I can't even believe how kind you guys have been in your reviews - it makes me want to write constantly, which is kind of dangerous considering that I'm neglecting everything else:) But that's okay, I'm usually pretty responsible, so I don't feel too bad about throwing everything to the wind in order to write Skate. It's just such a bizarre comfort to know that my daydreams are made tangible so that other people can experience them! Which I guess is all that fiction is, but somehow I never thought of it that way before. Anyway, enough rambling... Lol.


Chapter Twelve

He couldn't stop watching the clock. It didn't make any sense, really, but for some reason it was incredibly important for him to know exactly how long she'd been gone. He was trying to mentally track her progress, to judge how far away she would be by now. Not that that was really possible, because he didn't even know which direction she'd gone. She could have gotten a ride by now, or she could still be on foot. She could have stopped to hide somewhere, or she could have decided to keep moving. He really had no clue. But he couldn't get his mind off of it.

He paced back and forth from room to room, then, when the house couldn't contain him anymore, he went outside to the porch and walked around the house a few times. He'd never felt so tormented over anything. And the worst part was, he couldn't even drown himself in alcohol the way he normally would have when faced with a problem he didn't know how to handle. Or rather, he could have, but the very thought was repugnant to him. He was determined to keep a clear head, at least until he'd calmed down a little.

This entire situation was ridiculous. To begin with, it was ridiculous that she'd ever come here in the first place. Then, it was even more ridiculous that he'd actually gotten to a point where he wanted her to stay. But the most patently ludicrous aspect of all was the torn-apart, beaten-to-a-pulp feeling he had now that she'd finally gone.

What the hell was the matter with him? She was out of his hair now, she'd left him in peace - he could get on with his normal life and bid good riddance to all the danger and annoyances she'd brought with her. For the first time since he'd set foot on that plane to Australia, he could make some effort at fitting back into his old routine of life. He could plan out his next scam, reunite with his partners-in-crime, and resume his series of meaningless affairs and one-night stands. So why in God's name did that prospect fill him with more dread and loathing than anything he'd ever contemplated?

For the first time he realized that he was going to wake up in the house in the morning, and she would be gone. He would come downstairs, and there would be no one there. Nobody would force him to drink fresh coffee or rearrange his furniture or complain about the shit that was broken. Nobody would wheedle him into playing board games. If he got into another bar fight, nobody would try to fetch peroxide for him.

So...what was so strange about all that? That was the way it had always been. He was thirty-five years old; shouldn't he be used to it by now? If it wasn't the way he preferred things, then why had he kept it up for so long?

But that was the selfish way of looking at the situation, and even through the haze of his anger at Kate, he realized that. None of that was what was really bothering him. What was really bothering him was wondering where she was going to be when she woke up tomorrow. If she even got a chance to sleep, which was unlikely. Would she be spotted and taken into custody tonight? Would she try to hide under an overpass or in some abandoned car somewhere? Would she (and this was the thought that horrified him most of all) accept the "help" of a lonely trucker or some random horny bastard who picked her up on the road?

She had no way to protect herself, no weapons of any kind at all. He knew she could fight, but he also knew she probably didn't weigh more than 120 pounds, if that. It would be easy for someone to overpower her, as long as they knew what they were doing.

Not only did she have no weapon, but she had no money. Not a cent, as far as he knew. She'd walked out the door carrying absolutely nothing at all.

And, as if it couldn't get any worse, she was wearing the goddamn dress. As if that wouldn't make her conspicuous, he thought with contempt. She looked like either an escaped mental patient or a cast member from a college production of Guys and Dolls. What the hell had she been thinking!

The more he went over it in his mind, the angrier he got - not just at her, but at himself for letting her go. She'd obviously been distraught and not thinking clearly...but what should he have done? Locked her up? Yeah, because that would have gone over well. He almost laughed thinking about it.

He went back inside and looked at the clock again. Two and a half hours. She'd been gone for two and a half hours. It was completely dark now. Every time he looked at the time, he felt a surge of impatience. For what, he didn't know, because it wasn't like he was expecting anything to happen. He'd told her not to bother coming back, and even though she probably knew he didn't mean it, he also knew that she wouldn't return. Not just from stubbornness and a desire to make him eat his words (although that was part of it), but also because she'd meant it when she said she didn't want him to be in danger anymore.

He felt like he was losing his mind. Every second she was getting further away, closer to some unknown peril or catastrophe. How could he just let that happen? It was his fault she'd walked out the door without anything - he could at least have given her money, he thought, feeling a flood of rage directed toward himself. Why hadn't he thought of that before? She probably would have accepted that much, even though she never would have asked for it herself. Was he really that stupid?

Then that was a good enough reason to look for her, right? It wasn't like he'd really be going after her, in that sense. He could just...tell her that she'd been an idiot and force her to take the money. And then...well, if she'd calmed down at all or started thinking rationally again, then maybe, just maybe...she would reconsider...

But no, he wouldn't think of that. Because in all likelihood, it wouldn't happen. He knew her well enough to know that she was a loner by nature, the same as him. When she'd made up her mind to be on her own, there wouldn't be much that would convince her otherwise.

Still, it was worth a shot. He would have to swallow his pride a little, since he'd pretty much just told her that he didn't want to see her again. But in this case, he could handle the sacrifice. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he didn't at least make the effort to help her out a little. And if she was determined to be on the road, then money would be one of the most important staples she could have.

Rushing up to his bedroom with the overwhelming feeling that every second wasted could mean life or death for her, he flipped on the light and hastily pulled out the drawer next to his bed where he'd been keeping his money. He'd withdrawn a few thousand bucks from the bank last week, since Kate had proven to be more of an expense than he'd bargained for. He preferred to have cash on hand, since, like most men, he hated writing checks.

As he slid the drawer open, the thought briefly flashed through his mind that maybe she'd already been here - maybe she'd foreseen her need and cleaned him out? What would he do, then? Go after her and demand the money back? Seemed a little beside the point.

But no...thank God. It was all here. She hadn't been in any state of mind to anticipate expenses - unfortunately, she'd been telling the truth when she said she didn't care what happened to her.

Hurrying back downstairs and grabbing the car keys, it occurred to him that he didn't know where she'd gone. Somehow, that obvious thought hadn't crossed his mind once since he'd decided to go after her. If she'd accepted a ride from someone just after she'd left, then she could be out of the state by now. It was entirely possible that he would never see her again, no matter how hard he searched. The realization was like somebody shooting a cannonball into his rib cage.

But he couldn't waste time thinking about it now. The only chance he had was to start looking immediately and hope for the best. And he had a vague, undefined suspicion about where she might have gone. There was a fairly low-key, old-fashioned truck stop just off the interstate, about seven miles from here. If she'd decided to walk, she'd be there by now. It was a long shot, but if that was how she was used to traveling, it couldn't hurt to try. Old habits died hard, he knew. Whether it was safe or not, she would gravitate to what she was accustomed to.

Getting into the car, he put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened.

He tried again. Not a sound.

What the fuck? This couldn't really be happening, could it! The car had been running fine yesterday - the gas tank was full, and the oil had just been changed.

He kept turning the key, but there was absolutely no indication of it starting. Enraged and feeling panicked, he popped the hood and looked under it. He was so distracted that he couldn't really focus, and he didn't have much idea of what to look for, anyway. He was a terrible mechanic - the still broken-down truck was evidence of that. Besides, even if he knew what the problem was, what chance did he have of getting it fixed tonight?

Closing the hood again with a deafening bang, he kicked the side of the car, furious. Now what? His nearest neighbor was a good half a mile away, and he hated the guy...he would never ask him for help. He didn't have a phone, so he couldn't call a cab - not that he could have anyway, he realized. What would he say? "Could you just drive around real slow while I look for this girl who ran away from my house? She's a fugitive and I'd kinda like to give her some getaway money." Despite his anger, he gave a short snort of laughter.

He stood there, feeling miserable and hopeless and so frustrated that he was dangerously close to tears. How could everything have gotten so fucked up? What was this, a sign? Should he just let it go, forget about her? Maybe this was his last chance to escape from the wake of destruction she carried in her path. But hell, he had his own wake of destruction...How much harm could hers possibly do him?

There was one more option, but he didn't have any hope at all for it. It was a last-ditch shot, the kind of ridiculous thing you might try when you're so out of choices that nothing seems too absurd, like emptying a glass of water on a fire that's already spread throughout several rooms of your house.

With his heart and head both pounding simultaneously in a steady, forceful rhythm, he went into the darkened shed and felt around until he located the driver's side door of his truck. Luckily, it was unlocked, although he knew deep down that it probably wouldn't make much difference. It wasn't getting into it that was the problem.

He located the right key on the key ring - he could tell which one it was because it was the one he never used. He hadn't tried to start the damn thing in probably six months. Putting the key in the ignition, he felt a bizarre urge to utter a prayer, but he didn't really believe in anything and there wasn't time for that anyway. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned the key.

A straining, choking sound...but not one devoid of hope.

"Come on...come on, you piece of shit..," he muttered, turning the key again. The same sound, only this time with some promising thuds mixed in.

One more time. Giving it a few seconds to rest, he turned the key again, keeping it in place as the choking, thudding sound finally grew to a roar and the engine revved into life.

Laughing maniacally, he cried out, "I always knew you had it in ya, you old whore!"

Hardly bothering to clear the shed doors, he backed it out quickly and then sped down the driveway, spraying up gravel behind him.


When he got to the truck stop, he wasn't really sure what to do. He couldn't see any sign of her from the parking lot. She wouldn't have gone inside, would she? Just to be sure, he entered the building, even going so far as to quickly check the women's bathroom. Luckily, it was empty, although on his way out an old lady near the coffee station gave him a suspicious glare.

Not a trace of her anywhere.

He went back outside, feeling more hopeless by the second but trying to think of any remaining possibilities. He decided to walk around the building. If there was nothing there, then maybe another idea would come to him.

Coming around the front edge near the newspaper bins, he had a startled moment of dread when he noticed a squad car parked over to the side. It wasn't just local cops - it was the state police. What the hell were they doing here?

Trying to be inconspicuous, he pretended to dig through his pocket for change, presumably to buy a newspaper. Glancing sideways at the troopers, he noticed that they seemed to be speaking fairly casually, standing over near the driver's side. From what he could see, there was nobody in the car. He relaxed a little. Probably nothing.

But that still didn't ease his original worries. If Kate wasn't here, then where the hell was she? Sticking to his plan, he started to walk around the back of the building, not really expecting much but determined to cover all the bases. Nothing on the side where the police were talking. Nothing in the back. He circled around to the third and last side of the building.

On the back corner was a deep, shadowy recess where the wall of the truck stop abutted the wooden structure that housed the dumpsters. It was narrow, and almost completely dark, but he thought he could make out a figure standing far back in it. Almost holding his breath, he took a few steps closer to the opening from the parking lot where he'd been walking. The figure moved a little nearer into the pale, sickening glow of the halogen lamps.

It was her.

Letting his breath out and fighting the overpowering urge to collapse on the spot, he watched her for a second. She hadn't seen him yet. She was just standing there, looking cornered and nervous and alert and exhausted all at the same time. He'd never actually seen her on the run before, he'd just pictured it. And seeing it was a hell of a lot worse than picturing it.

Suddenly, she noticed him. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other across the distance that was separating them. She didn't look angry to see him there, or relieved, or even surprised. She just looked at him.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching him, he moved into the narrow alcove and stopped right in front of her. Now if anybody happened to look back here, they probably wouldn't be able to see her behind him. It was a small space.

They continued to stand there without speaking for a few seconds.

Finally, Kate asked in a weary voice, "What are you doing here, Sawyer?"

"Brought you some money."

Was that a trace of disappointment he saw in her face? Or was he just imagining it?

"I can't take your money."

He laughed slightly in contempt. "No offense, kiddo, but you might want to save your ethical standards for more important things. Like, say, not causin' any more car accidents?"

He could see that the words hurt her, and he regretted them almost immediately, but her stubbornness annoyed the hell out of him.

"You don't stand a chance without any money," he said, more softly. "What exactly were your plans, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"My plans?" she asked, almost as if she thought the question was funny. "I don't have any plans."

"I didn't think so." Grabbing her hand, he placed the cash in her palm and then closed her fingers around it. "There's about two thousand there." Reluctantly, he let go of her hand.

"Sawyer," she said quietly, looking down at it. "That's too much."

"Like hell it is. It'll barely get you through a month, if this is how you're plannin' to live."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you," she almost whispered.

After a short pause, he decided to try one more time. "You don't have to do this, you know. I can help you...You could be a hell of a lot safer than this. I got more money than I can possibly use...I can get you a fake ID, bank account...I'll get you down to Mexico or somethin'. I'll drive you myself if I have to."

She looked like she was trying not to cry. "I can't."

"Why not!"

"I just can't."

"Look, I know you got some pathological need to refuse people's help, but this is insane! You can't do this on your own. By the time you figure that out, there may not be anybody there offerin' to help."

"Please...just go," she said firmly.

"Fine," he said angrily, giving up. "You want to do it the hard way, then go right ahead."

He looked at her intensely for a few more seconds, knowing that this was probably the last time he'd ever see her. Before he turned to leave, he remembered to warn her. "There's state police over on the other side of the building."

"Why do you think I'm back here?"

"Yeah," he said, wearily. "Well, good luck. You're gonna need it, Freckles."

He walked slowly back up the narrow alley-like space, aware that once he turned and went around the side of the building, it was all over. Every step took him irrevocably further away from her.

She watched him go, a tortured expression on her face. This moment was worse than anything imaginable.

Just as he reached the opening and paused, preparing to head back to the front, he heard her call out behind him, almost as if she couldn't prevent herself.

"Sawyer!"

He turned, not really having a clue what to expect. What she did was something he never could have predicted in a million years.

Walking toward him slowly and looking as if she was barely holding it together, she put her head on his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his midsection (the way a child would hug, he thought briefly), and leaned against him.

Surprised, he remained frozen for a few seconds, and then slowly, awkwardly raised his arms and put them around her, lightly at first and then increasingly tighter. Bending his head down to her shoulder, he breathed in the smell of her hair.

What the hell was this, a goodbye hug? Well, since he hadn't gotten one on the island, maybe it was better late than never. Still...he almost wished she'd checked the impulse. It was going to make it that much harder to forget about her.

She apparently meant business when she hugged. How long was this going to go on? He had no desire to end it, so he just stood there, keeping his arms around her, waiting until she decided to let go. He could tell by the way she leaned into him how tired she was - not just tired in a physical sense, but much, much more than that. She acted like this was the first time she'd ever done this in her life.

Finally, after at least an entire minute had passed, she pulled back a little. He prepared for another goodbye. In fact, it was almost on his lips to say it first just to get it over with, when she spoke in a quiet, surrendering tone of voice.

"Take me home."

He looked at her, at first not trusting his ears. But her expression confirmed his hopes. In the past few minutes, a change had taken place in her. She'd relinquished something - he wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it was clear that it had happened. Just as he'd had to swallow his pride to come here after her, she'd made some kind of concession as well.

"You sure about that?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He almost smiled at her. "Okay." He paused. "Let me go pull the truck around to this side."

"You got your truck running?"

"Yep."

"What was wrong with it?"

"You really wanna have that conversation right here?"

She finally smiled. "No."

He looked at her again, not even wanting to leave her for the few minutes it would take to drive back around. "Don't move."

And then, in a wave of relief at the way things had turned out, he looked her over and said sarcastically, "I can't believe you wore that stupid dress."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Just go get the truck, Sawyer."