Today, the wind blew hard. It made the mid-November evening feel degrees colder than it should've been. It caught the edge of a thin, green cotton jacket, swept beneath it. It sent shivers through the girl walking along the side of the empty highway, and slowed the progress of her canvas-clad feet as the chill bit through the red material. She hadn't dressed for this weather; desert winters were fairly mild most years, warranting only a light jacket or a thin coat, at most. She had brought with her what she thought she would need. It didn't occur to her that, perhaps, winters in Wyoming were a little harsher.
In addition to that, she couldn't help but wonder if this road ever ended. If it ever led to anything. The pale asphalt seemed to stretch on endlessly in both directions; it was hard to tell how long she'd been on it. The bitter thought that the old, kindly woman at that rest stop twenty-some miles back could have lied to her had crossed her mind—it wouldn't be the first time on this fifteen-day journey that she might've been fed misinformation. And what an awful thought that was to have.
This was not a great idea, chimed her thoughts unhelpfully. She had already realized this, many days ago, but it didn't stop her from constantly reminding herself. In a moment of weakness, she almost dared to remember the warmth of the home she had left. The comfort of her bed, the softness of her hand-crocheted blanket. The laughter of her young half-siblings. The way the house always smelled like apple cider. But she didn't – couldn't. As much as she hated to do so, she pushed each of those thoughts out just as quickly as they'd come. Just one foot in front of the other, Neha. You'll be alright.
A low hum broke the silence, cut through the harsh whistle of the wind and the crunching of dirt and gravel. It steadily grew louder, graduating into a deep grumble, until Neha could make out, coming up behind her, bright lights and a splotchy white and red shape. Struggling to see through the blinding haze of the headlights, she finally made out what it was: an old white Bronco, bearing a thick red stripe down the side. It wasn't until she stuck her thumb out and watched it pass that she saw the large star emblazoned on the side, and the peeling decal which read SHERIFF, in plain script. As it pulled onto the shoulder of the road just ahead, she sighed, suddenly more exhausted than she'd felt in days. With legs as heavy as lead, she made her way to the driver's-side window, keeping her eyes firmly planted on the ground as her mind worked overtime to come up with a convincing lie to explain why she was out here, and what she was doing. The SUV's window was loud and rattled as it rolled down, and as she finally approached, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a cowboy hat looked out at her, his weathered and wrinkled face blank.
Feeling her nerves begin to fray, she forced a tight smile onto her lips. "Hello, officer. Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" Silence. Not so much as a smile. Clearing her throat, she continued. "Where're you headed?"
The man stared a while, causing her to fidget. "Durant. You lookin' for a ride?" His voice was almost as rough as his face, and accented.
"Yes, sir."
He nodded. She caught a glimpse of the tiniest smirk on his face as he spoke next. "You aware that hitchhiking is illegal in the state of Wyoming?" He almost sounded amused—this tone drew a few beads of cold sweat out of her face. Licking her chapped lips, she rubbed her eyebrow with the tip of her thumb.
"No, sir. I'd worried, but I wasn't sure." Trying to swallow the rapidly developing lump in her throat, she adjusted the straps of the backpack thrown over her shoulders. The growing silence seemed to thicken the air; it was hard to breathe, and she could feel more itching sweat prickle beneath her skin. That hard, scrutinizing gaze never left her face, until, finally, it did.
"Alright. Get in. I'll take you up to Durant." Leaning over, he depressed the passenger-side lock. Neha quickly jogged around, climbing into the old SUV with some effort – it was somewhat of a stretch. Throwing her pack to the floor, she breathed a huge sigh of relief, both for finally sitting down, and getting away from that intimidating stare. The man – presumably, the sheriff – shifted into gear and started off down the road again, dull, twangy country music playing faintly over the radio. Allowing herself a moment to relax against the stiff, red leather seat, she took a moment to formulate her next sentence. Not well, albeit.
"So long as you don't intend to kill me," she began, rubbing some warmth into her hands, "I appreciate this. I wasn't sure I'd ever see anyone drive past, let alone stop." He glanced over at her, though she didn't notice.
"Where did you come from?"
The question made her tense up again. Hoping her change in demeanor hadn't been detected, she pursed her lips and shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Down south," she replied, vaguely as she could. "I'm looking to start over." The sheriff looked at her squarely this time, his eyes squinting.
"Start over?" Looking to the road, he corrected his veering path before taking another look at his young passenger. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen." She answered a little too quickly, she realized. Not that it was a particularly massive lie; she was seventeen. After a moment of consideration, the sheriff shook his head.
"Can't imagine a kid having much need to start over. I'd say your life's barely begun as it is." The skeptical tone in his voice made her feel suddenly uncomfortable, and she felt the need to shift around in the seat beside him.
"To tell you the truth," she began, sighing. "I'm out here looking for somebody."
"What kind of somebody?"
"My- er… a relative somebody. A cousin. My cousin." She stumbled awkwardly over her words, earning herself a sidelong glance from the older man, who raised his eyebrows.
"Coming all the way up here from 'down south' just to look for a cousin, huh? Must be pretty important business." She nodded, and he continued. "You got a name? I might be able to pull a few strings; help you find 'em."
She glossed over his question. "You have special connections or something?" He chuckled.
"Guess you could say that, being that I'm the sheriff up in Absaroka County." Right. Feeling more reserved now, she nodded, nervously pressing her palms into her jeans. She'd already forgotten the emblem on the side of the Bronco. "Does that make you nervous?" he asked, once again fixing her with that scrutinizing gaze. She could only shrink into the seat.
"A bit. Uh… nothing personal. The local police, back home – they liked to take the law into their own hands. A lot of good men suffered for it." True, but not her honest reason. He nodded, and she thanked her lucky stars that he seemed to buy it. They were getting closer now to what she assumed was Durant; the lights of the town were plainly visible on the horizon.
"What's your name then, kid?" She had foolishly hoped he wouldn't ask. Thinking on the fly, she dropped her first name, opting to use her English middle and last names.
"Anne Locklear."
"Walt Longmire. Good to meet you." He lifted his right hand off the steering wheel and offered it to her. Warily, she shook it.
"Nice to meet you, too."
The rest of the drive was spent in silence, save for the harsh wind whipping past the windows and the sound of some country boy on the radio singing about heartbreak and beer. They finally hit town after a while, and the pace of the Bronco slowed significantly. Lounging an elbow on the open windowsill, Walt waved to people as he drove past. Surely, none of them missed Neha trying to melt into the passenger seat. Trying to hide was a bit silly, she knew; worst case scenario, people would assume she was some kind of troubled child, being escorted. But you can never be too careful. After a while longer, they pulled up to the Sheriff's Department.
"Here we are." Cutting the engine, he slid out of the vehicle. The entire SUV shook a bit as he pushed the door shut. Nervous, Neha followed suit, shrugging her pack onto her shoulders as she clumsily stepped down out of the Bronco. Walt held the door to the building open for her, and she followed him up the set of stairs they were immediately faced with, then toward one of the doors along the side wall.
"Oh, you pick up a stray, Walt?" came a rather rich and aged woman's voice, immediately after the situation had been assessed. Neha broke into another cold sweat as she felt multiple sets of eyes landing on her, and that lump planted itself firmly in her throat once more. She felt childish, trying to hide herself behind Longmire, but it was an instinct she didn't want to fight.
"Found 'er along the highway coming back. Says she's out here looking for a cousin of hers."
"Ah, one of those." A brunette man stood up, leaned against his desk. From her position partially hidden behind the sheriff, Neha could see that the man wore a slight smile. He was one of those pretty men she had heard about. "Jeez. They look younger and younger these days. What's your name, kid?"
"Uh… Anne."
"Where are your parents, Anne?" A bit annoyed that her escort wasn't assisting her, and very uncomfortable with the amount of attention she was getting, she sighed, a rather huffy, childish noise.
"Arizona. Navajo reservation."
"Ah, so you're a Navajo, huh?"
"No, sir. Cheyenne." The man's eyebrows furrowed, but thankfully – finally – he wasn't given much time to respond.
"Okay, Branch. If you're done, I'm gonna help this girl find who she's looking for." Tentatively, the brunette man nodded, going back to his business at the desk he was lounging against. "Alright – if you'll come with me to my office, Anne." The name sounded so foreign and weird to Neha, though she'd grown up with it. Nodding, she allowed the man to urge her with one hand in the right direction as he passed, and followed him through another set of doors.
"Go ahead and sit," he said, dropping into his own chair. She complied. Adjusting his hat, Longmire leaned forward, elbows on the desk, as he regarded the young girl in front of him. "So, why are you looking for this person?"
"Personal reasons, sir. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not say." She stared at her hands as she picked a bit of dirt from under her nails, and so she didn't see the way the sheriff's eyebrows drew together. Still, she sensed that he grew somewhat more suspicious of her.
"… Alright. Are you planning on doing any harm to this person? Just a precaution." Still looking down, she shook her head. This gesture earned her a sigh. "Let's start with a name, then." Neha breathed in shakily, shifting uncomfortably in the squeaky metal chair. She worked on another lie, another deflection, but stopped short when a knock came at the door, and it opened. The sheriff sighed at the appearance of the hefty man who filled its place. "What is it, Ferg?"
"Sorry, sir. We've just gotten an APB in. You… may want to take a look at it."
"Can it wait?"
"I… no, I don't think so, sir." Frowning, Walt stood and excused himself. He followed the other man out, but left the door cracked. Neha couldn't help but overhear. Snippets of conversation; mostly all nonsense.
"Missing girl, huh? Seventeen…" Silence. Total radio silence.
"Sir… that's the girl sitting in your office." Clear as a bell. Neha's breath caught in her throat, her pulse suddenly jumping several beats per minute – per second. She found herself shaking. She couldn't, could not wait around to see how this played out. She quickly fixed her bag properly on her shoulders and stood, bolting through the side door and through a bathroom. Taking the stairs two at a time, she'd only just heard the sheriff yelling at her to wait when she busted through the front doors. Backpack thumping uncomfortably against her back with every step, hair coming loose from its braid, she kept running, stopping for nothing. Plenty of people stared, she knew for certain, but nobody stopped her. Finally, after turning a corner into a fairly desolate part of town, she found a narrow alley between a restaurant and a loan office and fell behind a dumpster. Sliding her backpack off, she hugged it, and tried to make herself as small as possible.
At least a dozen vehicles passed over the course of the next half-hour, but if any of them stopped, none of the inhabitants slid down the alleyway to disturb her. Soon – eventually, somehow, despite the immense stench of her surroundings – she fell asleep.
A/N: Chapter one, new and improved. Once again, I will state that I originally started writing this for my own enjoyment, but I decided to upload it to see how it would be received.
Feel free to review. I'm always looking for constructive criticism and feedback.