Chapter 2

When the police arrived, the restaurant was complete chaos. Employees and customers were telling their version of what they saw. Some were crying hysterically, as if they had been the ones with a gun pointed to their face, they had been the ones the robber shot at.

But no one had seen his face except me.

Holding a bag of frozen peas over the left side of my face, I described the robber in great detail, from his coal black eyes down to the hairy mole on the right side of his nose.

Detective Christian Clay sat directly in front of me, his hands holding my free hand. "This man is dangerous, Julie. He's killed six people. He normally doesn't hesitate. You're lucky to be alive."

I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to cry. I had been repeating those words to myself ever since the detective sat me down. But my eyes decided they weren't going to listen to me anymore. They welled up with tears and they fell down my face.

"We've been after him for the last eight months," he continued. "But he's been a man without a face because no one has ever seen it until now. He's robbed five banks and since this is the first time he's come after a restaurant, he's growing pretty desperate."

I looked up at the red-haired detective. "He knows I saw his face."

Detective Clay nodded. "Yes. He knows you can identify him."

I wiped at my eyes and put the bag of peas over my face again. It hurt like hell. How bad was the bruise going to be? Then I remembered it could have been worse. I could have had no face at all if he had shot me.

"Do you have somewhere you can go besides here in Portland?" he asked.

I nodded. "I was planning to go back to my hometown in three weeks for a wedding. Two of my friends are getting married."

"Where's your hometown?"

"Texas. Dillon, Texas."

"Well, Julie, it looks like you'll be going to Dillon a lot sooner than you planned." He squeezed my hand. "I want you to go home, pack your things as quickly as you can. Don't stop or do anything else along the way. Then get the hell out of Portland. In fact, the Portland airport is probably not your best bet. Head south to Salem, maybe even Eugene. And you need to stay off the main highways out of the city. Do you hear what I'm saying to you?"

I nodded again.

He released my hand and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "I want you to give me your cell number. As soon as we catch him, I will personally call you and tell you myself. You'll need to return to identify him and possibly testify in court, but not right away."

I rattled off my cell number and he programmed it into his phone.

Then he handed me a business card. "If you need anything or need to talk about what happened, promise you'll call me."

I nodded a third time.

"You're a brave girl, Julie. What you did was very heroic."

So here's the thing…the day started out bad and got worse when I nearly got my face shot off, and just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse than that…

Well, it did.

It got worse. The kind of worse you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. The sad country music kind of worse.

I pulled into my assigned parking space where I lived. As I got out of the car, I noticed Henry's car was still where he normally parked it. He was still home? Maybe he wasn't feeling well and decided to call in sick. But it was perfect. I could tell him what happened. I needed someone to hold me. Maybe I'd even let him kiss me.

And then I noticed a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked nearby. It looked oddly familiar, like I had seen it parked at work every day for the last three years. I didn't give it a second thought because I knew there had to be more than one yellow Volkswagen Beetle in Oregon.

I walked into the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor. As I unlocked the door of my apartment, I was mentally going over my notes. Drive to the airport in Salem. Pack my things. Stay off the main highways. Get the hell out of Portland. Go back to the apartment. Don't stop along the way.

Obviously not in that order.

What was I going to pack? I had planned on shopping in a few days for my trip back to Dillon. There wouldn't be any time now. Detective Clay told me to leave immediately.

I opened the door and was suddenly greeted by grunting sounds. Odd grunting sounds. The kind that were made in certain NC-17 movies.

Henry's bedroom door was closed. And that's where the sounds were coming from.

I walked up to the closed door and listened and then I flung it open.

Henry was in bed…on top of someone.

"Oh God…!" I shouted.

He froze and spun around to face me, dislodging himself from the woman beneath him, and it figures, it was Bridgett.

I didn't know what to say. The sight of Henry's naked ass in the air was utterly repulsive. I gagged in disgust and walked out.

Two minutes later, Henry was in my room. "What're you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I was packing my clothes into two suitcases.

"What the hell happened to your face?"

I wasn't even going to provide any kind of explanation. He didn't deserve to know. I wanted him to think I was leaving because I had found him in bed with Bridgett. God, I hated that girl. Or maybe not. Afterall, she had given me a reason to tell Henry there was no way I'd go out with him now. So maybe I didn't hate her that much.

"Well, what do you expect, Julie?" Henry argued. "We've been living together for three years. I asked you out and then nothing."

I stopped packing and stared at him with my mouth open. "Well, I told you I needed more time and you said you were fine with waiting."

"That was before I realized you meant forever."

From the corner of my eye I saw Bridgett coming out of Henry's bedroom, dressed in her jean shorts and tank top. She took her time walking to the door, making sure I could see her.

"Family emergency, my ass!" I shouted out to her.

Then I heard the front door close. She was gone.

I continued throwing things into my suitcase. "I'm going to my friend's wedding and after that, I don't know."

Henry rubbed his chin. "Okay, that's fine. We can talk about it when you get back. Yeah, okay." He walked out of my bedroom.

Little did Henry Pelican know, I wasn't planning on coming back to this apartment ever again.

(Tim's POV)

After I signed the transfer of ownership form and handed over four thousand dollars, the owner handed over the horse's papers and gave me a casual salute. "Vaya con dios, amigo," he said with a laugh as he walked away.

It took the same three handlers and three separate ropes to bring the psycho stallion to my trailer. I opened the side door and dropped the ramp.

One of the handlers pointed to the rear of the trailer. "It'd be easier if we loaded him from the back."

I shook my head. "Not happening, partner. I've got a classic car back there and I'm not unloading it."

While the handlers continued to be dragged by the horse around the parking, a pickup truck loaded with hay bales pulled up. A grubby bearded man got out. "I can give you four bales of hay, some grain and a bucket for water. After that, you're on your own."

I agreed and went up the ramp to make sure the wall between the car compartment and the horse compartment was secure. I pulled open the door of a smaller compartment and that's where the man tossed in the four bales of hay and a ten pound bag of grain. He handed me a bucket and I secured it on a clipped hook on the side.

I scratched the back of my head as I watched the handlers wrestling to get the horse loaded into the trailer. After about ninety-six failed attempts, I shook my head in disgust and went into the glove box of my truck. I grabbed a handful of firecrackers and tied the wicks together.

The hay man was leaning against his pickup, smoking a cigar. I walked up and stood beside him and waited until the handlers had the horse facing the ramp again. I grabbed the hay man's cigar, lit the firecrackers and tossed them on the ground behind the horse. They went off loudly. The hay man laughed out loud as the horse screeched and flew up the ramp, dragging all three handlers with him.

I handed back his cigar. "This is gonna be a long trip."

A few minutes later, the handlers came down the ramp, their faces covered in sweat. It was pretty hysterical. But I didn't laugh because I figured I'd look like that soon enough when I had to load and unload that animal by myself over the next few days as I headed back home to Texas.

Before the handlers left, I gave each of them a good tip for their aggravation and they walked away, wiping the sweat off their faces. The hay man got in his pickup and drove off with a wave of his hand.

I turned to the trailer as the banging began. That freak of a horse was going to knock the walls down. I walked up the ramp and side stepped his swinging rear end. I quickly grabbed the side of his halter and held it firmly as I looked him right in the eye. "You listen here, Striker. If you break anything on this trailer, so help me, I'll take you straight to a glue factory? Trust me, you don't want that. Now you are gonna play nice and deal with your shit quietly. Do we understand each other?"

He blew a strong blast of air out of his nostrils.

I released his halter and went into another compartment. This one contained my cooler full of ice and beverages. I grabbed five bottles of water and poured each of them into the bucket. "This is the good stuff for now, but don't get spoiled." I looked up and his black eye was staring back, probably assessing me. "Are you hungry? How about I feed you before we hit the road."

His ear turned. Was he listening to my voice.

I looked at my watch. It was 12:30 in the afternoon. If I hit the road by 1:00pm, I could be out of Washington and halfway through the state of Oregon by nightfall before I had to stop for the night.

With the worst behind me, I figured anything that happened from that moment on had to be nothing in comparison. Nothing.

Right?

And now all I was trying to do was get out of Portland as quickly as possible, avoiding the major interstate for very valid reasons, and my piece of shit car decided it was time to crap out. Piece Of Shit, or POS, for short, that's what I named it three years ago when I bought it from a crooked car salesman, whose business conveniently vanished a week later.

But I digress.

Being stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a very deserted road that went on for hundreds of miles with nothing but forest in every direction, was not my idea of an escape. With my hands on my bare hips, I angrily kicked Piece of Shit's tire with my thick-soled, high-heeled boot. And now my toe hurt.

I went into my purse and pulled out my cell phone. Not that the GPS on it would tell me where the hell I was. However, it could tell me how far away I was from where the hell I was supposed to be, but wasn't. Sixty-five miles to Salem. Lovely. So who could I call? A tow truck? And how was I going to get to the airport in Salem?

I looked down at my cell phone and decided to call my dad. It was my last resort. But I decided I wasn't going to tell him about the robbery yet. I'd wait until I got home.

Dad answered on the third ring. "Hey, Jules, what's up?"

"Hi, Dad. So you think you can catch the next flight to Portland and help me with my car?" I asked him.

He laughed. "That's real funny, baby."

"I'm serious, Dad."

"Okay, calm down. What happened?"

"I don't know. It just died."

"Did you open the hood?"

"No. Hang on." I stepped over to the front of the car and popped open the extremely hot hood. At least I knew how to do that without breaking a nail. A cloud of thick smoke assaulted me and I stumbled backward away from the car. "I just got a mouthful of smoke. Hang on." I coughed and coughed, wondering if engine smoke caused cancer. "Okay, I think I'm good. What do I do?"

"What color's the smoke?" he asked.

"It's white."

"Hey, that's good."

"Good? How is smoke of any color considered good?"

"Well, I'm not a mechanic, but I think it might just mean you only need to put water in the tank."

"Tank? You mean like a fish tank?" I asked innocently and bent forward to inspect the engine more thoroughly. When it came to cars, I was a complete idiot. But so was my dad. As I was bent forward, I realized my short skirt was riding up and my ass was probably in full view, for everyone to see. I straightened up and looked around. There wasn't a soul in sight…I looked up at the sky and saw a hawk circling overhead. Or was it a buzzard? Did they have buzzards in Oregon?

"Jules? Are you there? Did you find the water tank?"

I turned back to the engine. "Uhm, what does it look like?"

"Honey, you are screwed."

"I know I'm screwed, Dad, but I really need you to tell me what to do anyway."

"Okay, what road are you on?"

"I'm on 12. I was on my way to the airport in Salem."

"Why are you going to Salem? Why didn't you just catch a flight out of Portland?"

I didn't know what to say, so I lied. "All the flights were booked."

"Well, what's the rush anyway? The wedding's not for another three weeks."

"I know, but I figured I'd come home early. I miss you and mom and Gracie."

"So how far away are you from Salem?" he asked.

"The GPS on my phone says 65 miles."

"So you didn't get very far out of Portland, did you?"

"No, but I'm seriously in the middle of nowhere."

He sighed. "Let me think for a minute. Hey, Tami, honey? Where the heck are ya?" I heard my mom's voice in the background. "Who did you tell me this morning was in Seattle?"

I couldn't hear what my mom was saying. I reached into the front seat of the car and retrieved the bottle of water I had been drinking. I took a long gulp and glanced up and down the vacant street. I might as well have been on a deserted island.

My dad came back on the phone. "Okay, give me a few minutes, Jules. I'll call you right back." He hung up on me.

I stared at the phone and then stared at the surrounding forest again. It was scary being out here alone. There wasn't a single car in sight. Didn't anyone use this road out of Portland? Well, maybe it probably wasn't the best road to be taking. It was just the less traveled road I was instructed by Detective Christian Clay to take. He said keeping off the major highways out of Portland was crucial…for my own safety.