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Begoogled mentioned that the last chapter was a bit of "Shawshank Redemption". In fact, one of my betas pointed out something similar to me ("this kind of reminds me of "The Green Mile"), and yes, I'm a huge Stephen King fan and it may well be that this story (and others) were partly inspired by his writing :).

Thanks for telling me what you think!

Chapter 19

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Trip."

Malcolm's face was only partly visible, half-hidden in the shadows. The dark clouds had lifted in the meantime, the moon immersing the landscape in its pale light. The forest lay behind them; after stumbling through the underbrush for maybe half an hour they had come upon a narrow road that had led them out of the woods and right into the middle of nowhere. Nowhere, decorated with a few fields, bushes and a farmhouse in the distance.

"Come on, Malcolm... we'll be long gone before they get up. And we need a place to spend the night."

"We could stay here."

Trip looked around. They had stopped at the edge of the forest next to a pile of wood, presumably left there until someone from the sawmill came to pick it up. The ground was wet and covered with tire tracks that led from the wood pile to the road, earthy grooves filled with brown water. The trees provided little to no shelter, and if it rained again, the entire place was likely to turn into a mud bath.

Trip glanced back at the farmhouse. "It's only five hundred meters, Mal."

Malcolm, sitting on a log, raised his head. The moonlight filtering through the tree tops illuminated his face, and Trip noticed the dark hollows under his eyes.

"Come on," he repeated and held out his hand, trying to sound optimistic. "They've got to have a garden shed or somethin' of the like."

Malcolm sighed and grabbed Trip's hand to let himself be pulled to his feet. "This is stupid."

As they stepped out of the shadows into the open, a sudden breeze caught Trip's hair and he shivered. He was miserably cold, had been ever since they had snuck out of the truck, and he knew that Malcolm wasn't faring any better. Their clothes had dried a little during the ride, just enough to be damp instead of dripping wet, clinging to the skin like cat hair to black velvet. They had tried wringing out their socks, but to little avail as the insides of their boots were still wet. Trip expected that walking in wet concrete came pretty close.

He buried his hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket, keeping his head down as he walked along the road. Maybe Malcolm was right and this was indeed a stupid idea, but the same went for spending the night on the cold and damp ground outside. They would be sick like dogs in the morning, not to mention the fact that they could just as easily be detected camping out next to the road as they could hiding in a shed. At least the shed might be marginally warmer, or so he hoped.

As they got closer to the farm, Trip noticed several smaller buildings adjoining the main house, one of which led to an enclosed paddock. Two cars were parked on the yard in front of the house, a smaller one and a truck quite like Joe's. Trip smirked at the idea. It would be a more than ironic twist of fate if the people here ran a River Valley outlet store. Not that business would be any good, in a place out in the boondocks like this.

I guess for them traffic's heavy when they get to see more than two cars passing by on one day.

He was brought out of his reverie when Malcolm laid a hand on his arm.

"What is it?"

"Wait here," Malcolm said quietly, his eyes on the farmhouse that was dark and still in the moonlight. "I'll go first."

Trip frowned. "Mal, I-"

Malcolm interrupted him, his attention clearly focused elsewhere. "Just let me do a quick recce first. I'll get you when I know it's safe."

"Do a what? What are you talkin' about, Malcolm?" Trip tried to quell his irritation at Malcolm's suggestion. He could take care of himself, and he didn't want his friend to think otherwise. "I'm comin' with you."

Malcolm opened his mouth as if to protest, and closed it again with a confused expression on his face. "I... " He shrugged somewhat helplessly.

Trip sensed that Malcolm wasn't quite sure himself why he had suggested to go first and decided not to press the matter. The Englishman had done this before, acted as if he had an obligation to ensure Trip's safety, and Trip suspected that it wasn't only Malcolm's careful nature getting the better of him. Malcolm had quite obviously been trained as a fighter at some point in his former life, and maybe he had served as a bodyguard as well. Trip wondered in what function he had served to require a bodyguard... assuming, of course, that it was him Malcolm had protected.

He shook off the thought and returned his attention to the situation at hand. "That building over there," he said quietly, pointing at the structure farthest away from the farmhouse. "I think it's a barn. I don't think it's locked, anyway."

Malcolm nodded, following Trip's finger with his eyes. "Worth a try."

They kept in the shadows of the trees, Trip following Malcolm's lead. He couldn't help but notice the other man's air of confidence, as if he knew instinctively that this was his area of expertise. Maybe "bodyguard" isn't quite the word I was looking for."Spy" might be more like it. He chuckled a little at the idea. Malcolm Reed, in Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Malcolm shot him a strange look , and Trip was glad that he didn't have to explain. He had a feeling that Malcolm might not have taken kindly to the joke.

As Trip had predicted, the wooden building wasn't locked; its door opened easily enough and luckily without a creak. They were just about to venture inside when a sudden, loud noise broke the silence. Trip jumped so hard that he bumped into Malcolm, and only when the noise repeated itself did he recognize it as the barking of a dog... a very large dog, judging by the deep, throaty sound.

"Dammit!"

Malcolm grabbed his arm and stopped his retreat. "Don't run."

"What-" Trip broke off when he followed Malcolm's eyes. The dog that was running towards them was huge, and even though Trip could not quite make out the breed in the dark, he could see its gleaming teeth just fine. It let out another bark, earth spraying up where its large paws hit the ground. It was too close for them to stand a chance even if they tried running.

They retreated until their backs hit the wooden wall of the barn. Trip noticed that a light had gone on in the farmhouse, but he barely spared it a glance. The dog had come to a halt in front of them, its ears flat against top of its large head. It was growling from the very bottom of its throat and Trip couldn't take his eyes off the teeth. If they had tried to run from this thing, it would have ripped out their throats for sure. As it was, it still seemed to consider whether their balls might be even tastier, its slavering snout hovering only centimeters away from their legs.

"Berta!"

The call had come from the direction of the house. Trip risked a glance and saw an elderly man running towards them, carrying a lengthy object in his hand.

"Berta, down! Get back, now!"

Berta's ears twitched, but she seemed to have no intention of backing off. Her nose was almost touching Trip's thigh, her lips pulled back in an unmistakable threat. The man grabbed her collar and pulled her away.

"Down, Berta!"

With her master on the scene, she finally obeyed, although her growling continued as she crouched next to the man's feet. Heart still pounding, Trip raised his eyes and found himself looking into the muzzle of a gun. The thin, bearded face of the man holding it was scared, despite the fact that he was the one with the weapon and the dog.

"Who are you?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

For some reason, the fact that the man was so obviously frightened by their presence allayed Trip's own fear, and he was able to answer in an almost normal tone.

"Thanks for callin' your dog back, sir."

The man frowned. "Who are you?"

Next to him, Malcolm took a deep breath before he spoke. "We apologize for the intrusion on your premises, sir. We're not... we're not burglars."

Not for the first time, Malcolm's distinguished accent earned him a surprised look and a set of raised eyebrows.

"What do you want then?" the man asked, with a nervous glance back at the house.

"We... we were mugged," Trip replied, saying the first thing that came to his mind. "We were wonderin' if we could call the police from your place."

The man's frown deepened. "Mugged? Out here?"

Trip glanced at Malcolm for help, and the other man continued, "Yes, well, not exactly. We... were hitchhiking, and they took our money and valuables before they threw us out of the car."

The man was still frowning. "Who's they?" he wanted to know.

"Two men, about my age or younger," Trip improvised. "They had a gun, there was nothin' we could do."

"Where did they throw you out?" the man asked, now marginally calmer. "We hardly see any cars out here."

"They drove us into the countryside so we wouldn't be able to call the police right away," Malcolm replied. "We'd been walking around for a while before we saw your house. We're sorry to be disturbing you that late."

Finally, the man lowered his gun, although Trip could see that he was still not quite sure what to make of their story. "S'pose it's all right," he said, hitching up his pajama pants. "You'd better come in then, if you wanna call the police."

"Thank you," Trip said. "Really appreciate it."

Berta, who seemed less trusting than her master, continued to growl and stayed close to the man as they walked towards the house.

"Quiet, girl," he said, then added with a glance over his shoulder: "I'm Edward Moore, by the way. You can call me Ed." For the first time since they had met, a hesitant grin spread over his creased features. "We don't get to see a lot of people out here. That's why she's a little wary of strangers," he added with a fond look at the dog. Trip exchanged a glance with Malcolm. To him, Berta seemed less wary than homicidal, and her persistent growling made it clear that she did not approve of their continued presence in her master's realm.

He noticed that Ed was still looking at him and realized that the older man was waiting for him to introduce himself. Trip hesitated. He was quite sure that their names had been broadcasted to the news stations by now, along with their pictures and the wanted ad. Better not to leave any traces.

"My name's Mike Owens," he said after a short pause.

"Sam Moreno," Malcolm added. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Likewise," Ed replied. "Well then, come on in."

He opened the door that led into the main house and they followed him inside. To Trip's relief, Berta remained outside, her growling muffled behind the closed door. Ed turned on the light, illuminating a large, old-fashioned kitchen. Trip took in the well-worn chairs, the large wooden table and the knitted curtains at the windows, surprised at the distinct feeling of déjà-vu the sight stirred in him. He was sure he had never been in a kitchen like this one, or any kitchen as far as he could remember, and yet the room felt strangely familiar to him.

"Eddie, what's going on?" a sleepy female voice asked from the other side of the room, and Trip turned around. A small elderly woman was standing in the doorway, hands hidden in the sleeves of her salmon pink bathrobe. Her eyes widened a little when she became aware of the two strangers. "Who're these people?"

"Hitchhikers," Ed said. Trip noticed that he was still holding the gun, half behind his back as if to deflect attention from it. "They got mugged and want to call the police. My wife Helen," he added.

Trip tried for a polite smile. "Mike Owens," he said. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"Sam Moreno," Malcolm introduced himself. "We're sorry for the inconvenience."

Helen paused for a moment, then she smiled back. "Can't be too careful these days," she said with a look at her husband. "I hope you didn't get hurt?"

"No," Trip shook his head. "They took our money, then told us to scram. I guess we were lucky, all things considered."

Helen nodded. "Would you like a cup of tea? It's got to be freezing out there."

"We don't want to be any trouble," Malcolm said with a hopeful tone in his voice. Helen seemed to have noticed as well, for she smiled. "No trouble at all. Eddie, why don't you go and get the phone from the living room while I make us some tea."

Ed grunted something and went through a door into an adjoining room. Helen busied herself filling tap water into an old kettle, which she set on the ancient stove. A small blue flame flickered up as she turned on the gas.

"Hope you don't mind tea bags," she said as she returned to the table.

"Tea bags are fine, ma'am, " Trip said.

She gestured at the chairs. "Please, sit down."

They had just taken a seat when Ed re-entered the room, carrying a cordless phone that he handed to Malcolm. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Malcolm said, eyeing the phone with suspicion.

Trip bit down on the inside of his lip. Like many things that were supposed to be everyday appliances, the phone looked strange to him, and from the expression on Malcolm's face he assumed that the Englishman wasn't quite sure what to do with it either.

Can't be that neither of us has ever made a phone call in his life.

He glanced at Ed and Helen and saw that they were both looking at Malcolm, waiting for him to place the call. Malcolm licked his lips, then, obviously coming to a decision, hit several buttons on the receiver and raised the phone to his ear. His face was neutral, but Trip noticed the nervous flicker in his eyes. And realized that Malcolm, like he himself, didn't have the faintest idea what number the police had.

My God... he just dialed any number.

He bit down harder on his lip. After several seconds, someone seemed to have picked up the receiver on the other end.

"Yes, this is Sam Moreno," Malcolm said. "I'd like to report a mugging."

He waited, and Trip could only imagine what the other person was saying.

"No, I'm afraid not," Malcolm continued. "My friend and I were hitchhiking and the men in the car threatened us with a gun." – "Two men, yes. They threw us out after they'd taken our money."

Trip noticed a faint gleam of sweat on the other man's forehead and racked his mind for a topic of conversation that would distract Ed and Helen from Malcolm's fake "report". Before he could think of anything to say, he was saved by a shrill whistle from the kettle.

"I'll get it," Helen got up. "Eddie, could you get out the mugs please?"

Obediently, Ed trudged over to a wall cabinet while Helen went to pick up the kettle. Trip tried to act as if he weren't listening too closely to Malcolm's "conversation", inwardly thanking his lucky star that it was not he who had to do the impromptu play-acting. He had a feeling that he wouldn't have managed to pull it off quite as convincingly as Malcolm.

"Yes, thank you," Malcolm was saying when Ed returned to the table, carrying four large earthenware mugs. "Goodbye."

He pushed a button on the phone and laid it on the table. "They said that they might have an idea who those men were," he said. "Seems like we weren't the first hitchhikers that got mugged around here."

Trip caught Malcolm's eyes before he spoke. Owe you one, buddy. "Figures," he said aloud. "I don't know why we got into that car in the first place."

Helen dropped four tea bags into the mugs and poured hot water onto them. "Is there anyone you can call to pick you up?" she asked.

Trip chewed on his lip, thinking fast. "I guess I could call my brother," he said then. "He gets back from a business trip tomorrow." That should buy us a little time.

Helen handed him one of the steaming mugs. "Well, we're not going to kick you out just like that," she said and glanced at her husband. "You're welcome to spend the night, right, Eddie?"

Ed looked less than enthusiastic at the idea and seemed about to protest, but closed his mouth again when his wife raised her eyebrows. "Right, Eddie?"

"I s'pose," he grumbled, accepting his own mug of tea.

Trip exchanged a quick glance with Malcolm. Too much of a risk, Malcolm's eyes said, and Trip was inclined to agree. "Thank you, ma'am, but we don't want to be any more trouble," he said.

Helen shook her head. "It's no trouble at all. We've got a guest room with a double bed across the hall." She smiled. "You guys don't mind sharing, do you?"

"Really, we wouldn't want you to inconvenience yourself," Malcolm said. "We'll just walk to the next town and-"

"Oh no," Helen said in a tone that left no room for argument. "If anything, Eddie and I can drive you there in the morning. It's more than six miles from here and you'll need a place to spend the night anyway."

Trip hesitated. It was a risk, yes, and yet the idea of spending the night in a clean, warm bed was tempting. Besides, it might be even more suspicious if they insisted on declining the offer, given that they obviously had no other place to go.

"That's very kind of you," he said. "If you're sure it's no trouble..."

"Not at all, really." Helen smiled and took a sip from her tea, then set the mug down and got to her feet. "Come on, I'll show you there."

Malcolm slightly narrowed his eyes at Trip as they followed her. "Maybe we could call a cab," he began, but Helen interrupted him.

"Really, Mr. Moreno, it's no trouble at all." She smiled. "Besides, I'm not sure you'd find a cab anywhere within the next 20 miles or so."

Malcolm smiled back at her and Trip was relieved to see that the expression wasn't entirely forced. The other man was as tired as he was, and the idea of a warm bed might have convinced him to put some of his doubts aside.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and Helen nodded as she opened the door to the guest room.

"Here you go. The downstairs bathroom's over there, " she pointed at another door across the hall. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

They thanked her again and she left, smiling as she closed the door. "Sleep well."

Trip woke with a start. The room was dark, Malcolm next to him was snoring quietly, and for a moment he wasn't sure what had stirred him out of his sleep.

Then he heard it again and his breath caught in his throat. Voices. There were voices outside, and it wasn't only Ed and Helen talking. Berta barked, and Trip caught a few muffled words: "... called right away after we..."

His heart pounding in his ears, he pushed the covers aside and crept to the door as quietly as he could. The voices seemed to be coming from the kitchen now, as if several men had just entered the house. He pressed one ear to the wooden surface and listened.

"... thank God you're here," Ed was saying. "We recognized their faces in the late news..."

"We were so scared," his wife added shakily.

Trip turned around at a small noise from behind, and found that Malcolm had gotten out of bed as well. They stood in frozen silence, listening as an all-too-familiar voice drifted through the closed door.

"Don't worry, we're gonna take care of them now," Lendon said.

TBC...

Lol, please don't throw any rotten vegetables (fresh ones are okay)! Please let me know what you think!