July 20, 10:41 PM. Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska.
It takes around 40 hours to travel from New York City to L.A. Pam had already gotten halfway, driving on a dirt road that had seen better days. She squinted at the darkness past her windshield. There wasn't a star in the sky, and the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The only light came from the headlights of her car. It was starting to grate on her eyes. She ran a hand over her face, eyes burning. Her truck made the journey alone. No one else joined her on the road so late at night. She didn't have to worry about hitting anything—or anyone—so she let her truck drift to the middle of the road. Turning the steering wheel left and right helped keep her awake.
Her car let out a pitiful sputtering noise. Pam's breath hitched in her chest. She waited for the noise to go away before relaxing, stroking the dash of her truck.
Just a little bit more. 20 hours left…if she pushed it, she could make it there in 2 days. The car wheezed as they continued down the road. Pam wiped away the sweat that was gathering on her neck. She cracked the window open, letting in some much-needed air. Maybe it was better to take it slow, unless she wanted to end up in a ditch with a wrecked truck.
A ding pulled her eyes to the dashboard. A red light alerted her to her low gas. Pam pulled off to the side of the road, grabbing the giant map she had laid in the floorboard. Killed the ignition, but didn't take the key out. She hit the glovebox, opening it and taking out a cheap flashlight. Turning it on, she slowly traced where she was. There was a little town up ahead, it seemed, only a half-hour away. She tapped a chipped fingernail against the yellowed paper. While she was there, she could grab some food, maybe rest up before heading down the road again.
Hopefully she'd make it there before her car exploded.
Pam tossed the map and flashlight into the passenger seat, where they joined the mountain of other trash she had accumulated over the course of her trip. While sifting through the junk to find a snack, her hand brushed against a large, plastic bag. A shiver ran up her back, and she could see her eyes in the rearview mirror, filled with fear. No, no, it wasn't fear. That was probably just her imagination. She clenched her hand and grabbed the bag's corner.
It was clear, showing the contents even in the low lighting. First thing to catch her eye was the wallet like structure. Pam unzipped the top and grabbed it, flipping it open to reveal a picture of her smiling in a crisp uniform, paired with a golden badge. The badge shined in her trunk's interior light. Well cared after, well loved, even…Pam quickly flipped the object shut, shoving it back into the bag before she could think twice. Seeing herself like that, so genuinely happy, was unnerving. She shook her head, grabbing the second object in the bag.
It was a small manila folder, skinnier than most. The outside was addressed to the Chief of Police, and on the inside was an official letter of recommendation. Pam was more careful with this piece of paper than the badge, tucking it back inside the folder and making sure the edges weren't bent.
This bag…holds my entire future. Problem is, I'm not exactly sure it's what I want. Pam sighed, sealing the plastic bag. She gently placed it on the top of the trash mountain. Just touching the bag made her lose her appetite. That was good, in its own way. At least now she wouldn't have to stop for food for a while. Pam restarted the engine of her truck, sighing in relief when it croaked to life. She pulled back onto the road, eyes occasionally trailing back to the plastic bag.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The long trip and the stress were starting to get to her, she could feel it. She focused on the road best she could.
Take things one step at a time. First things first: gas.
Still, the air in her little truck was heavy. Pam pushed the pedal down to the floorboard. The quiet road was filled with the roar of the vehicle, and the young woman continued her long journey west.
July 20, 11:20 PM. Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. Marty's Gas Station.
Thankfully, the little town did have a gas station, and none too soon. Pam pulled up to the pump just as the gas meter ticked down. The engine puttered out, letting the quiet rule once more. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. She grabbed some cash from her coat pocket, jumping out of the car. Faint lights came from the station. She could see a lone cashier reading a book at the front.
Better get this done quick. I'm burning time. Pam jogged to the door, causing the man to look up. Her engine gave him ample time to watch the lone woman enter his station, money in hand. As Pam walked back to her truck, she noticed a group of men hanging around across the street. There were laughing loudly to each other, drinking what she could only assume was liquor. She kept a wary eye on them as she fueled up her car. A quick glance at her watch showed the time: 11:22 PM. Pam quietly urged the gas to pump quicker. One of her hands stayed on the gas pump. The other hovered over the gun at her hip.
Her truck didn't just catch the cashier's attention. The men in the shady group began to wander over. At first it was just one, but soon the whole gang had started walking towards her. Pam checked the slow pump. It was only halfway done. She kept her face blank, left hand now resting on her gun. She had paid her money, and she was going to get her gas.
The group comprised of a bunch of white men, older than Pam. Most of them wore tattered clothes and caps to hide their faces. One of them, bolder than the rest, approached her directly. He was smoking a cigarette in his mouth. The smoke wound through the air like the ghost of a snake. She caught her reflection in the gas pump's metal siding. Her eyes were narrowed, black pupils bleeding into the grey of her eyes in the darkness. Perhaps that in of itself would be enough to scare them off, though she doubted it. The group circled around her, leaving her only escape route to be her truck door. Cigar Man leaned on her pump. The overhead light reflected off his sweaty forehead.
"Well, I haven't seen you around these parts, miss. You seem a little lonely. Care for some company?" The man's breath held the unmistakable stench of alcohol. Yet Pam's nose never wrinkled in disgust. In fact, her eyes stayed planted on the pump number, never showing a hint of emotion.
Three-quarters of the way there…
The man leaned in closer. His breath was horrid. Pam's mask broke for a second as she fought to keep herself from gagging. He smiled, showing crooked and chipped teeth.
"Honey, I don't think you quite know the position you are in." He leaned toward her, hand reaching for her arm. Pam's eye twitched. She let go of the nozzle, putting another step between herself and the man. Her left hand tightened around her gun. She had been traveling for near 24 hours. She was tired, hungry, and generally not in a good mood. When the man made to grab at her again, she batted his arm away with her right hand and pulled her gun out of it's holster with the other. The other men let out shouts at the sight of the weapon, the weakest of the group taking off into the night. The leader stood frozen near the gas pump, staring at the barrel of her gun. The sweat on his forehead was now actively racing down his face.
"Back off. Now." She put as much venom into her voice as she could. When the leader didn't move, she said, "If you wanted to mug me, you obviously chose the wrong person at the wrong time." She clicked back the hammer, which finally sent the leader scampering backwards. "Right now, you are threatening a police officer. So chose your next words carefully, sir."
He fell to the ground right as the pump clicked, telling Pam that her gas was finally done. She kept her stony gaze on the men, slowly putting the gun back in it's holster and replacing the gas nozzle at the pump. Without another word, she jerked open her truck door. The groupies all fled as soon as she was safely locked inside. Heart pumping with adrenaline, Pam slammed on the gas. Her truck responded without a complaint this time. She flew out of the station, leaving the group's leader alone under the pump's light.
Pam let out a long exhale as she continued down the road. She breathed, in and out, until her hands stopped shaking. As soon as they did, her tiredness caught up with her. Her eyes were heavy, practically begging her to get some sleep. She shook her head as if that would fling the sleep out of her eyes. When that didn't work, she slapped her right leg and fiddled with the radio.
She watched the little town disappear in her rearview mirror. It might be of some use to report those ruffians to the local cops. She didn't want them troubling the cashier.
She reached over, digging through candy wrappers and junk food containers until she found her phone. She quickly called the nonemergency police number, explaining the situation. Instead of feeling lighter when she hung up, she just felt worse. The phone, cheap but usable, was like lead in her hands. She chewed the inside of her cheek, rubbing her thumb over the phone's case.
It took a lot to make Pamola feel guilty. After all, a detective should always be confident in their choices. But this was one of those rare times that Pam felt some shred of doubt. It grew and grew until it was almost as powerful as her exhaustion.
Should she have called him before she left New York? Probably. Human decency would say so. But…no, she just couldn't do it. Her hands were starting to shake again, though this time the cause wasn't an adrenaline rush. She hadn't talked to him since they'd graduated high school. Maybe he hasn't changed that much? Who was she kidding? She was different from the person she had been 6 years ago. He probably was too.
Then again, they'd called each other a few times over the years. He had seemed stoked to hear from her then.
Maybe he would be glad to hear her voice. Was it so hard to believe that, after all she'd been through, something good could happen? She dialed the first few numbers. Her thumb hovered over the fifth digit. She swallowed once, twice, before slamming the phone shut. Coward, she thought, even as she threw the phone into the passenger seat. It tossed the trash everywhere, smacking into the plastic bag before jumping to the floorboard. Pam sighed as the pieces of litter fluttered around the truck like snow.
She took some deep breaths. She was fine. This was fine. New York was a part of her past. A part that she best not think about right now. L.A. would be good for her. And despite the time between seeing him last, she was sure her brother would love to see her. How long had it been since she had had a proper, big 'ol bear hug from him? She twisted her hands back and forth on the steering wheel. Her teeth were clenched hard enough to cause pain, but pain kept her awake. She kept doing it.
Her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Why didn't she just dial his number and call? She could do it right now. She had no reason to be scared.
Pamola was not scared.
But the phone was…too far away. Yeah, she couldn't reach it while she was driving. Hands white on the steering wheel, she continued to drive down the road. She wouldn't take a break until the sun peaked over the horizon. Pam hazily remembered pulling into a parking lot, laying her head against the leather steering wheel as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
Just a few more hours away. Till I start a new life on the other side of the country.
With no one by her side, alone in the middle of Nebraska, Pam fell asleep, hoping her guilt would stay far behind her.