing the attention of every student in the room, Quincy included.

  And then he proceeded to give a startlingly accurate description of exactly what had happened yesterday, down to the Good Samaritan who stepped in to stop the bleeding. Quincy tensed at that, but she needn’t have worried.

  “The victim was lucky. There was someone with enough medical knowledge to step in and stop the bleeding. Probably a doctor or a paramedic - someone who knows how to take care of arterial bleeding. Not an easy task.”

  Quincy breathed a silent sigh of relief. If there had been a description or any curiosity at all about the person who stuck her hand in the dying girl’s neck, it would have come up in this bizarre PSA of a lecture.

  “But this kind of tragedy is shocking here in our own backyard,” Professor Michaels continued. “It’s not something we’re faced with often, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be prepared in case we are. So I’d like to skip today’s scheduled sleep fest,” he said with a smile for his audience, “and talk about how you can protect yourselves in cases of unexpected violence.”

  What then proceeded was a lengthy and surprisingly detailed discourse on how people with no self-defense training could avoid danger and fend off attackers. The same passion Professor Michaels demonstrated in his lectures on mechanics and physics shown through just as clearly here and Quincy had to smile. He was a kind man, this young professor. A champion of the poor, the marginalized, and the unarmed and unprotected. His students loved him for it. Quincy glanced around the room, taking in the rapt expressions and the near-total attention riveted on their professor. She hoped it helped, this impromptu self-defense course. After what she’d seen yesterday, and the trouble that seemed to follow her around like the mosquitoes in Sheraton followed her during her a run, it wouldn’t hurt her to pay attention too, and she turned her attention back to the front.

  It turns out, it wasn’t just the students in Quincy’s class talking about the attack. The break room in the library was alive with gossip. The girl had survived. The girl had died. Her attacker had been shot dead in a hostage situation twelve hours north. The attacker was in the wind. No one mentioned the girl with the blood on her hands, who had somehow managed to stop the bleeding long enough for the paramedics to get there. And for that, Quincy was grateful. But she was also miserable. Her headache was all but gone, but it had left behind something like a hangover. Her eyes were still swollen and red and she could barely move her neck. All she wanted to do was lay down somewhere. She had a sneaking suspicion, though, that sleep wasn’t going to come. Not after almost twelve hours yesterday. Her shift at the library was unending, made worse by Brandon’s inexplicable, uncomfortable presence. She had spotted him on her floor no less than three times before he finally made his way over to her.

  “I guess you heard,” he started suddenly.

  When Quincy merely looked at him, too drained to pretend he was welcome, he shuffled his feet.

  “The attack at the train station,” he pressed. “I guess you heard.”

  “Uh huh,” she managed.

  Silence, and this time, she didn’t try to break it or let him off the hook.

  “Oh. Good,” he said, unsure of where to go when she didn’t provide any direction.

  “You should be careful you know,” he said suddenly. “It’s not always safe out there.”

  Quincy quirked an eye. Really?, she wanted to say. But she kept quiet. She just wasn’t in the mood to pander to him today.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, maybe realizing how that last line had sounded, and backed away. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. So, I guess I’ll see you later.”

  Like, in five minutes, watching you from behind a planter, she thought to herself. The girls downstairs were right. He was a creep. But she didn’t have it in her to give him any more thought tonight. She made it through the rest of her shift on autopilot and when it was time to leave, gave in to the impulse to board the bus instead of walking. There was no way she’d make it all the way home tonight. But that was okay. She’d been down this road enough to know the lethargy would pass. She might not be able to sleep tonight, but her body would at least rest, and that would have to be enough for now.

  Chapter 20

  Quincy

  The week passed much like it always did. She went about her daily routine like always, running, work, school. But things seemed even more quiet than usual, if that were possible. Logan had been making himself scarce for some reason. She’d been so miserable right after the train station that she hadn’t noticed right away. But after a couple of days, she couldn’t help but notice, and it annoyed her. She’d caught a brief glimpse of him in the campus quad on Wednesday. His back had been to her and he’d been talking agitatedly into the phone, all rigid and stiff-backed. He seemed disturbed by whatever was being said on the other end and as curious as that made her, considering she’d never seen Logan in less than a stellar mood, she’d had to get to work and hadn’t had time to chat.

  Thankfully, the gossip around school and work about the attack had died down a little but she was still having trouble letting it go. She had lain awake all night, again, replaying the scene in the train station over and over. What had happened. What could have happened. What should have happened. And the big question - how did it happen? How could something like that happen, in public, in broad daylight? The girl hadn’t been conscious when the paramedics rolled her out, and certainly hadn’t been in any condition to talk when Quincy had been trying to staunch the flow of blood. But it seemed very unlikely that she could have been attacked and not seen who had done it. It was too intimate a wound. And it was certainly a who, not a what. One did not simply step out of a public restroom and into something sharp enough to severe an artery. It was possible she had rushed out of the bathroom without looking and bumped into someone carrying something very sharp. If it had been an accident, that person would have been horrified, called for help. But there had been no warning, no call for help. The woman had been utterly alone. Which made Quincy believe the woman had been purposely attacked. But again, in public, in broad daylight? It wasn’t the best choice for a murder, obviously, so why? In the rush of trying to blend in and get out of there as quickly as possible, Quincy hadn’t even glanced towards the west hallway where the woman had staggered from. Now that she’d had time to actually think, she wished she would have tried to see the scene, or at least eavesdropped on the cops containing it to see what they were thinking. Was there any physical evidence left behind? The cameras would have caught whoever attacked the woman so….wait. That wasn’t right. Quincy knew the position of every security camera in that building. She knew exactly how much space each covered, where they overlapped and where they didn’t. The hallway coming from the west restrooms was located in one of the areas Quincy planned to use if she needed an unobserved way out of the building. It was a blind spot.

  A cold feeling crept over her, settling deep into her chest at that thought. Could someone else have staked out the cameras? Chosen that exact spot to act? It was the oldest section of the depot, making it the least populated, and it was without security coverage. It suddenly made perfect sense why someone would act right there. But again, why? This was as middle-America as you could get. Yes, the business district was in the middle of a boom but the majority of the population was made up of college kids, young families, and retirees. There were no Wall Street heavy hitters here. No politicians trying to change the world or financiers trying to change their bottom lines. And the well-to-do local business owners were mostly composed of the Medicare crowd, trying to supplement social security with a second career. Sure, there were always crimes of passion - domestic disputes, arguments over the distribution of pharmaceuticals, and finals-induced rage, but to plan an attack, with the kind of dedication and precision this suggested, would imply a high-value target, and th
ere just wasn’t anyone in town with that kind of clout. Quincy didn’t know the woman attacked but she could speculate. Based on her clothing, she worked in the business district but probably not high up. She was still fairly young so possibly an intern or an entry-level associate. Someone who ran errands and took care of paperwork. Not someone wealthy or with valuable insider information. Just a perfectly normal, ordinary girl.

  It occurred to Quincy that the oddity in the equation wasn’t the girl, or even the placement of the attack, but herself. Was it a coincidence that a girl was attacked in the train depot while Quincy was there, using the same camera angles and positioning Quincy herself planned to use in an emergency? Tightness sparked in her chest. The previous two attacks against her hadn’t been physical - she hadn’t given them time to be. Maybe whoever was after her had found her and mistaken the other girl for her? They did have similar hair color and length. But she had changed her basic appearance after each attack so the odds were good they didn’t know exactly what she looked like. So maybe it was a warning, an attempt to spook her into reacting. Into running. They knew where she was but didn’t know exactly what to look for. So they shock her. Running might attract attention, give her away. But how would they know she was in the train depot at that very moment? They might have figured out how she was planning to get out of town but they couldn’t know that she ran the route from time to time, and that she would be there that morning. It felt selfish to turn this poor girl’s tragedy into an attack on herself but none of it made any sense. Hence the earlier-than-normal-for-a-Saturday run. She had to blow all of the clutter out of her head or she would never be able to rest. So she slipped on her shoes, pulled her hair back, slid her earphones in, and headed out the door.

  Half of her problem was that she wasn’t sure if this was related to her or not. It didn’t seem to be, not really. There were better ways, easier, less messy ways, of drawing her out if her shadow man had found her. But she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t him either. Which meant she should leave. Always better to be cautious when one’s life was on the line. Which led straight to the other half of her problem - she really didn’t want to leave. She’d never stayed anywhere long enough to grow attached before. She probably should have left a long time ago but it had been so quiet, with no signs of danger, and she kind of liked not pulling up stakes every 2 months. It was...relaxing. She liked her class and her professor. She liked her job. They worked together so perfectly, the routine was flawless. She knew good and well that she’d likely never find anything like it again. She liked her jogging route. She liked downtown, with its squares and local businesses and residences all mixed in together. And, as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she liked Logan. She had gotten used to seeing him pop up randomly throughout her week. Whether it was at the library or on the quad or on her morning jog, it was nice seeing a friendly face. It was nice actually having a friend. She had never let herself have one before. And she liked it. She didn’t want to give any of those things up. Which was why she had never let herself have any of them before. There was only so close she could let anyone get to her, for their own safety if not for hers, and she would eventually leave, most likely without so much as a “see you later”. Forming attachments just made it harder.

  The sun was just breaking over the horizon as she started on her 3rd lap and she paused. It really was beautiful here. There were mountains, or rather hills, in the distance and the sun lingered over them, burning through the mist and breaking across the trees in shards of light that reflected off the small pond to her left. The fall colors were now on full display, and the sunlight set the bright reds on fire. There was a slight breeze that added a chill to the air but it felt more refreshing than cold on her face and neck as she ran. She had never lived by the ocean or mountains or deserts. She had lived near a lake in Boise, which was nice. But she had a hard time believing anywhere could be as beautiful and peaceful as here. In that moment, she was certain that was the real reason she didn’t want to leave. It was so peaceful. And she felt safe, which had been a fleeting feeling for so long. It absolutely wasn’t because of Logan. Sure, he was maybe a small part, but only a very small part, and it was only because she had realized it was nice to have a friend. That was all it was. And besides, it wasn’t just him, necessarily. Carla from Career Resources seemed nice enough the few times they had talked and of course she had Mr. and Mrs. Boatright, who asked about her day and worried over her when she didn’t eat enough. So Logan was just a part of the mix. A small part. Barely considerable.

  Her pause to admire the sunrise had let her body catch up with her brain. Apparently she had run harder and longer than she thought because she was suddenly exhausted. Sweat had soaked the collar of her shirt and worked its way down her back and the muscles in her calves were burning. But it had worked - she wasn’t thinking about The Incident or what it meant. True, instead she was thinking about why she didn’t want to leave her current safety net because of The Incident, but whatever. She’d take the win.

  Chapter 21

  Quincy

  A shadow fell across Quincy’s face, momentarily blocking the sun, and she looked up. She had decided after her run that she didn’t feel like going back inside and wallowing the same problems around and around, driving herself crazy. So she’d bounced up her apartment stairs, grabbed a blanket and a book, and headed back out. The square was still practically deserted when she got back so she’d tossed the quilt under a tree in the botanical garden and plopped down to read. She wasn’t sure when the sun had shifted so far in the sky but she must’ve been here much longer than it felt. She was mildly annoyed when she saw Logan grinning down at her, jumbo coffee cup in hand. Sure, she had decided she liked having a quasi-friend. He was nice enough to hang around with, and helped pass the time, but she was in the middle of a good book so she really didn’t need any help with passing time at this exact moment.

  “Did you need something?” she asked. She pushed an air of aggravation into her tone. He didn’t look even slightly repentant, which annoyed her even more.

  “Nope. Saw you sitting over here and thought you looked a little bored. I figured I’d say hi and break up the monotony.” He gave her one of his made-for-the-movies smiles before plopping down onto the blanket beside her. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m not sitting, I’m reclining,” she said, motioning towards the quilt she was sprawled out on like he was some kind of idiot, “And I’m not bored. I’m reading.” She made sure her tone of voice was clear on her opinion of someone who could mistake the two and then she smiled sweetly. “So you can take your monster coffee, your rock star smile, your overly-helpful attitude, and go pester someone else.”

  She rolled over onto her stomach and raised her book pointedly, which had exactly zero effect. The aforementioned giant cup of coffee was suddenly in her face, blocking her view of her entire book, which presented a problem. The coffee was a peace offering. If she took it, she was inviting him to stay. On principle alone, she should refuse it. No one should be allowed to get their way by being pushy and presumptive, simply because they knew how to offer bribes. And what kind of person forced their company onto someone else, someone who clearly wasn’t interested in it, and thought that coffee could make it all better? The man was arrogant, obviously having been led to believe that his looks and his charm would get him whatever he wanted. But Quincy wasn’t just anyone. She was immune to his tricks and it would be her pleasure to knock him down off that high horse he was sitting on. The cup started a slow retreat from her line of sight and she instinctively snatched it. And then sighed. Maybe she’d knock him off his high horse a little later.

  She rolled over onto her back and sat up, crossing her legs and eyeing him warily as she took a sip. She wasn’t sure how he knew, exactly, how she took her coffee, but she wasn’t entirely surprised either.

  “So what, you were just out strolling the gardens with an extra cup of coffee, spotted me, and thought ‘Ah ha! An unsuspecti
ng victim’?”

  She almost asked where he’d been all week but then thought better of it. He already had a high enough opinion of himself. She didn’t want to give him any funny ideas about her caring whether she saw him or not. Hands now free, he was leaning back on his elbows, eyes closed, face tipped up towards the sun. With his overgrown curly blonde hair and natural tan, he looked like he could be on a beach right now. Or should be. He kept his eyes closed but smiled at the sarcasm.

  “Nah. But I did see you and think ‘Man, she looks like she could use a coffee’. And since I could too, it seemed like it was meant to be. But hey,” he leaned forward and wiped the palms of his hands on his shorts where dirt and grass had stuck, “since you’re obviously not that interested in your book anymore, and the day is so nice, let’s go for a walk.” He jumped up and reached a hand back down to her, which she ignored.

  “I have a quilt and books and, you know, stuff. Not exactly conducive to a long walk.” She wasn’t quite sure why she was being so feisty today. Maybe she was just finally feeling better.

  “And you have a backpack, which all of your ‘stuff’ fits into. So shove it all in and let’s go.”

  This time, he leaned down and grabbed her hand, pulling just hard enough to get her moving. “I’ll even be a gentleman and carry it.”

  It really was too nice of a day not to enjoy a walk through the parks. They wound down through the botanical gardens, not really saying much. Quincy had thought the silence might become awkward or uncomfortable but it was surprisingly peaceful. She didn’t feel the need to fill the space and clearly, Logan didn’t either. She snuck a quick glance, just to see where his attention was, and found it clearly not on her. In fact, he looked like he was pretty far away. She nudged his shoulder with her own and stepped out of the way of a jogger, into a natural alcove formed by the landscape. The first time she had gone jogging through downtown, the cherry trees had caught her attention and they were still her favorite part of town. Interesting fact - not that many varieties of cherry trees bloomed in the fall. Which just made them feel even more special.