The stars of the night were always a beautiful sight to behold while on the road. For one man in particular it was an escape. It was a doorway to a whole new state of mind. The sound of his Harley would fade away and nothing would be left but silence and the world laid out before his eyes. It was in these moments that nothing else existed for him. It was as if time stood still every time he reached one hundred miles per hour on his bike. He barely even felt the swiftness of the wind at these speeds anymore. Now was one of those times where he lost himself in the scenery. He wouldn't dare remember anything from his long past. All he wanted was to be lost on this lonesome ride of his. It had been more than two hundred days he spent on the road alone. His dark brown hair had grown long and his beard had gotten full. Any time off of the highway was spent in cheap motels or bars. After the first fifty days on the run he never even bothered to look into a mirror. He would see nothing but shame inside of it. The hot air of the desert felt good on his dry skin. It was pitch black with only a few dark shadows of bushes and trees for him to see along with the black pavement parted by yellow dashes in the middle of the road.
His eyes were beginning to close as he felt the lack of sleep catching up with him. He licked the inside of his dry mouth, still tasting the whiskey he drank hours ago. There was a sign he passed by saying there was a motel a few miles down. He didn't want to stop but he had no choice. If he continued it would only lead to another spill from sleep deprivation. After a few minutes he saw the lights of the twenty-four hour motel and pulled into its parking lot, his loud bike probably waking every person inside. It was a small and old looking motel complete with vending machines in the front and a red neon vacancy sign by the entrance. When he came to a stop he twisted the keys and silenced his only companion. He removed his helmet and stared at the stars one last time before getting off the bike. He swiped the dust and dirt off of his leather jacket and oil stained jeans then took off the backpack he had on. He placed the pack on the seat of his bike and unzipped it open to reveal a small amount of clothes. He slightly picked up the clothes exposing over a hundred thousand dollars underneath. He pulled out three hundred dollar bills and shoved them into the pocket of his jacket. He put his arm through one of the straps of the backpack and held it with one shoulder. After setting his helmet down on the seat of the bike he walked to the front desk.
There was a homeless man sitting against the wall of the motel by his cart full of dirty raggedy clothes, bottles and cans. The biker glanced at the man with his peripherals before opening the front door and walking in. He stood by the front counter and rung the bell sitting on top. The front desk was a mess with papers, soda cans, and food wrappers all around it. The rest of the room was just as filthy and beat down accompanied with flies buzzing around. The light in the ceiling flickered and some of the tiles were either cracked or broken. A big bald man walked out from the room in the back of the office. He fit in with the room just fine with a dirty shirt and shorts on. He looked surprised to see this six foot man waiting for him behind the counter.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
"Just a room for the night," he said with his deep hoarse voice. The man nodded and grabbed some papers from the desk and slid them to his customer on the counter.
"It's gonna be seventy-three bucks with eighty scents once you just fill in those papers." He didn't show it but he was surprised to see this guy asking for all the legal stuff to get a room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bills. He placed two of the bills on top of the paper. The man looked at him with a brow raised.
"The first is for the room and you can keep the change. The second is for you if we skip the papers and if you think you're able to forget my face." The man looked at him confused and simply reached out for the papers and the money. He pulled them towards him and slipped the bills into the pocket of his shorts then reached out and grabbed the key card.
"You're in room eight," he said nervously as he handed the key card to the biker. He calmly grabbed the card from his hand and nodded with gratitude. He adjusted his backpack and walked out, leaving the other man at the front desk with his confusion. Once he walked out of the entrance he stopped and turned back to the homeless man. He walked over to the man and stood over him. The homeless man looked like he had just woken up and just stared at this stranger looking down at him. He was old with white hair on his head and face. He opened his mouth to say something revealing some yellow teeth and a couple missing. The biker grabbed the other hundred from his pocket and squatted down before he could say anything.
"Hold out your hand." The homeless man listened and extended his hand out to the biker. He then softly shook his hand. When he released him he stood up straight, keeping his eyes on the homeless man. He watched the biker walk away then looked to his hand and saw the hundred dollar bill in it. Before going to his room, he grabbed the leather bags from each side of his bike and his helmet, and took them inside of room eight. It was a small room but it had all he needed. The bed was on the left side of the doorway with a nightstand beside it. Sitting on the nightstand was a lamp and a digital clock. In front of the bed was an old TV on top of a small wooden cabinet. Beside the cabinet was a small wooden chair. When he closed the door he set one of the heavy leather bags beside the entrance. It made a loud thud when it hit the floor. He dropped his backpack on the bed, along with the other leather bag and his helmet. There was a coat hanger on the back of the door so he slid out of his leather jacket and hung it on there. At the foot of the bed he lifted his white shirt a bit and took out the pistol from the back of his jeans, then set it next to the leather bag. He sat down on the bed and took off his black boots.
Once his boots were off he walked into the bathroom and removed the rest of his clothes. First he slipped off his shirt, revealing many scars on his tan, muscular body. There was a gunshot scar on his right shoulder and a few knife scars on his abdomen, back and left arm. Among the scars there was a small tattoo on his chest, over his heart. It was a name in cursive that read Laurie. He reached into the shower and turned the water on. There was a knife inside its sheath attached to his belt; he removed it and tossed it onto the bed as well. He returned to the bathroom and shut the door. When he took off his jeans, his naked skin revealed another stab scar on his right thigh. He leaned over the sink and pulled his long, wavy hair behind his ears. The steam was beginning to fill up the bathroom which was what he hoped for. He looked up and saw the mirror completely fogged up from the steam, hiding his reflection. He slipped off the silver ring on his left hand and placed it by the handle on the sink. He turned on the water from the sink then closed his eyes and let the water fill his cupped hands. The cold water felt good against his face when he splashed it on himself. His rough hands slid down his wet cheeks and finally he opened his eyes. He stood against the wall twisting the silver ring on his left ring finger waiting for the water to get warmer. He stepped into the shower and bent his head down underneath the shower head, allowing the warm liquid to splash onto his back. The water hitting against his flesh felt like a massage. He stepped out and rubbed the towel all over himself. All of the steam was released from the bathroom when he opened the door. From the clothes he left neatly on the bed he grabbed some boxers.
He grabbed the small chair and set it in front of the bed. Now he pulled the leather bag towards him and opened it up. Inside of it were more clothes but when he took them out, there was extra cash and some guns underneath. Neatly, he set the clothes to the side then took out the weapons. He pulled out two more pistols then a small black case, and four clips. He pushed the bag back and started to take apart the pistols to clean them. Once they were all clean and back together, he removed the clip from the gun he had on him. With the black case in his hand, he opened it revealing four rows of bullets with twenty in each row. However, one of the rows was missing six bullets. He took two more from that row and pushed it into the clip. Now that it was full, he shoved the clip into the pistol. He sighed as he brought the weapon down on his leg. His attention was turned onto what was on the bed and it depressed him. There was enough money to have him set for life but there was no point. He turned his attention to the gun.
So many times he was caught in this predicament. So many times he wanted this to be over. So many times he wanted to end it all. He had been alone for so long that he lost count of how many days he hadn't been home. Home. There was no such thing in his life anymore. He had no place to call home anymore. From the corner of his eye he could see the highway through a small opening the curtains didn't cover of the window. The closest thing he had to a home was the road. It was the only place he could be at peace without having to be dead. Nights like these were what he despised most. They were the times where he felt the most human but he did notice the silver lining of nights like these. If he could still feel this human then maybe he wasn't the monster he told himself he was. The pistol in his hand was placed on the bed. He stood up from the chair and walked over to the cabinet. The black shirt for tomorrow was folded then laid beside the TV. His boots were set side by side on the floor in front of the cabinet and his jeans were positioned on top of the shirt. The firearms, clips, and bullets were placed back into the bag beside his money. The clothes he recently wore were bundled up and shoved into the leather bag on top of the money and weapons. Once everything was inside of his bag, he placed it on the floor then slid it under the bed. His backpack was set down in front of the nightstand and once again he had the pistol in his hand. He stared at it for a long while wondering if this night would still be the one.
A sigh was let out and he knew that this wasn't the night. Soon, he thought but in the back of his head he could feel that it might not happen. The gun was placed underneath his pillow in case life had a surprise for him during the night. With the bed clear of his things, he laid down on his stomach with one hand underneath the pillow, grasping the handguns handle. He closed his eyes hoping he was more tired than he suspected but he was never that lucky. It always took him maybe half an hour to an hour to fall asleep. These nights where he felt the most vulnerable always felt the same. They also always ended the same way. Every time he closed his eyes ready to put these nights away, he always had this one last thought in his head before he drifted off to sleep. It was never really over until he had this thought. This thought was the reason why he thought himself such a monster.
I hope I care less tomorrow.
The biker was up before the crack of dawn. He wasn't sure how much sleep he got but he didn't care; he knew it was enough. The bags were loaded on his bike and he was ready to get back on the road. On the front desk was the key card for his room. As he exited the office, he glanced back at the homeless man on the side of the building. The two locked eyes and it was the homeless man who waved goodbye with a smile. The biker simply nodded then went on his way. The engine roared when he twisted the throttle, sending him back onto that familiar black pavement. It wasn't long before the morning sun illuminated his path. The blackness from the night before hid the golden color of the Montana desert. The sunlight also made the color of the bike shine. Despite the dirt and dust covering it, the Persian blue still stood out. The wind had gotten colder so he knew that he wouldn't be in the desert much longer. The signs showed him heading towards a city called Bozeman. However, he didn't plan on actually going to Bozeman.
Through his travels he's always stayed away from cities and only stopped in towns. The cities would lend him too much attention, which is what he didn't need. Towns were a safer bet for him to stop in. There wouldn't be any need to stop anyway since he already stopped beforehand. This day looked like it would end up being exactly what he hoped for the night before. This time he drove under a hundred miles and enjoyed the view. The sky was clear and baby blue with little clouds in sight. There were small green trees and bushes on the sides of the road. Rock formations in the distance and of course the beautiful mountains in sight. The oil from his bike was getting low so he was going to need to stop by a nearby gas station. Signs showed that there was one coming up ten miles away. He knew his bike well enough to see that she'd make it.
He came to a crossroads with the station on his right. There were three other cars parked in its lot when he pulled in. Two of them were pumping gas while the other one was parked in front of the building. There was a garage side to the gas station with mechanics relaxing inside, watching TV. He sat on his bike for a while before heading inside. With his helmet removed he reached into his backpack and pulled out a black beanie. He put the beanie on then reached into the pocket of his jacket again. From the pocket he pulled out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. He took one out and lit it up while in his mouth, then put the carton and lighter away. He sucked in the nicotine filled stick allowing the air into his lungs then blew it out into the air. This was one of his two addictions. If it wasn't smoking then he'd be drinking hard liquor; preferably whiskey. Either one of them helped numb his emotions.
It didn't take long to grab the oil for the bike. He was in and out in about five minutes. When he came back to his bike he continued driving until he lost sight of the gas station. Once he couldn't see it he parked his bike on the side of the road. He removed his jacket and laid it on the seat of the bike. This time he reached into the other leather bag. From that bag, he pulled all the tools he needed to do the work on his bike. Before changing the oil he grabbed another cigarette from his jacket and lit it up. This was another activity he loved doing to get his mind off of anything. Working on his bike kept him busy and let him do what he loved. As he was working, a car pulled over to the side of the highway he was on. He heard the tires go over the rocks and dirt on the ground. When he turned back he saw that it was a police car. A young man came out from the car and slowly walked towards him.
"Having a bit of trouble?" said the cop as he walked.
"Nah just giving her a little oil change is all," he mumbled with the cigarette still in his mouth.
"Wow," he said with a smile. "She is a beauty."
"Thanks," he said with a fake smile.
"She's an '03 right?"
"Yes sir. She's my baby."
"I believe it," chuckled the cop. "I've got an '06 myself. I probably love that Harley more than my own wife." The whole time the biker never turned to the officer. He continued with the work on his bike and just hoped that this cop would go away. "I've been thinking about getting another Dyna; maybe your year. You only have this one?"
"She's all I need." He flipped his sunglasses down to cover his eyes then stood up. He turned to the cop and finally faced him. He was young; probably in his early twenties. Young enough to not have seen any action yet but he looked eager for some.
"I can see that," he grinned. "She's a real work of art. Where you headed?"
"Bozeman," he mumbled.
"Oh okay." His eyes squinted as he stared at the biker. "That's a great city," he said slowly. "I'm from there. You live there?" Damn, he thought. He just wanted this conversation to be over.
"I've got family that moved there. I'm just visiting. I love the open road you know." He started to tuck his hand behind his back, ready to pull out the gun. The officer turned his head examining the biker's face.
"Have we met before?" he asked unsurely.
"Nah I don't think so, officer."
"I'm sorry I just feel like I recognize you for some reason."
"You must have me confused for someone else." The cop shook his head doubtfully. "Now if you excuse me I've got to get back on the highway. I should be getting on my way." The cop smirked but was still trying to figure out from where he had seen this man. "So if you don't mind; I'll be going." Then the cops eyes widened and the biker knew that he had put it together. The cop reached for his gun but the biker already drew his. The cop swatted his hand causing the gun to fall on the ground. With his free hand he drew his own gun but the biker grabbed his wrist then quickly took his knife from the sheath and shoved it up the cops' mouth. Blood oozed out from his closed lips then he felt his wrist break as it was slammed down onto the edge of the roof, causing him to drop his firearm. The biker grabbed his throat and pinned him against the car in order to jab the blade into his abdomen a few times. "You shouldn't have stopped," he whispered to the policeman. The life faded from the young man's eyes as he slid down to the ground. The biker looked around to see if there were any witnesses.
There wasn't another soul in sight. He acted quickly and grabbed his gloves from his bag. He searched the body and grabbed the keys from one of the pockets. He wiped off the blood from his knife on the officer's clothes then lifted the body up and carried it to the back of the car. Using the cop's keys he opened the trunk then threw the body inside. Before closing it he grabbed the jacket inside his car and used it to clean his prints off of the man's throat and wrist. He tossed the keys inside the trunk then closed it. Next he picked up his gun then kicked the dirt where he had walked in order to not have any foot prints. He wasn't going to take any chances. He even picked up the butt from the cigarette he first smoked and the can of oil he used on his bike. After taking one last look at the crime scene to see if he forgot anything, he hopped on his bike and sped off on the highway. He found comfort in knowing that he left no tracks behind. This hadn't been the first time this happened so he had become more use to what he had to do. The first was the sloppiest and the hardest but now it had gotten much easier. He couldn't decide what was more frightening; that this had become much easier to handle or that he hadn't felt bad about the life he had just taken.