PowerLess_Anti-Hero Game

by Chelsea Camaron

  There was a small display of my work in the corner next to me and the wheel. It was my little set up behind the front counter. As customers came in they couldn’t readily see me, but if they moved to the back, I could be found along with my work. I wasn’t about to push my luck for front of the store shelf space, even though Cora had offered it to me recently.

  The thing was, even my small area, well, I couldn’t keep it stocked. One would get completed and two would sell. While this was great, keeping up with the demand was a bit challenging.

  Cora, loving some of my pieces, now displayed a few things in the front windows of the shop. It was truly an honor to see my work blended with hers. Those pieces she didn’t sell typically, but instead used them for their eye-catching colors and the way they showed any customer the way handmade pottery could be both for decoration and function.

  For me, it was inspiration of more items I could potentially make. Even though, I had to be honest and say the more I pushed to learn, the more the sales seemed to come. This wasn’t something to complain about, but it was certainly another layer in my adjustment to this new life.

  I was still working the kinks out of this one-man show.

  The clay moved up and down, forming then bending. It was exactly what I’d done coming here. I’d conformed and bended into my surroundings making myself invisible for the most part. Each piece brought me a calm in the midst of the uncontrollable storm that had become my life. For those moments while I was molding and making nothing mattered but creating something from nothing. Like my life over and over again, building up from losing it all.

  “Hannah?” I paused, looking up at Cora, which was a difficult task. Not the looking part, but the name. It was mine now. Hannah Johnson. Nothing flashy or obvious. A name to blend in with my surroundings. Luckily, I spent all my time focused on one piece to the next; the delay in reaction was expected because of the focus it took to work the clay. This job was truly a blessing from every angle. Each day my confidence grew. I simply needed more time to get acclimated to my new name and lifestyle.

  “Hey,” I replied, giving her my attention.

  “Hey, hun. Someone is interested in the turquoise and red pot up at the front display. When I told him it wasn’t for sale, he said he’d pay triple the price just to get it. That his mother just had to have it.”

  My smile widened. “It’s fine. I can always make a new one for up there.”

  “But it was your first pot here. I explained to him we don’t sell the display fronts, but he was persistent and adamant that I asked. If you say no, I’ll stand behind it.”

  I shrugged. Something I’d learned since building a life here was that stuff was exactly that—stuff. Not having anything but the clothes on my back and a duffle filled with shit made me really think about what was important. The memories I made were what I could take with me. I would always remember making that pot. The time getting reacquainted with the wheel, the love, the nerves, and the excitement when it came together were all inside of me. Those feelings were mine, they didn’t belong to the piece.

  Nothing back home was important. Again, it was all stuff. Nothing mattered but Royal and Gramma. I hadn’t spoken to either since I left. With Gramma, I couldn’t call. By phone she would’ve never remembered me anyway. As for Royal, well, I was worried but I knew better than to reach out. She hadn’t tried calling me from the burner phone she gave me, and I didn’t want to get her into any more trouble by talking to me. While I was concerned for her, I couldn’t risk calling and Jolin finding her burner phone to reach me. When she felt it was safe, she would contact me. I had to remain positive that she was safe.

  “It’s fine. I’m not partial to any of them.”

  Her hip jetted out. “You should be.”

  “Just sell it to him.”

  “Okay.” She stomped off. If she didn’t want to sell it because it was sentimental to her, she wouldn’t have come in here and asked me. It wasn’t her way. We had this bond, and I had no doubt her reasoning for hesitating to sell it was about me. The piece was sentimental. It was the first step in making this new life work for me. Of course she didn’t know that, but in my situation every dollar mattered; not the meaning behind each piece. They all were my escape, and each one mattered as much as the last. I appreciated Cora looking out for me, but pottery on a shelf didn’t fill my belly or keep me warm at night.

  My hand dipped in the bucket of water next to the wheel as I worked the clay forming it just right. This one was going to be an open bowl. When I glazed it, the color would go on and that would be whatever hit me in that moment.

  I actually loved this. As an esthetician, my fingers worked their magic to help complexions. Here, they worked to bring color and happiness to others. There were similarities and differences, but it was enjoyable letting my thoughts pour into each piece.

  Look at me now… If I had a man behind me with his hands laced through mine, we’d be reenacting Ghost. Maybe I should cut back on the television, movies, and books. Everything seemed to have a reference to my life.

  After finishing and putting it on the shelf to dry, I cleaned up my area for the day. It was after six, and I liked to leave by six or I’d end up being here all night. Therefore, I was late, but there was no one at home, so it really didn’t matter. Since restarting my life, schedule was important to me. The more structure I could manage, the easier to track my surroundings. I wasn’t stupid, and I wasn’t about to get too comfortable anywhere no matter how much I liked Cora and my job. If I had to leave I would, and I wouldn’t look back.

  “I’m gonna head out,” I called to Cora, whose eyes lit up as she grabbed something by the register and darted my way.

  “I was just going to come and find you.” She handed me a stark white envelope. At first, nerves spliced through me. Three weeks wasn’t enough time to have that fear that someone would find me dissipate in any way. Looking over my shoulder was a way of life now, and anything out of the ordinary I veered away from.

  Carefully I took the envelope as she said, “He paid triple for that thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, girl, but triple. Sometimes people surprise me.”

  Relief flooded me as I put the money inside my purse. “That was on him. I would’ve just made him pay normal price, but he offered and obviously followed through.”

  Cora smiled bright. “I’m gonna head out too in a few. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  This question was asked every time I left for the night, and the answer was always the same. “Yeah.”

  There was nothing to get back to my place for. No one to go home to or call to chat. My days staring at a wall would drive me crazy. Pottery filled up my time and kept me moving. Step by step, I was doing what Gary said, stepping up to the plate and making my life mine.

  We said our goodbyes as I pulled my small jacket over my body, my crossbody purse hanging down from my shoulder, making the three-block walk to my place.

  Colorado was a beautiful place. I’d only ever seen it on television and the Internet. There was something about actually smelling the fresh air and seeing it in all its glory that really made it sink in. My choice was perfect.

  None of that meant that I wasn’t vigil about my surroundings. My eyes always scanned everywhere, always afraid that Jolin would jump out from behind something and get me.

  While I hated that I had to change my life, Colorado was a breath of fresh air. Hopefully one day, I’d be able to relax a bit and not feel this tension in my body all the time. It was always there under the surface. Hiding who I was from others and trying to appear like any other normal human being on this planet.

  My legs moved me quickly down the sidewalk and damn, my legs were looking good with all the exercise. That was me looking for the positive, because hell—the negatives would only bring me down.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, and I quickly scanned. Several cars going up and down the street, which was normal considering it was the main street in
the town. Not one of them had eyes on me. Looking right and then left, everything looked exactly as it should.

  Nothing out of place.

  There had been several times when I felt this and each time, nothing. No one in sight.

  My gait quickened, my street just up in the distance. I moved fast down the stairs of my place, unlocked the door, opened it, got in and locked it. Only then did I breathe. Back to the door, my eyes closed as I let the relief filter through me.

  The place I rented was a small basement apartment. The owners lived upstairs and never came down to bother me one bit. They were respectful, and Mrs. Conway was funny. It was safe, and they took cash every month.

  It was small, one large room that had a downsized kitchen, my bed, and a couch with television. The only rooms were a small one with a bathroom that had a toilet and a very tiny shower.

  The area was sparse and didn’t have any personality, but it was mine and that would come with time. The Conways had the bed, couch, and table with chairs already in the place. The television was the only thing I splurged on, and that wasn’t until I really started selling my work.

  It was as if for once, luck was on my side.

  At least for the time being.

  I showered, dressed, ate and sat in my living room chair watching the television. This was how all my nights were spent so far and at times, I was grateful for the quiet. Other times I felt so alone it was crippling. It depended on the day.

  My body started to relax.

  Little did I know that someone was lurking and would turn my already jacked up life upside down.

  8

  Dane

  Aspen picked a quiet, tiny town for her new life. I was impressed. I preferred small towns. If I had grown up differently, I would’ve enjoyed living in a place like this. It had this family and friends feel you didn’t find everywhere. This morning as I went to the diner for a cup of coffee, every person I passed smiled or gave some sort of pleasant greeting. In Philly, while no one was overly rude, they were always in a rush and completely concerned with themselves.

  The shop Aspen worked at on Main Street was quaint. The awning over the display window was like a step back in time. The front windows to the shop were done in a way to accent each and every pottery piece with lights that shone down on them giving them an extra sparkle. On one side was a dining table set up and the other was a coffee table. Centered on the coffee table was this large bowl. The outside of it was painted in a stunning turquoise and the inside in a bright red. The colors contrasted, but still worked together in a way that drew my eyes right to it.

  Aspen was smart to pick here to settle down. It wasn’t the city of Denver or anywhere overly busy. Small towns were great if you could find acceptance in them. Because the majority of small towns despised outsiders. They liked life the way they had it and hated change. New people could bring in developers. Very few small towns wanted growth or development, so the more risk to their way of life the more resistance. This place was a smart choice. In fact, the town had a total of three stoplights.

  Three.

  This made tracking her easy, but also complicated. My chances of standing out were greater as well as her opportunities to spot me. Answering questions from locals would mean making sure I had an airtight alias and background, which I did. In my line of work, there was no such thing as being too careful.

  I walked into the shop wearing relaxed-fit jeans, a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, my dark hair styled back as usual, and my aviators in place. My black boots were heavy on the bamboo flooring of the store.

  A small framed older woman greeted me with a smile. She gave off the sweet vibe like she was from the South. This wasn’t my first trip to Colorado. While I hadn’t been to this town before, I found the people of Colorado to be welcoming. This woman was no different. They all had this easy charm.

  “Welcome to Fired Up; let me know if I can help you with anything,” she greeted, to which I simply nodded as I continued to scan the space.

  She wore gray slacks, a black top, with a brown apron that was covered in smears of every color imaginable. Her hair was cut shorter with a wave to it. Her smile was genuine, and she gave off the maternal vibe many women didn’t pull off well. She was easy-going. Laid back.

  And happy.

  In my line of work, reading people was a must and reading her was refreshing. While I wouldn’t be making myself comfortable here, it was nice to see genuine kindness in someone. Most of the people I encountered were up to no good and self-serving fuckers. Case in point, Jolin Zook and his uncle, Freeman. Two self-absorbed bastards that no one could trust.

  I scanned the shop. The shelves were filled with bowls, cups, pots, and so much more. All done in different sizes, shapes, colors, and both walls were covered with shelves from floor to ceiling. Everything imaginable could be found on the shelves. It was a stunning display of craftsmanship. Turning around, the window display that caught my attention when I was outside called to me even more. Without thinking, I made my way to it.

  As I went to the bowl, I lifted it. Upon this up-close inspection, flecks of gold could be seen painted into the red and flecks of brass into the turquoise, making the colors have more dimension. It was truly exquisite and thoroughly detailed. This wasn’t an amateur piece. I knew who had made the piece based on Link’s notes.

  She had talent.

  This job wasn’t something typical.

  I had chased people on the run before. Car washes, stealing, selling drugs, pimping women, theses were all some of the jobs they did to survive. Some took jobs as cooks in diners. I expected Aspen to be a waitress. It was the first thought when looking for cash jobs that a new identity could slip through to.

  Aspen continued to surprise me at every turn.

  Pottery making was a skilled trade. Something one had to study or at least practice. Nothing in her life would’ve led me in this direction.

  Holding her work in my hand, I found myself admiring the woman more. The weight was solid but not overly heavy. Should a child be in the room they wouldn’t be able to pull it from a table and get hurt, but an older woman could still pick up the piece and use it in her home.

  “We have some other bowls on the back shelf here,” Cora instructed as I continued to hold the bowl in my hands.

  “I’ll take this one.”

  She smiled softly and tilted her head to the side, extending her hands out to take the bowl from me.

  I stepped back, pulling it to my body.

  “Honey, the stuff in the window fronts we don’t sell. They’re display only. I’ll be happy to put in a custom order for you with the designer.”

  “No, I need this one. I’ll pay double. My mother is a history teacher and loves true handcrafts. These colors match her kitchen exactly.”

  Again, I got the soft smile from the woman. “I’m sorry, honey, but that one just isn’t for sale. If you put in an order, I’m sure Hannah can get it done for you within a week.”

  “I’ll pay triple, all cash. Everything is for sale, we just gotta find the price,” I said with my best smile.

  The woman shook her head at me. She was firm, but I had the feeling she didn’t know Aspen— or as she called her, Hannah’s need for income.

  “Could you just ask her if she’d sell it to me?” I laced the charm on thick in every word.

  She wasn’t fazed. Her face hardened letting me see her annoyance at my persistence. “Let me check with Hannah,” she said, moving to the back corner where I laid eyes on her.

  With her hands covered in wet clay, glasses on her eyes, her hair was dyed dark black and pulled back; she wore a yellow top with an apron covered in mud and paints behind the pottery wheel. From my spot, I couldn’t hear their conversation. I didn’t want to press my luck so I stayed in the front of the store hidden from her view by a counter with a cash register.

  In a moment, she waved off Cora who returned to me with a smile. Pulling out my wallet, I dropped the
three fresh one-hundred-dollar bills on the counter and walked out with the pottery in my hand.

  I felt like buying this piece was somehow winning at life, which made absolutely no sense to me. Maybe it was the challenge of convincing Cora to sell it, or maybe I was truly losing my sanity. Serial killers took trophies from each kill. While I had been ordered to return her to Freeman alive, that didn’t mean the job wouldn’t return to a kill at a later date. Did I need this reminder of a job? Hell fucking no, but I couldn’t walk away and leave it in the shop. I could’ve bought a smaller piece, something else from the display, but this bowl called to me. Having it now, I had to wonder if I wasn’t certifiably crazy.

  Carefully, I placed it in the seat beside me where I sat back to wait out the day for Hannah to get off. The Zippo lighter sat in the cup holder reminding me of how far I had come. How far had Aspen come in life? I had to give her credit, for someone unaccustomed to life on the run, she was certainly thriving here.

  She was a creature of habit, but I wasn’t about to lose sight of her since my mission had changed. It would take me a few days to formulate a plan on how to kidnap her discreetly.

  Buying the piece was a test. Cora was protective of the item. She wasn’t going to let it go easily. She wouldn’t let her new friend simply disappear. So whatever I did, I was going to need to make sure to cover all my bases.