Chapter Five: The Hand that Feeds

Wyatt could sense her growing stress, like he was a great white shark feeling the vibrations from a panicking fish amidst billions of gallons of seawater. He looked over her wrinkled clothes, overall look of fatigue. "Why don't you take some time to clean up," he murmured, reluctant to end the moment.

Maureen took a step back when he loosened his hold enough for her to freely move, her progress was stopped by the wall. Her heightened uncharacteristic nerves made her hands threaten to flutter and she looked just past the curve of his shoulder, glad to be able to smooth her wrinkled skirt down, sliding along the rest of the wall until she could practically skip to the roomy bathroom suite, snagging the middle-sized suitcase which contained her bath products and sleep clothes.

She was initially pleased to see the deep, jacuzzi style tub but that felt more vulnerable than standing in the shower.

Wyatt clenched his large hands into fists as he watched the door close, wanting to order her to keep it ajar.

Maureen regarded the locked flimsy door and paltry lock but knew she needed to clean up. She cranked on the handle of the shower, moving the water until it would be near scalding before she began peeling away her stained clothes.

"Whatever happens, you'll just have to manage," Maureen whispered to her reflection before stepping under the wickedly hot but relieving spray of water.

Wyatt moved across the room once the sound of the water's spray sounded, his hand hovered over the tarnished doorknob, becoming a planet chaotically falling out of orbit, careening through the galaxy with enough force to destroy the sun with how much he wanted to open the door and insist on more.

He growled softly and retreated to the remaining stack of luggage, plucking his zippered duffle bag from the top, rifling through the contents for one of his half-dozen burner phones.

He turned down the volume on the television as he dialed the Sheriff he had in his back pocket; the small town was still a few days away. The Sheriff he'd been dealing with for years had passed on the torch to his son who was just as greedy, wanting more product from Wyatt to pad his small-town Sheriff income.

The call was brief and while Wyatt arranged for an early Christmas bonus in exchange for turning on the cabin's utilities and clearing the narrow driveway, behind the bathroom's locked door, Maureen practically moaned as she massaged the coconut and hibiscus scented shampoo into her scalp, squeezing her eyes shut as the floral suds rolled down her face.

Wyatt ended the call and paced the room until he heard Maureen twist the water off, the glass door opening and clicking closed as she dried off and pulled on a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and oversized sports jersey with the number of the pigskin throwing goat.

"Are you okay?" Maureen asked almost automatically at Wyatt's expression, tension around his neck and shoulders making him look visibly uncomfortable.

"Yeah," he grumbled, "just a headache," he lied.

"I have a few things that might help that in my bag," Maureen offered and gestured back to her waiting bag in the steam-filled bathroom.

Wyatt mumbled an agreeable noise, blowing out a sharp breath as Maureen disappeared for a few minutes to rummage through her bag for a therapeutic dose painkiller.

Maureen reemerged from the bathroom, trailing floral scented steam with her, two sky blue tablets in the center of her palm.

She saw the squat glass in Wyatt's hand, filled with what could've been water, gin or vodka as she approached him, her medical concern overriding how close she was bringing herself to the veritable jaws of the hungry carnivore.

Before she could even tell him the name of the two tablets, Wyatt whipped out his free hand with reptilian speed and closed around her wrist, lifting her hand as he licked the pills from her palm, rendering her speechless as he continued holding her wrist as he washed down the pills with the clear liquid.

It was vodka.

"Don't do that," Maureen managed near breathlessly as she futilely tried to tug her wrist free, shocked at the numerous sensations the warm, wet path of his tongue elicited inside her.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Wyatt's lips as he slowly released her wrist, allowing her to put further space between them as she retreated to the kitchenette and refilled her glass with tap water, greedily gulping one glass while standing in front of the sink.

Maureen refilled the glass before she returned to the sleeping area, glancing at the television as they currently were airing a report on the rise of exhibition racing.

She sipped at her water, glancing at him over the rim of the glass, seeing he was still in the same clothes.

Maureen cleared her throat, speaking when Wyatt looked over at her.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

Wyatt drained his glass before answering, savoring her anticipatory uncertainty.

"There," he murmured, gesturing towards a plush recliner. He had every intention of staying in that chair and not joining her under the linen until she was asleep.

Maureen nodded and looked back at the screen when the meteorologist began talking about the weather for the next several days, perfect driving conditions for those travelling over the weekend.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she pulled back the covers and settled on the bed, adjusting the pillows behind herself.

Wyatt took in a deep breath through his nose, digging through a different duffle bag for a pair of grey sweatpants. "Just a place I spent a lot of time at as a kid," he finally said, not telling her about the cabin's specifics, how deep it was off the grid, not much reception.

Maureen set her glass on the bedside table and settled further under the covers after Wyatt flicked off the room's overhead lights.

She was surprised at how quickly she was pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Wyatt changed into his sweatpants and slipped off his heavy, long-sleeved shirt after Maureen was in the firm hold of sleep, clicking off the TV before he stealthily settled under the linen next to her.

Wyatt propped himself up on his elbow, slowing his breathing rate in order to listen to Maureen's easy exhales.

He eventually followed her into sleep as he watched her eyes move behind her thickly, lash-lined lids.

Hours passed as they both slept, the world continuing to spin amidst their inactivity.

Wyatt rose before Maureen, his lifestyle and abuse to his body created erratic sleep patterns. He yawned and stretched his arms overhead, not able to recall the last time he'd had such a solid stretch of sleep.

He padded softly to the bathroom, making his footfalls quiet despite his formidable frame.

Wyatt kept the door open as he cleaned up a bit, returning to find Maureen still in the same fetal position, the covers pulled tightly around her lithe frame.

Maureen stirred when she heard Wyatt prepare a pot of coffee with the room's complimentary French roast coffee.

"Good morning," Wyatt murmured as he watched Maureen sit up amidst the bed linen. "How do you take it?" he added as she rubbed at her eyes, the corners filled with grit.

"A lot of sugar," Maureen mumbled as Wyatt returned with two ceramic mugs of coffee. He set the cup on the bedside table along with a handful of white granulated sugar packets.

Wyatt had neatly remade the other side of the bed and Maureen bought the ruse that Wyatt had indeed stayed in the recliner all night.

"If you're hungry, we can stop somewhere on the way out of town, we have a lot of driving today," Wyatt said as he took a sip of his own heavily sweetened coffee.

Maureen nodded, anxious for the rush of the caffeine as she took too big a sip of the hot coffee.

As they each finished another cup of coffee and packed, back at the sprawling medical center, Kat, real life name Meredith's body was positively identified by her ex-husband.

Meredith's son didn't remember her much anymore as it was as he waited in the station wagon with his new vegetarian mommy, next stop, frozen yogurt.