Consequences

Consequences

Mile Marker 75

He waved the pistol at me like a pointer, urging me forward as I looked to him for direction and struggled to grasp the steering wheel, slick with sweat.

“Which way? Straight?”

“Yeah, keep going east till I say otherwise. Got it?”

I nodded, shivering despite the June sun’s heat blazing through the windshield. My morning coffee sat untouched in its holder since I’d placed it there almost an hour ago when my carjacker jumped in the passenger seat. Shame on me I guess, for stopping at a deserted 24 hour convenience store, but my early meeting set me on the road just as the sky pinked up in anticipation for the longest day of the year. I willed myself to breath deeper breaths, since my shallow panting was making me woozy. We’d been on the road headed east for a while now, and passed several banks and ATM’s along the way, so money wasn’t his goal. He hadn’t dragged me off into the woods either, despite his bulk, and his gun. Oddly, he sought freeways and other well-traveled roads. My spit had evaporated instantly the minute he ripped open my door and heaved himself into the passenger seat, and now I needed liquid to pry my tongue away from my teeth.

“Can I reach for my coffee?” I croaked.

“Uh-yeah? Why wouldn’t you? Not like I’m gonna crack my driver upside the head, now is it?”

“No, guess not,” I countered, reaching for the waxed paper cup.

The tepid, bitter liquid started my stomach churning, and the acid swelled in waves until my sternum felt torched.  I normally didn’t drink it black, especially the gas station swill, but had no time to doctor it up before my assailant showed up. I reviewed scenarios in my head – crash and hope for the best, feign sickness, put the hazard lights on and hope some cop was awake enough this early to notice. My gaze kept returning to the handgun, perched in the slightly trembling hand that held it.

Mile Marker 347

Despite appearances, he must’ve been more alert than I; he suddenly slouched as far down in the seat as he could, as I spotted a sheriff’s vehicle tucked into the overgrown access lane. The bright summer light threw heavy shadows on the pavement, and I was surprised he was able to pick out the patrol car that quickly. He sat up, looking a little pale and twitchy.

“Got any water?” he asked. I nodded towards my purse, still on the floor at his feet. The black, faux leather bag held more than it appeared. He flipped open the metal bottle top and took a long draught, before wiping his mouth on his shoulder and holding it out to me. I shook my head.

John – the name he’d told me to call him – didn’t seem particularly dangerous, though he carried a gun and what looked like the outline of a bullet box in his front pocket. Every so often, I cut my eyes in his direction, absorbing bits of information each time. Early thirties, like me, heavy set, also like me. Unkempt brown hair, short but untrimmed beard and an olive green T-shirt, khaki shorts and dark socks with battered track shoes.

“I need to pee, like, seriously need to pee. There’s a gas station coming up,” I ventured.

“Ha! Nice one. I’ll tell you where to pull over. You can pee on the side of the road.”

I steered the car toward the exit ramp leading pretty much nowhere, a forested section of the now sparsely occupied highway, miles from any real city. He and his gun motioned me out of the passenger side door after him, and clutched my arm with his free hand. His dark expression told me all I needed to know about the wisdom of running. He stood close enough that his personal odor, rank with fear, stress and general lax hygiene combined, caused me to suppress a gag. I squatted in the dust, bracing against the car, and could barely release my bladder, despite my urgency. When I finally finished after splattering my shoes and panties, he unzipped and relieved himself. I looked away, hoping my face would register distress to passing motorists, but no one drove by us. Back in the car, he rifled through my insulated lunch bag and devoured half the tuna sandwich and all of the pretzels. I took the apple, not hungry but needing energy.

Mile Marker 658

“She rescued me, I’m sure of it. She could game with the best – better than most of the guys I knew in school. Mandy talked me into a few parties and prom, even though everybody still called me trailer trash, it didn’t bother me when I was with Mandy.”

“Where is she now?”

“Gone. My dad ran her off. Told her she was too good for me,” John dropped his head “Little bitch! She cut me good. Isn’t there a song like that? Deepest cut or something?”

As he prattled on, I felt my eyelids droop again and again. Soon enough, my tires hit sand on the shoulder and I jerked the wheel too hard to compensate. We fishtailed, both yelling in terror as an oncoming eighteen wheeler nearly clipped us. I managed to pull over and stop, chest heaving.

“Fucking hell! You trying to kill us or something?”

“Sorry , it’s just – it’s been hours. It’s way past lunch time – I’m tired. And hungry,” I thought to add.

“Fine!” he growled “We’ll stop at the next mini mart. No tricks though,” he dislodged the handgun from his waistband and eyed me sternly. Time for the plan I developed during the last hundred miles, while he drifted into semi-sleep, or a trance, or lost in whatever thoughts quieted him.

“Bathroom?” I asked when we pulled into the run down Texaco at the next exit. The only option for miles around. The pumps hadn’t been updated, and the only bathroom was around the side. A stench guided us in the right direction, and he unlocked the door. I stepped through and turned back, ready to shove him off if he tried to follow, but the door closed behind me quickly and I heard the key click in the lock.

“You got five minutes!” he yelled through the door.

After I finished, I tried the sink but it was inoperable, so I scanned the cinder block fortress for any way out. The one, grimy window was too high and too small. My only way out was the same way I came in. Minutes passed and I began to worry he changed his mind and had driven away with my car. I wouldn’t mind, but I did mind being locked in a stinking, filthy hole where no one knew I was confined. I paced the well-worn tile which was littered with paper, dead flies, cigarettes, a used condom and what looked like a desiccated lizard in the corner. I cupped my hands around my mouth, ready to start screaming, when the door flung open. John lunged at me, quicker than I would’ve thought for a man his size, and clamped a hand around my wrist, lurching me forward.

“C-mon! Move it!”

The backseat was piled high with every sort of snack food known to man, and two six packs of soda. John hustled me into the driver’s seat, before climbing in and handing me the keys. His front pocket bulged with cash as he settled himself, gun returned to his hand. A blue base ball cap now adorned his head, and he’d grabbed wrap around sunglasses.

“Go! Go! For fuck’s sake!” he screamed.

I craned to see whether an attendant still manned the counter, but had to watch the road. John was rattled and I searched his face for any clue of what happened. He caught me watching.

“I clocked him good, but he ain’t dead,” he said, guessing my question.

I nodded, breathing out my relief that I wouldn’t be accomplice to a murder. We continued east, making our way toward I wasn’t sure what.

Mile Marker 847

“I’m glad you didn’t kill that guy back there,” I said, when I could talk again.

“No reason to, I’m not psycho. Besides, I killed enough people already today.”

“Is that what you’re running from?” I ventured, hoping I hadn’t misjudged his temperament, “Did you really kill someone?”

He shook his head and I felt relief. The line about doing enough killing was his rouse to keep me in fear of him and be cooperative. I took in a deep breath and felt myself relax.

“Not someone. Two people for sure, and maybe three or four. I’m not sure.”

I gasped, the initial terror gripped me again. My bowels contracted, spasming through my midriff. I clenched my core body muscles to keep my insides under control, my jaw to silence my voice, and the steering wheel to keep the tires on the pavement.

“I didn’t mean to, really. I mean, the old neighbor couple were an accident. They were in the way and I had to get out fast,” he explained “They stepped out in front of me, and kinda bounced off the hood.”

“Who else did you – I mean, besides the accident with the couple?”

“My old man,” he related “And Taryn – fuck! Why didn’t she just -”

“Whose Taryn, and what was she supposed to do?”

He sighed, and went silent, pulling his mouth into a deep frown. With his free hand, he swiped what I imagine was a tear from his cheek.  It didn’t seem wise to push him, so I just drove. While I was locked inside the toilet, he must have filled up the tank, since the needle hovered over the miniature red F.

Mile Marker 1072

“-and so I thought she was the one person really into me, ya know?”

“But she wasn’t? That sucks.”

“I mean, I know she was like, older, but she was all I had, and then  - why did he have to -”

“How did you find out?”

“Laundry,” he said, sounding despondent “Trying to step up and do something nice. Keychain fell out of his pocket – when he gets drunk, he gets sloppy.”

“So, you found her key in his pocket, but what -?”

“Why would he have her key chain? I recognized it. I left the clothes at the laundromat and went back to the trailer. Bastard was halfway through a fifth again, four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

John slouched down and crossed his arms, silent and staring out the window at the rear doors and warehouse loading docks that backed up to the train tracks and parallel highway. The sun, well behind us now and sinking fast, painted its orange sherbet glow on the faded white buildings. I’m no psychologist, but he seemed to be running without a plan. ‘East, east’ was all he ever said when I asked where we were headed. Not so much running even, just putting himself in suspended animation, where things weren’t really true as long as we were in transit.

“He laughed, laughed until he nearly choked. When he could breathe again, he asked me if I really thought Taryn would be with me if she wasn’t paid to do it.”

“He was paying her? For him or for you – or both?”

“Just me, but he was banging her too. While I was at work, trying to live right, earn a living, not like that low life douche bag, sitting around collecting money from the government he never earned.”

“But, what did-“

“And another thing!” he sat straight up in the seat, gun forgotten and tucked under his knee “What kind of crazy bitch would bang an old geezer like him, when -  Both of us – that’s just nasty!”

Mile Marker 1292

The hamburger helped. I ordered two for me and three for him, plus two large fries and a couple of shakes, along with bottles of water. Snacks are good, but I begged him for something that would fill my stomach. The cashier looked at us strange when I handed her a bunch of bills – nobody pays with cash anymore. We ate in the parking lot, next to the sign that says no eating in the parking lot. Both of us laughed about it. He let me take a little nap – the place was ready to close so not many people were around.

“Where are we, do you know?” I asked when I woke up. If I had my phone I would know, but he tossed it out the window almost straight away after he made me start driving.

“No. All I know is, it’s not Oregon.”

“Think anyone is looking for us?”

He shrugged, but looked thoughtful as he clawed his fingers through his hair. 

Mile Marker 1385

Evidently, he tired of holding the gun, but kept it laid across his lap as he seemed to doze. My legs and back were cramped from driving for so long. We took stretch breaks every so often, but I’d never spent this long behind the wheel before. Next time I glanced over, he was awake and looking at me.

“Think I’m evil?”

“No,” I said slowly “But shooting two people isn’t something most people would do.”

“I always had a temper, you know like bustin things up an that, but this time – I guess it got out of hand. The fury just took over, I guess.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Mostly, yeah, pretty much. I feel like they had it coming, but it’s weird to think they’re dead, an I’m the one who did it.”

“You know for sure they’re dead?”

“What?”

“What if they’re not dead? It sounds like you didn’t stick around to find out, did you?”

He cocked his head to one side, considering my question, then met my eyes. His gesture ignited a little hope for me, like having a fish on the line. You might not land it, but then again, you might. I chose my next words deliberately.

“You might not be in as much trouble as you think, right?”

He hung his head and rocked it from side to side. Brown hair, lanky now with sweat and oil, hung over his eyes as he seemed to silently verbalize some sort of argument. I waited, wondering what he would decide, as he fingered the gun in his lap. After killing four people, shooting me likely wouldn’t make any punishment any worse.

“Maybe, but what if I am?”

“What if you are?” I tossed it out there, chancing it.

“I’ll probably go to jail, no matter what happened.”

“True, but you know what makes a big difference? Whether you turn yourself in, or whether they have to chase you down.”

I had no idea whether that was true. All my judicial knowledge came from detective shows, but he might not know any better either. He had to be as tired as me by this point.

Mile Marker 1447

“What do you think would happen?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll tell you what won’t happen – if you walk into a police station on your own, without your gun of course,” I nodded to the pistol he cradled “You won’t get shot.”

“Or you either.”

“Right, me neither. If they come after you, anything could happen. I’m sure you hear all the news these days about trigger happy cops. How many guys have been shot while they were surrendering? Or in the back as they ran away? Lots.”

“Would you come with me?”

I hadn’t expected that question. Did he mean as a hostage?  A shield? Not the most appealing idea. I was desperate not to sound like I was telling him what to do, or bullying him. From the sounds of it, he’d had enough of that.

“Uh, sure – if I can, I guess. Maybe I could go in ahead of you and tell them you’re in the car, or right behind me or something.”

Tree shaped shadows began to be visible along the road, and I realized day break was not far off. I hadn’t been reading sign posts for a while now, so I wasn’t really sure where we were at the moment. Where ever driving east for nearly twenty four hours would get us. While he pondered what he wanted to do, I scanned the shoulder for public service signs directing travelers to hospitals and law enforcement outposts. Finally, I found what I wanted.

“Look!” I touched his arm. He startled, and so did I “Sorry. You missed it, but a sign said there are police at the next exit. What do you think?”

He began a fast tap on the arm rest with his middle finger, like a nervous tic. I couldn’t blame him, and held my breath, afraid of talking him out of it just when he was seriously considering my suggestion. Minutes passed, as did the exit to the police station. I took a deep breath.

“John, look. I’ll go with you. I’ll tell them you didn’t hurt me, and that you told me how sorry you are,” I paused “You are sorry, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. His posture signaled defeat, and he sounded beat.

“Ok then, we’ll turn around at the next exit and go back, does that sound ok to you?”

He shifted on his hip to face in my direction and looked at me as I glanced at him every so often, with one eye on the road. It was a scary time of night, or morning, with all the animals waking up or returning to their dens, running into the roadway if startled. I gripped the steering wheel extra tight.

“What do you say, John. Should we do it?”

“Sure, why not?” he said, finally  “And my name is Eric.”