Disclaimer etc. see Chapter 1
A/N: This chapter takes place after the events of the prologue in the first chapter. Thanks to M and D for their help.
Somewhere on the road
December 10, 8 p.m.
Jack had not paid any attention to where he was going. He had not looked at the map, nor did he recall searching the street signs for orientation. Almost without his input, the car had found its way out of the city and onto the highway heading out of the city. He didn't care where he was going -- he just wanted to get away, to leave it all behind. The lights of the city had faded and the night seemed impossibly black, only broken by the flashes of the lights of passing cars. It was unreal; time had lost importance. He merely kept going, without knowing exactly where.
He was
following the path of the highway across the country. Night had swallowed the
surroundings and had merged them into a black mass flying by. He couldn't see
them and they didn't matter at the moment. The uniform motion of driving seemed
to have the strange power of keeping his thoughts at bay. He wasn't going to
stop, for he didn't know where and he didn't know what for. Time was flying by
without any pattern to it. The neon green digits of the clock seemed to change
arbitrarily.
What finally stopped him was the blinking red light on the dashboard reminding
him that he was running out of gas. Obnoxiously blinking, it yanked him out of
his zoned out state. A little bit annoyed, he turned his attention to the signs
towering above the highway, noting that the next gas station was coming up in
five miles. As glad he was that he wasn't going to be stuck in the middle of a
highway, he dreaded having to stop -- knowing full well that the thoughts of
reality were going to come back full force.
Reluctant, but forced by necessity, he pulled into the well-lit gas station.
When he climbed out of the car, he was assaulted by frosty air. It was cooler
than it had been in DC. The ground was dry, the air definitely below freezing.
Actually it was not surprising, roughly estimated, using average sped and time
spent on the road, that he must have come a good distance from Washington by now.
He refilled the tank, instinctively keeping track of his surroundings. It was a habit that came with the job and by now was so ingrained that it was an instantaneous reaction. But he detected nothing menacing. A few motorists were refilling their tanks, and he could hear a couple arguing across the parking lot. Finished with refilling, he walked over to the shop. On his way, he first noticed the big sign hanging over the entrance. He had no idea where that was, but as long as he was already here he might just ask or buy a map.
That thought was immediately followed by the inevitable question: What did he want to buy a map for? Buying a map was like saying that he had some idea where he was going, or at least an idea of the general direction, but he was driving aimlessly. He felt like he was stuck in a bad road trip movie. He couldn't keep going forever. Eventually, he had to stop and face the world.
Suddenly, he was angry at himself. Things got difficult and he started running. Maybe that was also the underlying root of some of his marital problems. He hid at work, avoiding Maria. He just evaded her. He had done the same when he was still a child, and he was in trouble. His strategy had always been flight instead of taking a stand. In some way, of course, he had grown and matured, otherwise he wouldn't be as capable of his job. But some of that instinctive reaction of the little boy was still left.
It very well might have been part of the insight that he acquired into the people he was looking for. Many of them were running, running from abuse, running from the past, running from the future. In a way, he understood them. But one thing the job had taught him was that hardly anyone ever got away. Eventually, it caught up with everyone. He could already see it catching up with him. Nonetheless, he went inside and selected a regional map from the carousel, picked up two packaged sandwiches and several cans of soda from the cooler and went ahead to the cashier to pay for gasoline and his other purchases.
When he stepped back out into the icy parking lot, he spotted the arguing couple. They had gotten out of the car and were now openly fighting, oblivious of their surroundings or just not caring. He couldn't hear what they were saying; they were too far away. But he did notice when suddenly the argument turned physical.
"Leave her alone." The imprudence of his move occurred to him the moment he had
finished the sentence. There was no one around. The shop was at least 20 meters
away and the shop assistant had been half asleep. He didn't have a badge or a
gun.
"Who the hell are you? This is none of your business." The man spat in his
direction. "Get out of here. You're coming with me." He grabbed the woman by
her upper arm, pulling her toward him. She resisted, trying to loosen his grip.
"No, I don't want to. Just leave me alone," she protested, weakly.
"Shut up, bitch." He punched her squarely in the face. She screamed, but ceased
her efforts to resist him.
For a
split second, Jack was undecided, but quickly realized that there was no
choice. This had nothing to do with him. She was being forced against her will,
and whoever she was, he was not just going to stand by and watch. Everyone had
stood by ignoring the signs when Diane had failed to come home to her children.
Tragedies happened when everyone was willing to turn a blind eye. He took a
step closer to the struggling pair.
"Leave her alone." In an uncharacteristically confrontational movement, he yanked the thug's hand off the woman's arm. The response was immediate. A hard fist made contact with his face, sending pain through his head. He had been trained in self-defense as part of his FBI training, but that was long ago and admittedly, he was not in the best shape ever.
He must have screamed when the punch hit him because between a scream and the muffle sobs of the woman, they had captured the attention of another motorist who had just pulled in and gotten out of his car to see what the commotion was all about. Jack was trying to see through the fog in front his eyes, trying to anticipate whether another blow would follow, but luckily the thug even though he reeked of beer, had enough reason left in him to see that he was about to be outnumbered. Mumbling curses, he marched off to his car and sped off into the night.
The motorist, whose arrival had broken up the budding fight, had walked over to them. He was a man about Jack's age. "Are you all right?"
Jack nodded, his head slowly stopping its frantic spinning. He glanced over to the woman; her nose was blending. She had her arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the cold and she wasn't wearing a coat.
"Should I call the police or anything?" the guy asked.
Jack wasn't particularly eager to get involved into any kind of investigation with
the police. He was still under investigation, and with his leadership abilities
severely questioned already, he had no doubt that Victor Fitzgerald would
manage to exploit this incident to his advantage. Him
getting into a fight was further proof of his rash decision and quick temper.
But on the other hand, if no charges were pressed, then another beating husband would go unnoticed and ultimately unpunished. He looked over to her, but she was fiercely shaking her head. He had seen this too often to be surprised. He knew that arguing was pointless and he was far to wrapped up to even try.
"No, we will be fine." He answered the question.
"Okay." The man turned back and left for his car again.
"Thanks." The woman, who, upon taking a closer look, was younger than she had
seemed at first, offered shyly. She wrapped her arms her body ever tighter, but
didn't stop her shivering.
"He has a temper when he drinks. He's a good guy normally," she said,
apologizing in the way of her husband or boyfriend. Jack didn't argue, he had heard it too often. The freezing cold was making
his hands hurt.
"Listen, I really hate to ask," she said, not looking up. "But could I maybe get a lift? I'm stuck here." She wiped blood from her face, noticing for the first time that she was bleeding. "Oh shit."
"Here you go." He handed her a tissue. "Where are you headed?"
"Raleigh. I'm on the way to my sister. He doesn't
really want me to see her, but it's her birthday tomorrow, so he agreed."
"I can drop you off there," said Jack, not having any idea where he was heading
anyways. The little detour wasn't going to make any difference. His headache
was already throbbing, a result of both the sucker punch and all that was behind him.
"I'm just going to get something." He pointed to the shop. "Why don't you get
cleaned up in the meantime?"
She nodded.
He went back inside the shop, buying a pack of aspirin. The cashier just looked
dully at him, not noticing his growing black eye. People were blind to any problems
but their own. Feeling resigned and somehow disappointed in the world, he left.
He was finished here. In more than just one way.
The nameless woman was already waiting for him outside. He was shocked by her level of trust. But he had seen that pattern before. It all seemed redundant, the world just showing him more of the ugly face he knew. Was there really any difference between the job and the real world, was it just that he got to see it all in more concentrated form? He didn't know anymore.
"I'm Jack," he introduced himself, as she followed him to the car.
"I'm Ann," she replied. "Thanks again for giving me a lift." She silently got in on the passenger's side of the car while he got in on the driver's side. He drove back out onto the highway, rejoining the stream of cars after a brief and brutal intermezzo. The experience was already starting to fade from the real into the surreal, like it had not really happened at all. But his aching head and the woman sitting next to him told him that it had in fact been real.
For about twenty minutes, neither of them spoke a word, both still busy sorting out their feelings in the wake of the incident at the gas station.
Ann was scared. She wasn't as much scared of Dave, her husband, or the fact that she was sitting in the car of a complete stranger, whom for all she knew could be the next crazy guy. She was more scared of what she had done and what he had done for her. The scenario like the one at the gas station was sadly not new in her life. She had been there before and it had played the same every time. Dave would apologize, promise not to drink so much and he would be there for her again. All would be good again, at least for a while. Until the next thing set him off.
She let out a sigh. In a way, her life was stuck in rut. She had only really seen this now, when the familiar spiel had been interrupted by this guy -- Jack was his name, if she recalled correctly. It hadn't taken much, but the mere fact that he alone cared had probably been enough to put Dave back in line. And now she had left without Dave, or he without her, as was rather the case. And she was sitting with this stranger in a car.
He didn't seem crazy, but there was no telling. He looked tired, like he had slept in his clothes. But his suit looked quite expensive, he certainly wasn't homeless or anything. He seemed sad and lonely. Lost somehow. He was fighting against fatigue. He had probably been going all day. The license plates. She recalled DC license plates. He must have been driving almost all day and night. Hopefully he wasn't running from something. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in anything with the police. Her parents had sued her for custody earlier that year, and the kids were with her for the moment, but she had another evaluation with social services coming up.
Suddenly, she was scared. She should have stayed with Dave, at least there she knew what she was getting into. But now she had literally jumped over the cliff into unknown waters.
She was hesitant to ask more about him. She wasn't sure how he'd react and it was better not to provoke anything even though he seemed okay and not the violent type.
"Where are you headed?"
"To Raleigh." He sounded unsure.
"Business?"
There was a pause. She was already afraid of the answer, her mind plotting possible ways to get out of the car and not freeze to death.
"I don't know, actually. I'm not working at the moment." He spoke slowly, as if just realizing that he was without a plan. "I don't know."
"Fine with me," she replied because something needed to be said to fill the silence. Although she had hardly learned anything about Jack, somehow she felt a bit safer. He seemed to be too lost himself to have much of an hidden agenda. The warmth of the car and the comfortable seat were inviting sleep, which she had not gotten a lot since she had Dave had left home two days ago. He had not wanted to let her drive, but all the pauses had been filled with bickering. Her mind demanded that she remain vigilant, but she started to find herself drifting off to sleep.
Jack shot a glance sideways and saw that Ann had fallen asleep. She looked exhausted, blood dried on her yellow blouse, her nose swollen. But he probably didn't look any better himself. He hadn't seen his own face in the mirror, but it felt like a black eye to him. Not taking a break, was the only way they would get to Raleigh by the next morning.
Raleigh, North Carolina
December 11, 1 p.m.
"It's over here, the last house before the end, to the left," Ann directed him, as they slowly drove down the suburban street.
"Are you sure that is your sister will be home?" he asked, considering that most people were still at work at that time. Well, he wasn't and if someone had told him that two months ago, he would have laughed and declared that very, very unlikely.
"I don't know. But I have a key. She gave it to me in case I ever needed it. Never thought that I actually would, but it's coming in handy now." She smiled for the first time since he had picked her up the previous night.
"Is it this the house?" He indicated a generic small white house, which fit perfectly into this suburban neighbourhood.
"The number is right. The houses look all the same to me here. But yeah, I think that's it."
Jack parked at the curb in front of the neatly groomed front lawn. Ann opened the door on her side and got out.
"Thanks again. I don't know hat I would have done if you hadn't given me that lift."
Now her smile looked forced again. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked to the front door. Jack waited until she had unlocked the door and walked in before he started the engine again and made a u-turn.
He checked the now familiar green digits as soon as he had hit the highway again. It was time to think about what came next, as he had already realized that he could not drive on forever. Ann had been a distraction, to put it bluntly. He didn't regret doing what he had done; every person should interfere when they see someone getting beaten up. At least they should have called the police.
No, there was nothing wrong with it, but now it was time to face his own life's decisions again. He would need to get some proper food and rest soon. It was irresponsible to endanger himself and other motorists by falling sleep behind the wheel. He didn't recall any exact numbers, but knew he had read a shocking statistic about how many traffic accidents could be attributed to fatigue.
