Michael

I pull back on the road, two cars in tow after my truck. The train rattles away into the forest and a surge of dread I wasn’t aware of dissipates from my chest, knowing Freckles will see another day.

I have to deal with Jared and his thugs and there’re only so many ways I can do this. And maybe only one of them will leave me alive.

Yet, if I die they’ll find Hanna.

I clutch the wheel, watching two cars in the rear view mirror. One of the thugs sticks his head out the window, a whiskey bottle clutched in his tattooed hand. He screams in excitement as if he’s already won.

If I race them they’ll pelt me with bullets. Maybe I should’ve risked the jump onto the train. But I didn’t and it’s too late now.

The only solution I can think up is to pick them off one by one. I could do it with a cover of some form of structures and in the night time. But it’s morning.

Jared’s playing with me the way a predator would play with his prey, and it’ll be his own doom because it gives me time and an opportunity to use his cruelty to my advantage. I can stop by the police station in the nearest town and come up with a detailed plan.

And that I do when I reach a small town and park by the walkway near the police station. Jared and his thugs park further away. They must be having a blast, wondering what I’m planning, and I admit I’m glad Jared’s cruel. Because for what he’s cruel, he’s also dumb.

I need the cover of darkness and for that I have to wait out the day.

The town area is alive with people and I zip up my jacket to hide the bloody shirt before I exit and head into a little Internet café across the street. As I cross the road I glance over my shoulder. Jared doesn’t dare to exit his vehicle.

A bell above the door rings when I enter and I take in a dense smell of coffee swimming through the air. Homely chatter flows across the place, absorbed by cream-colored walls and soft cushions. It reminds me of a strip club backstage, of coffee the girls liked to drink near their dressing tables. It also brings to mind my glasses and I slide them on. One of the strippers once said I look like a mid-school teacher when I wear them, which means non-threatening. She said they make my eyes look softer.

Glimpsing back through the windows I find a few coins in my pocket, then pay for fifteen minutes to get on the web and get surprised when I see the date— 11.16.2008 —it’s almost the middle of November. Freckles and I spent almost a month together.

I study the map, figuring out my plan. Jared’s cars will have six to nine guys and I have to kill them all, for Freckle’s sake.

A sigh escapes me, an uncontrollable resistance to the murders I have to commit, but I push it down and then deeper. I’ll cry and lament about my life when all of them are dead.

I search for a pharmacy nearby, but it’s two blocks south from here. Too far. I’ll have to rely on a med kit in the truck.

I visit the bathroom and buy myself the cheapest cup of coffee so not to look so suspicious. I’m barely half my full strength and I need to try to get a few hours of sleep before sundown. I take my coffee and pick a newspaper, then settle on a couch in the corner of the shop with a small coffee table and a stack of magazines. In front of me, sitting at another coffee table, an old man types on a laptop, a fat and heavy looking thing. Resting my head against the cushion I observe the machine for a while, imagining how uncomfortable it must be to carry this piece of metal around…

Freckles walks in into the shop and after her, Jared—

“Hey, sir!” My shoulder rocks and I bolt upright, blinking rapidly. I snap my gaze over the place and reality blots out the haze and horror of my dream. Neither Freckles, nor Jared are here.

A staff member picks up a coffee mug from the table nearby. “Please, get up, sir.” I look at the clock on the wall. Twenty to four. “Yep, we thought you’d wake sooner,” the staff boy says.

“Leave the man alone, Doyle.” I rotate my eyes to a cop, sitting at the table nearby. Doyle slides a rag over the table, shaking his head with a soft smile. The cop chuckles and his eyes jump to my bandaged head. “Rough day, eh?” Thankfully, I had changed the bandage, so it’s clean and mostly hidden by my hair.

I gulp and adjust my glasses, which’ve slumped on my nose. I hate cops. When I was little, I was scared of them as much as I was of my father. “Rough day, sir.” Under the newspaper I slide my arm to my wound, to make sure I didn’t bleed on the couch under me. So far it’s dry.

“What happened to your head?”

“I fell. It’s ugly.”

The cop bobs his head, as if knowing what I mean then lifts his chin at Doyle. “Let the man rest, boy. He’s not harming anyone here.”

Doyle rolls his eyes. “Remember that old bum you had to get rid of?” He wipes the table.

“This man is not a bum, Doyle,” the cop says nonchalantly, reading a newspaper.

I slacken on the couch and look out the window. Jared and his thugs are still there, though Jared’s loitering outside, blowing cigarette smoke. He looks pissed and interested at the same time, yet doesn’t dare to near my car as it’s too close to the police station.

I watch him for a while, for the first time glad the old cop is nearby.