《The Long Road》


 Chapter One: The Road

    He was walking down the road in the near dead of night. Cars passed only inches from him as he looked down keeping himself between the steel guard rail and white painted line. Interstate I-95 ran all the way up from Maine down into Florida and at the rate he was going it would be the Tuesday of next month he got there. I-95 was typically a four-lane road split down the middle by concrete dividers. Two lanes of traffic passed on the far left side going north while where he was going south. He had long given up on hitchhiking his way south, the reality of it was no one was gonna stop for him. Not even the state troopers who patrolled their sections of road. Cars and trucks were simply going too fast, close to eighty miles an hour down the road to slow down and pull over. No, he had given up and decided to just hoof it to the next rest stop another ten miles down the road from where he was. Which honestly he wasn''t sure exactly where that was. In fact, he had at one point decided that it was worth the effort to get a ride so he stuck his thumb out. The massive bellowing air horn of a passing by semi-saved his hand from being torn off at the elbow as it barreled by like an unstoppable train. Another SUV that passed, its bright white lights cutting the darkness around him slammed its horn honking the entire way down the road as he watched the red tail lights fade away.


    So he was on the slow march south putting one foot in front of the other. His boots already were ready to fall apart at the seams, the stitching stretching out with every step. He could feel the gravel and rocks on every step he took as if there was no sole to his shoe at all. In fact, he picked up his own hitchhiker two miles back that had been viciously stabbing the inside of his foot for the last three hours. It was slow going and the pain wasn''t helping him any. It was late at night and with the sound of another bellowing horn of a car passing him mere inches from his body, a dark jet black Sedan this time, he pulled the dark blue hoodie up over his black hair. His breath was making steam even this late at night which was unusual for early April but welcomed as he didn''t feel like walking through heavy downpours or in freezing cold conditions. That was another reason why he was heading south, the cold and he never got along. Not even in Arctic Warfare training did he like it, and he loved the service. No two months of living in Antarctica in an igloo had only soured his mood more towards the colder weather. Still, whenever he got cold he could always say he wasn''t there, wasn''t a blue icicle hanging on the damn ceiling anymore. He laughed remember how he and the other twenty-six literally turned blue from the conditions. He did miss it that was for sure and he continued on his way.


    There was a crack of tires rolling past him at high speeds that kept him alert snapping him back from his memories and into reality. All it would take would be one lazy driver to swing his way. He looked out to his right over the waist-high guard rail that was dwarfed in comparison to himself. The question persisted, was, In fact, was he? The mile marker on the side said...his mind trailed off again, it was getting harder to stay awake. He looked back to the tail lights to see the dull red grow brighter. Brighter meant people slowing down, he felt a ping of hope in his chest. Slowing down meant maybe someone would pick him up now. Although how many hitchhikers got picked up these days anyway? Facts were most were dangerous some being killers or the one who picked him up being the killer. The world seemed to have gone crazy since 9/11 and slowly like his boots falling apart at the seems. No, he would probably have to walk the way or steal a car if he wanted to really put some distance between him and the city.


    Maybe one of the truckers was his best shot, they did nothing but drive all day and night alone. Maybe the idea of some company would be appealing to them. Appealing enough to let him ride along though? He didn''t know or cared by this point his feet hurt and he was exhausted. The guard rail opened up weaving out to allow another lane, the overhead sign that gun off the massive steel poles read, I-95 Rest stop then listed off all the stores and food places there. He stuck inside his little bumper and walked alone down the road curving to the rest stop. No cars followed him down this road which was incredibly dark and stepping off to the side like this he could see the place better. It was a large empty building with maybe two cars parked in spaces out front. He could see the signs on the place, places like McDonald''s a convenience store and bathroom signs. There was a single light post in the darkness that was the parking lot giving the place that late night horror movie vibe. Outside was a small kiosk and about six rectangular pumps exposed to the elements. He cut through the parking lot not changing his pace which he had already set long ago. Changing now to let his feet rest would mean losing ground and he wasn''t ready for that.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The place looked empty and few lights on inside. He put his face up to the glass to look in to see the empty tables and chairs that littered the interior. The small convenience store was the only place with lights on the rest had long turned their lights off. He could hear the humming coming from the industrial lights inside. He turned back to look over his shoulder and felt a shiver go down his spine. It felt as if...he stopped no he knew someone was watching him. Was it inside? Someone inside the car? Too many damn questions, not enough answers and it bothered him. He turned back putting his hand on the glass to push it open and stopped. Something was telling him no, a little voice inside of his head was talking to him telling him no. It was the same little voice that saved his life before, the same that told him and drove him before. He reached back to feel the nonexistent gun he liked to stuff in his waistband. He wished he had kept the damn thing rather than tossing it into the river along with his wallet and phone. He kept his ATM card and the loose cash though. No, he needed to go inside, he needed to rest. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. A burst of warm air hit him as well as the smell of food that had been cooked all day had yet to dissipate.


    He picked at a nearby stand looking through the fliers and brochures of the area as well as a map of two. Shit, he cursed he was only a few miles outside Washington at the most. He picked up the map and shoved it in his pocket after folding it over once then looked to the convince store. It was a simple long bar, behind it was several rows of food snacks drinks. The back wall was a refrigerator unit with built-in glass doors to take what you wanted out of. The McDonald''s was shut down with a metal grate pulled down across its counter. The lights inside clearly still on as he could see it shining through the cracks but the sign above was off. He started his slow walk over to the counter of the convenience store. It stopped short four feet from the wall where there was an opening for the owner or clerk to walk behind. The top, a brown granite and white paneled wood base. In the opening where the clerk would walk through to begin ones shift he could see the red glistening blood. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the body. The black hair matted in the blood her back to him as she was laying on the floor. Was she dead? He asked himself and carefully started walking over. She was twisted at an odd angle her one arm bent weirdly under her. Her other arm straight out as if one would use it to support themselves while sleeping on the ground. He took a side step noticing the line where the black of her shirt became darker. He wanted to speak but couldn''t he looked for the steady rise and fall of her chest, there was nothing.


    He took a step closer and knelt just outside the growing puddle. He touched her shoulder with a shaker hand and carefully pulled her onto her back. Her eyes were wide open, he could see the fear and confusion in them still. She didn''t know what happened. But he did, he had seen it more than enough. She was executed, the front of her forehead blown out in a decent sized hole. She was shot from behind, as dead as stone when she hit the ground. He shook his head, at least she didn''t suffer. But why? Why was she killed, that answer came soon enough. A quick scan of the area showed the cash register had been pried open. The metal bent from where the attacker had used an object most likely a crowbar to pull it out. It was empty inside. The change spilled onto the floor. He turned back to the girl shifting slightly in his crouched position. She was short, five foot two probably he guessed and carefully he adjusted himself more to see where the bullet entered the top of her skull. That''s when it dawned on him. What the hell are you doing? He thought and cursed standing up, your not supposed to be here, you don''t do this anymore. He took a step back and looked at her with pity. She was someone''s daughter, she had a life maybe some friends. Now she was dead. He took one more second and turned to leave, he didn''t wanna be here when someone found...Shit,he thought and turned to see the man standing before him.


    He was as white as a ghost and that''s when he looked down to see the blood had wrapped itself around his boots making it look as if he was standing in it. Not to mention leaving bloody footprints. Which he too cursed himself for because the detective who caught this case would have to decipher who''s boots they were if he did it etc he pulled a rookie move and moved the body contaminated the crime scene. The man never took his eyes off the dead body through just as fearful as hers were. He snapped in the air in front of the man trying to break his trance. If he was here he might as well get her some help. Hopefully, they would at least give her a proper burial soon and let her rest peacefully. The man looked at him, "you have a cell phone?" He said having the man''s attention now. He nodded unable to speak, "good call the police tell them there''s a dead woman here at the rest stop that she was shot in the back of the head and the cash was taken out of the register, okay? Can you do that?" Again a nod. He waited for the man to turn some away from both the body and the door as he pulled out his phone to call the police. He was already heading for the door by that point trying to leave.

 Chapter Two: The Car

    He was leaving, putting as much distance between himself and the store as he could walk at a healthy clip even though his feet protested. He cursed himself and rubbed his tired eyes. What was he thinking? He knew better than that. Why In the hell would he touch a crime scene then get caught doing it? He was breaking every rule in the book getting away, a rule book he reminded himself that he threw out a while ago.


    ¡°What the hell are you doing Ryan?¡± He asked himself and jumped the guard rail and onto the grass.


    Already he could hear the police sirens going the sound of the racing engine firing on all cylinders. The red and blue flashing lights breaking through the night as it came to pass him on the opposite side of the freeway. They were fast, the state trooper who patrolled these roads at all times of the day would be on the scene in seconds. The man saw his face, that too would complicate things. They would want him,want to speak to him. He couldn¡¯t have that, he wouldn¡¯t get away. A truck passed by him and he felt the air be pulled with it. On the opposite side of the guard rail, the grass here slowly started to dip down to a stream that cut through I-95 and traveled down along the side of it for what looked to be thirty feet before turning into a tunnel that he guessed lead to the other side of the freeway. He started down to it, stepping carefully down one by one and slow enough that he wouldn¡¯t slip on the wet grass and go down into the rushing waters. Here he walked along the bed of the stream up to where the river broke into the tunnel. It was also shallowest here as it broke open and much wider as it went into the tunnel. He took a second judging its depth before walking across the water to the other side. It splashed up onto his blue jeans and he was sure any blood that had not been converted up by the mud or scraped off by the grass had now washed away with the river.


    On the other side, he continued going back up the hill and hugging the trees as he walked back up the slope back to where he had originally been walking. He was probably a mile or two from the scene now and he could imagine what happened. The cop on scene rushing in gun out, calming the man once clearing the store to make sure that the killer still didn''t lurk by. Then he would begin by checking for a pulse, standard procedure in such incidents. Although he knew there wasn''t any, the hole in her forehead had confirmed that. She was shot from behind he could tell that much as well as she wasn''t on her knees or kneeling by how the body had been laying. Like a maranet without strings, she fell where she died. He was back to walking along the road now as he thought about the scene. That part of him taking over again, the part that had him looking for the truth in what happened in things. He shook his head he couldn''t think about that because the next thing that would happen as more cops and police arrived would be the statement from the man detailing what happened. That''s also where they would discover that he was there. Not that they would know who he was but they would have a description. They would start looking for him, who would run from a crime scene or not call the police themselves? The killer of course and he knew he was soon to be their prime suspect. Although they wouldn''t say that, the press releases that came out with his image would say they just wanted to talk.


    The Crime scene units that would collect evidence on the scene would find that he had tampered with the scene if the very least. Not to mention that his skin cells and fibers would be on her shirt where he pulled her over. He cursed again, he was in the DNA database, if they got a warrant he would be identified quickly then things got even more complicated. Desperate now to put distance between himself and the scene he stuck his thumb out hoping for a ride. Hoping someone would pull over and help him along. At least he could get farther down I-95 faster. The news report wouldn''t be out till the morning if he was lucky too, now the clock was really ticking. Of course, the driver would tell the police once he put two and two together but chances were by then he could backtrack and take a side road or two that would lead back to the highway. Another truck passed him by and he slipped around the metal pole holding up the signs for the exits. A black SUV passed then a white town car then red explorer. Eventually, as he watched the cars pass and none stop an old beat up worn down truck pulled off the road. It was a black rusted out 2002 Chevy Silverado. The inside of the bed that he could see was rusted out clearly showing the rear gearbox and transmission under the bed. He walked over cautiously and slowly to help not spook the man. Hitchhiking was dangerous for both the one picking up the hitchhiker and himself. What had once been a common practice was now a dying art because who knew who was picking you up. A murder rapist thief anyone could be in that driver seat. The same went for the driver, he could be anyone he¡¯s picking up and he¡¯s taking a chance to do that. A chance with his life that not many would take.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    At the tail light of the truck, the window rolled down. He kept a good foot distance from the truck as he stopped by the single cab door. The man inside was older probably seventy-five with thick glasses held on his head by silver wire. He had silver hair that was long and pulled back in a ponytail. He was frail and old the skin hanging off his bones. But what had him off guard the most was the man was wearing blue jeans and a black Def Leopard t-shirt. He was an odd one at that but he didn¡¯t have anyone else offering a ride.


    The man pushed up his glasses, ¡°what¡¯s your name buddy?¡± He asked in a low harsh smokers voice.


    ¡°Ryan.¡± He said using his real name. He had no reason to lie, and when his name did get out there with his face it¡¯s not like it would be hard to track him down. He was actually surprised the man hadn¡¯t recognized him yet if at all. Did people still look at wanted posters anymore? He guessed not.


    ¡°Where are you heading to?¡± He asked reaching onto the dashboard of the truck for a smoldering cigarette butt that was stuck in an ashtray. Ryan could smell the smoke drifting out of the car now and it stung his nose.


    ¡°As far down I-95 as you¡¯ll take me.¡± He said shrugging. The man looked out the windshield thinking then back to Ryan. The truth was if the position was switched Ryan wouldn¡¯t have picked up someone looking like himself. He was big six four and three hundred pounds of pure muscle. He had a beard starting that every once in a while itched and his plaid button-down shirt was tucked into his blue jeans. His tan work boots worked in well enough that the seems we¡¯re coming undone where the white stitching coming out of the leather. His black hair starting to get longer too and he started to have to push it out of his eyes


    The man hit the button on the side door and the locks on the car popped open. With a free hand, he waved Ryan in, ¡°cmon I¡¯m only going a few miles down the road, it¡¯ll at least get you off your feet for a while.¡± He said


    Ryan gave him a smile as he popped the door a smile that rarely showed but in this case he found it necessary. ¡°Thank you.¡± He said as he got in and close the door.

 Chapter 3:Wanted

    The Silverado although as he could hear was struggling, it was keeping up with the cars it faithfully kept going. The tires rolling over every crack and bump and he could feel it through his seat. The suspension was shot and he felt the repercussions of that. The older man who was driving had clearly turned the radio down for him but he could still hear the muffled crackle of stairway to heaven coming out of blown out speakers. It was also here as he watched out the window he wanted to sleep. Hours of walking none stop had him ready to fall asleep, and watching the trees guard rails and other cars pass by wasn¡¯t helping any. If anything the mesmerizing scene was trying to put him to sleep. Although as he fought off the reality that he was sore and too tired to continue on if he had to he cracked his back and stretched out in the seat silently. The searing pain in his legs and back as he stretched slipped away a bit and he felt much better if not more tired. Sleep was a luxury he couldn¡¯t afford here, he didn¡¯t know this man and it wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t trust him, in fact just the opposite was true. Ryan has grown a disposition to trusting people, but there would just be too many variables to control before he could sleep. Like who the man was, did he have a weapon, was he a thief. Not that Ryan has much that could be taken and they were riding in silence save the low music. He hadn¡¯t bothered to make conversation and didn¡¯t want to. This was just a short ride down the road and nothing more.


    The man fumbled with a cigarette and lighter as he drove leaning over the steering wheel to light it as he kept his wrists on the wheel. Ryan watched out of the corner of his eye then turned back to the window. He reached into the sweatshirt front pocket where he felt the sliver of paper he had kept there. It was folded into a small square about one inch by one inch and detailed a list. A list of names of those he could still trust from his past life. Those that would help him clear his name when the time came, if it ever came. Most of those people were looking for him too, and he shook his head. Once he made it to Florida he could start west heading to Texas he thought to start to plan this out now. From Texas, he could slip across the border and start there. Not many people looked to run into Mexico nowadays, they were all looking to run out and getting in would be easy. Of course once in would be the hard part. Most times investigators would have some inclination on where to start looking for a fugitive or killer, he had none. Not even a location. The only thing he could think of was the affiliation of the man who could clear his name, who was part of the Knights Templar cartel in Mexico. That was the only lead he had to go on and even that was flimsy. He searched his mind and brought his memory backup front, the brutal execution of the businessman in New York. The man who had once been a wall street stock broker before his untimely execution. The calling card of the cartel, a headless body with a cross draped around the neck.


    He was six months old as a field agent in the FBI. The dead man had raised many flags and questions to why or how such a man in such a place could get involved in illicit activities. The man was found miles away from Wall Street though, found in an abandoned shipyard housing building. He had been strapped to a chair and from what Ryan could tell he had been tortured considerably before his untimely death. His hands had been drilled through with a drill bit that was found dumped in the nearby dumpster. His fingernails had also been found on the tarp that covered the ground as well as his severed fingers. His head would turn up a day later, on the front doorstep of his wives home. It was a horrendous scene and the entire place smelled like death. He guessed the corpse had been there for a day or two and decomposition had set in. One thing was apparent, he had been tortured before he had been killed. Ryan shook his head, how long was it before he was on the run? Framed for the man¡¯s murder that he had nothing to do with. He swallowed hard and listened to the skipping record. The man cursed and reached over ejecting the CD. Ryan wondered if the reason it was skipping was that the man shoved it between the seat and console of the truck and came back out with another one. He stuck it in and new music started playing.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Half an hour later and twenty more miles down the road they hit traffic. Cars backed up and neither of them knew why. The old man cursed and leaned the seat back some for what was going to be bumper to bumper riding all the way. A few people who clearly didn¡¯t know how a traffic jam worked hit his horn blaring into the night sky some god awful tune. Ryan adjusted himself to get more comfortable. That¡¯s when he saw it, the lights that reflected off the thick oak trees that made up the Forrest. It flashed red blue red, blue red blue and he sunk a little lower. They were fast, already with a roadblock set up looking for him, at least that¡¯s what he figured. He groaned and acted restless straining to see if that was, in fact, the case and not just some car wreck he stumbled into. It wasn''t because as the Chevy donned the hill he could see the scene. At least six cop cars and double that of police. Some were directing traffic helping the cars merge into one lane they set up in the middle of the road. At least three held assault rifles and were behind the line of cop cars. One car stopped and the lead officer walked up to his door to talk to him. They would search the car opening the doors trunk and looking around with flashlights then let the man go on his way. A man who couldn''t be seen through the window tint of the squad car backed it up to let the SUV through then rolled back to close the gap off as the next approached.


    Ryans heart was pounding. The adrenaline coursing through his veins as they inched closer. He needed an exit strategy and fast. Luckily for him, the man had never left the third lane of the road and was close enough to the guard rail. The man cursed and turned the radio on to the highway announcement channel. Ryan had seen the sign a few miles back,Tune to channel 24.8 for important information and traffic updates if the lights are blinking. The lights were blinking but the man didn''t bother to switch over till now. He needed out of this car then he froze. What if he was panicking for no reason? What if he was wrong and this wasn''t for him at all? Jumping out of the car would certainly bringsuspicion to himself and he really didn''t feel like walking again. But again his gut, that thing that had kept him alive in places abroad was telling him to go. But how? It only took him a second to come up with something but he hesitated, time was passing slowly for him the adrenaline slowing down his perception of time.


    "Thanks for the ride, but I''m gonna walk from here, maybe I can catch another ride on the other side of this." He said talking over the radio to which the man turned down.


    "I don''t blame you, I may be here for hours, goddammit." the man cursed shaking his head, "why the hell would they set a roadblock here?"


    Ryan didn''t answer, he just left the car heading at a diagonal for the woods. The man, now with his silent companion gone turned the radio up to hear the broadcast that was on a loop.Attention Citizens on Highway I-95, the Washington state police department is looking for a man supposedly hitchhiking down I-95. He is described as a tall man at least six foot eight, black hair and beard. His voice rough and at least three hundred thirty pounds. If you see him or have contact with him please call the police when it is safe to do so. This man is extremely dangerous and wanted in the connection with a murder in I-95. The man turned quickly to look at the man who he had just given a ride to. The man who had disappeared into the darkness.

 Chapter 4: Murder

    He was walking away from the truck and over the guard rail. His boots nearly slipped in the wet grass from the morning dew that was starting to form. Ryan was walking fast going for the treeline in the distance knowing that there would be a sanctuary. He hit the first tree and went into the forest hoping that the trees would help cover his escape. He turned back to look at the line of cars that were stalled on the road. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. The sound of idling engines filled the air this time instead of the rushing cars that had once before.


    He couldn''t run, he could escape but he couldn''t run. They would want him and eventually would get him. He knew that everyone slipped up at some point. No one was that good. He had relied on that to help catch criminals in the past. No one got away with crime, that was a myth a, fairytale gangbangers told each other at night to make themselves feel better about their lives. He wasn''t stupid and he knew the tricks but even then he too would get sloppy. Just by being tired right now he knew he was already slipping. That left him with two options turning himself in hoping that they would just let him go once they learned he was really innocent or do what his job was to do. Then again whos to say they wouldn''t just hand him back over to the government to be thrown in a cell that had no name windows or location? He was walking again inside the treeline heading against traffic away from the traffic stop. He glanced back, now maybe thirty yards from the car and well hidden in the darkness of the woods he could see two cops nearby the truck talking to the driver. That sealed his fate, and he was walking back to the nearest town the sun coming up behind his back. He would have to clear his name.


    Detective Joseph D. Pattersons black sedan pulled up to the crime scene. There were six cop cars parked around here and cops stopping traffic from entering. The lone car still in the parking lot as well as another a tan van that could have belonged to a soccer mom. The driver of the car, standing nearby. Even from the distance, Joe was at he could see that the man''s color was clearly faded. There were two cops near him and both were doing their best to take his statement as well as comfort the distraught man. He pulled his unmarked car up next to the ambulance which had both paramedics resting on the tailgate of the big box truck. He shut the engine off and the large six-foot black man got out of the unmarked car. He was bald and clean shaven, the blue lights seeming to glisten and shine off his dark skin. He was of moderate wight not being overweight but nowhere near being in shape as he should be. He walked up to the nearest paramedic who was clearly exhausted.


    "Long night?" he asked leaning against the metal cab his arms folded.


    The man simply nodded without looking up keeping his eyes on the floor. His hand came up to rub his eyes before yawning. Those on looking would have looked at him and seen the man who was clearly suffering from seeing the woman inside. Only that wasn''t true, the man was just tired, death no longer bothered him the way it had used to. He had seen too much of death, had come to close to it a few times to be scared or weary or in shock of it. No, he was just aware and used to death by now, his job dealt with it every day. He couldn''t allow himself to be traumatized by it because if he did that could cost someone else their life. He couldn''t count the number of times that he sat in the back the ambulance going at close to eight miles an hour as he beat on the chest of an overdose victim trying to bring them back to life as they ran to the hospital. No death was just an occupational hazard for him and something he had grown accustomed to, but the late nights and little sleep was not. That was something he couldn''t get used to.


    "So, tell me what you saw in there before I go in." The detective said reaching inside his jacket to remove a small note pad from an inside pocket. He took a pen from his pocket and clicked the end.


    The man yawned which would have seemed insensitive but he couldn''t help the natural reaction to little sleep, "A woman, probably in her twenty¡¯s. She was dead on arrival. Single gunshot wound to the back of her head, probably a twenty-two caliber.¡± He said and leaned back up straight, ¡°shame she was a pretty girl. But there was a lot more blood than usual for a gunshot to the head.¡±


    ¡°What are you the medical examiner now?¡± He asked, ¡°how you know it was a twenty-two?¡±


    The paramedic shrugged and stood up, ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough gunshots to recognize what caliber does what. A twenty-two leaves a small entrance hole and big exit hole.¡±


    ¡°Alright then,¡± he said and scribbled down some more notes, ¡°thank you guys can go.¡± He said with a nod to them.


    The two went to leave and he put the note pad backcrossing the parking lot to the rest stop. He walked past the witness still opting to give the man some more time before questioning him. Let him calm down fully gather his facts and better for the detective to gather as much as he can from the scene to call the man out on his bullshit. He stopped at the glass doors to enter the rest stop. Looking in he could see the men inside, cops who were taking photos sketching the area and measurements. One cop using two rules next to the footprint on the ground for a size snapped off a picture. The flash being much brighter due to the white tile floor. He carefully pushed the door open and stepped in looking at the bloody footprint. Each shoe type and brand had a different design based on several factors. But he couldn¡¯t tell what simply by looking. Instead, he was looking for a different pattern. The floors were freshly cleaned and if there was even a faint trace of another shoe print from dirt, that would mean more then one person had been in here tonight.


    He started on heading to the woman who he could barely see in front of the kneeling cop. The man was taking snapshots carefully as the Medical Examiner pointed out the angles to shoot from. Her tattoos which the medical examiner held up her shirt to be shot, the bullet holes and wounds. He stopped three feet away from them and put his hands in his pockets looking at the woman. She was young, probably twenty-three, the same age as his own daughters. Her black hair matted in the blood that had pooled around her lifeless body. Her white skin already going grey. There was blood, a lot of blood that oozed out over the floor. He looked back to the door his eyes tracing the bloody footprints that lead out the door. Who Evers they were had stepped into the blood. He swallowed hard and took his notepad back out. The medical examiner who was a younger man probably in his thirties looked up to the detective.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°How are you doing Joe?¡± He asked standing up from his crouched position. The dark blue jumpsuit losing any baggy lines as he did, showing evidence of his recent weight gain.


    ¡°Could be better.¡± He said solemnly the thought of his own daughters weighing heavy on his mind. ¡°Tell me what you know.¡± He said in his deep down to a business voice that always seemed to creep out.


    The medical examiner nodded taking a look at the body, ¡°she was moved onto her back when I won¡¯t know for sure if at all but she didn¡¯t die how we found her. Shot once in the back of the head my guess a twenty-two but that¡¯ll have to be confirmed by forensics not me I can just give you my best guess. There¡¯s some scarring around her skull where the billet entered so the attacker was close when she was shot.¡±


    ¡°How you know she was moved?¡±


    ¡°Her hair, more blood is soaked into the strands on her right side and face than the back where she was. I can¡¯t give you a time of death till I get her back and perform a full autopsy on the body but she was moved after she bled.¡± He shook his head, ¡°shame she was a pretty girl.¡±


    He simply nodded and looked to the open register, ¡°robbery gone wrong?¡± He asked in the open to no one in particular.


    The medical examiner shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m not sure, I¡¯m not the detective you are.¡± He said then after a pause added, ¡°although if it¡¯s a robbery why not take her jewelry?¡±


    Joseph couldn¡¯t answer that, although he had seen crazier reasons people have been killed. ¡°Are you ready for transport back?¡± He asked. The man simply nodded in response as a yes. ¡°Okay if you don¡¯t need anything else to take her back and get some rest. Chances are whoever did this is long gone on the interstate.¡± He flipped the book closed and put it back inside the jacket. As he walked back to go talk to the man outside he stopped for a moment looking at the scene as a whole. His mind was alive with what had happened. A senseless killing where the killer walked in asked for something cold then shot her in the head when she turned. A robbery went wrong where she fought back only to be shot. Maybe she never saw him or heard him just walking in and then bam she was dead. He shook his head distastefully. Even as he pushed the door open to walk back out into the darkness of night he could feel something wrong. He could already feel like there was little he could do to find the one responsible. He waited off to the side for the officer to finish speaking with the man before waving him over. Together they walked to a nearby metal picnic table under one of the lamps.


    The man was still shaking it seemed, probably the first time he had seen someone die. He knew the man would probably be traumatized for the rest of his life, of course, that came with the territory of finding dead bodies. ¡°My names Detective Joesph D. Patterson of the Washington State Police.¡± He said calmly folding his hands on the table, ¡°I¡¯m sure you wanna go home and I sure know this has been one taxing night for you. I just have a few questions and then you can go.¡± He said in his best comforting voice but the reality was he didn¡¯t have one. It came out just as harsh and hard as he talked to anyone. In fact, unless you knew him all your life every tone of voice he used sounded rough. The man nodded not speaking. ¡°Can you tell me why you stopped her of all the places in the middle of the night?¡±


    The man shook his head, ¡°I¡¯ve been driving all day and night, to get home from New York. I wanted to drive straight through without stopping so I stopped to get an energy drink to keep me awake and...¡± his voice trailed off as he remembered what he saw.


    ¡°And what sir?¡± He asked not bothering to take notes this time, it would probably just upset the man further.


    ¡°And I walked in to find a man kneeling next to the body...he flipped her over when I walked in...¡± his voice was going on and out as he spoke, ¡°there was so much blood...¡±


    Joseph showed no emotion outside but inside he was already questioning the second man, had he, in fact, stumbled across the killer or another person who found the body? Then again who touched a body after it was dead? Too many questions. ¡°Don¡¯t focus on that tell me about the man what was he doing?¡± He asked


    ¡±Nothing I could tell his back was to me. I heard him mumble something and stand then we locked eyes when he turned.¡±


    ¡°What was he? White? black? Hispanic?¡± He said this time reaching into his jacket for the pad, he needed to find this other man. He started scribbling down words without looking.


    ¡°White.¡±


    ¡°What was he wearing?¡±


    ¡°Hoodie, jeans maybe...black? I can¡¯t remember...¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s okay what else can you tell me? Scars? Was his nose twisted some to the right?¡±


    ¡°No...no...¡± he stumbled again ¡°I don¡¯t remember. He walked right up to me just stood there speaking snapping in my face.¡±


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°Told me to call nine one one.¡± He said, ¡°told me to get her help.¡±


    Was she alive? No, she was dead she had to have been a bullet to the head she was certainly dead. No one survived that. ¡°Go on.¡± He said,


    ¡±then he left just walked out.¡±


    ¡°He just left? Left her there?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, just left..¡±


    Joseph waved over a cop and had a little side conversation under a hushed voice that the man couldn¡¯t hear. Then as Joe stood he held out his hand to the cop as if he was presenting an award. ¡°This is officer Jankens. He will drive you home. Thank you for your corporation. If we need anything else we will be in touch.¡± The officer then helped the man to his feet who seemed to be locked in a daze about what happened and lead him to his squad car parked nearby. Joe didn¡¯t hang around to see them leave safely he was already walking to his own car. There was a second man who needed to be found and found quickly. Because two things he was certain about, one the man fled a crime scene which is against the law and two he would have some more answers.

 Chapter 5: Joseph

    Ryan had headed back into the nearest town by this point. Still, he was on the outskirts of Washington DC having only made it through two states before trouble found him. It seemed it always found him he cursed. He was exhausted and was still trudging forward through the town lazily. A soldier at heart he would rest when it was safe enough to do so, and right now it wasn''t safe. How long did he have now? It was almost morning and for sure the cops would have his prints by now and be running them through the system. The highway was still close by as he stopped in at a local diner. The place looked like it was pulled out of the 1950s. There were large glass windows that stretched almost to the ceiling. It was broken only by a metal strip to hold it all together, that tied into the metal molding that ran the length of the diner. It was all silver shining brightly in the sun. His guess was it was ceramic tile, painted silver and glossed over so well that from a distance you couldn''t tell there was a seem. It was lifted up about five feet in the air on grey concrete work and the building itself looked like a rectangle with a bend at the corner. Off that bend was the stairs made out of the same grey concrete with a black railing that went down to the sidewalk that lead to the parking lot. Here there were a few cars, mostly older beaten up cars that for sure had seen better days.


    He walked up the stairs gripping the railing with one hand to steady himself. Morning was already breaking through and like a traditional diner, this place was open early in the morning. Inside there was white tile that mde up the floors. The smell of fresh coffee made his stomach tighten and growl. He needed food and rest. There was a small table inside to the left of the door, here was the register and computer. No one was behind it. There was rows of boothes that ran on ether side of him, a wooden table stained gold oak in between each. The cloth seats were clearly worn and used. The walls were made of oak wood pannels painted a darker grey that helped offset the white. There was a bar, a long counter where there were several bar stools attached to the ground. Behind the bar was a long counter that supported the soda machines, coffee machines, dozens of cups and plates. There was a wooden box that seemed built into the table with circle holes cut into it for forks spoons and knives. It was also behind there he could see the double doors that lead to the kitchen and hear the clanging coming from inside. It sounded like metal pots and pans banging around. He paused for a moment taking it all in.


    The doors swung open a few seconds later and a woman walked out quickly. She wore a white apron that was stained from food or drinks, under that she wore a red and blue stripped flannel. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. She wore dark blue jeans and sneakers that sqeaked on the tile ground as she rushed to the coffee pot. She didnt notice him right away and he didnt speak, just waiting and watching. She took the large glass container out nad poured the black liquid into a nearby white cup that had been pulled off the stack. He could see her figure from behind and he eyed her up and down. She was thin with black hair that was pulled up in a bun. She was also on the smaller side probably five foot six. She turneed and looked over her shoulder out of instinct. Her heart flew into her chest and she nearly dropped the coffee. He cursed under his breath and looked away to the celing to one of the built in lights.


    She quickly regained her self and set the coffee down before coming over quickly. She gave him a smile as she spoke her voice low, "Hi, Just you?" she asked pulling a large flat menu out from under the counter that held the computer. He smply nodded instead of speaking. "You want a booth or table or the bar?"


    "Bar will be fine, just some coffee and eggs if you could." he said following her. She still set the menu down on the counter at the first bar stool. It was here he felt how much colder the room was. He shivered a bit and waited for her to bring over the coffee mug. She set a white ceramic tray infront of him. It was filled with a assortment of colored sugar packets. She opened a mini fridge that he couldnt see under the bar and poured some thick creamer inside a container and set it before him. She then pulled a second coffee cup ot and set it before him before pouring the black stteaming liquid into it. He wrapped his hands around it as he felt its warmth for a few moments. She dissapeared inside the kitchen to place the order for his food.


    He looked bad, he could tell. His eyes had deep black marks around them that made it look as if he was sucker punched. His sweat shirt was worn and he was certain he smelled becuase it had been a while since he stopped for a shower. He rubbed his face with one hand before starting to make his coffee. He could feel the stubble that was the beard slowly growing in place. He needed a bath and shave after this, he needed rest some time to relax get his bearings straight. He picked up te coffee and took a sip feeling it hit the back of is throat. Part of him wanted to drain it but he knew he had to pace himself. A caffine overdose isnt something he needed right this second. She returned a few seconds later for the other cup of coffee she was making and returned to the kitchen with it. He scanned the room for a TV but saw none and took another breath. He wondered how long till the local news was reporting about the murder.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The door behind him swung open and he took another sip. He was just another person at the nearby diner having breakfast. He looked over his shoulder though, just a glance to make it seem like he didnt want to be noticed. Acting normal wasnt something he could do. Still all it took was a glance to cath the man who had entered. He was a tall heavy set black man in a suit and tie. The buldge on his belt indicated he was carrying a gun. He took another sip of coffee and set it back down, this wasnt what he needed. The man walked over and took a seat next to him. Ryan could smell the cigarret smoke coming off him. He was a smoker, of that he could tell. The door reopened and the lady returned with Ryans plate of food which she set before him.


    "Nice to see you again detective." she said turning back to get Ryans silverwear. "Your usual after a late night?" she asked setting the fork down before Ryan. He didnt make eye contact with ether of them or did he say a word. He picked up the fork and cut a piece of the egg off to eat.


    "If its not too much trouble darling." He said with a slight smile. Ryan put another bite in his mouth.


    "Long night?" she asked getting him a cup of coffee was well. He nodded but didnt say anything.


    Ryan gave the man a quick glance taking him in more inbetween bites. He had no doubt he could outrun the man given the chance. It looked as if his days of running were over, but Ryan knew he wouldn¡¯t have to run. The man would shoot him dead long before he made it down the road if not out the door. Ryan could run, but probably just as fast as the man could pull his gun out of his holster. Then Ryan knewhe couldnt out run a bullet. He had seen people try and first hand experience told him a expert shot would have him dead, a mediocre shot could cripple him if not kill him. No Ryan couldn¡¯t escape if he wanted to not without hurting the man. He didn¡¯t want that, although he wasn¡¯t against violence, in fact it had served him well, he would much rather not hurt a innocent man. Still in his mind he was on the run for Murder now because of his careless mistake.


    A cell phone rang inside the man¡¯s pocket and Ryan, his senses already heightened nearly fired up out of his seat. The man didn¡¯t seem to notice and if he had he made no comment on it. He pulled older burner type phone. It was a older Nokia flip phone. Ryan eased a little, obviously it was a work phone or he was living in the early ninties. Regardless he wouldn¡¯t be getting any high definition pictures on the old pixelated and grainy screen. That and he would have thought the police would have much more high tech phones then that. Especailly for twenty eighteen.


    ¡±Hello.¡± The man said his voice stiffening from the tired man who walked in. Ryan couldn¡¯t hear the voice on the other end from where he was. ¡°Well yes, what about security cameras? Do we have the tapes?¡± More muffled speaking. The older man took a sip of coffee as he listened. ¡°I don¡¯t care, he was there whether he did it or not he¡¯s a criminal and I want him.¡± Then he took the phone off his ear and with a click the phone snapped shut. He took a deep breath that Ryan was sure the people outside walking past could hear. That or his senses were so hightened he could hear and detect every little thing.


    "Sounds like you had a rough night." Ryan said trying to play it off. It was hard now not to say anything to draw suspicion to himself. Chances were not saying something would, or maybe he was just being paraniod. Ether way maybe he could learn something from the man.


    The man shrugged and rubbed his eyes, "I guess you could call it that." he said lowly. Ryan nodded, he could understand those. He had many all his life, long nights marching, long nights in the near zero tempitures of the deserts. Long nights hunting down terrorists or criminals. He knew how cops thought.


    "What happened?" Ryan asked knowing he could get one of two responses.


    "Cant comment on a on going investigation." he said watching the waitress return with his food. She set it down in front of him and he picked up a fork and knife. Ryan could hear the sound of the serrated blade clink against the ceramic plate then the squeak of the plade trying to slice the plate. Ryan whinced, at the sound, then turned back to his own plate to finish his food. That told him a lot about the man before him. He was a man who went by the rule book. Wouldnt even comment on anything to help himself rest. Keep it all bottled up Ryan thought, All bottled up till your ready to explode. He knew that too all too well.


    Ryan reached into his pocket and fished out a crumpled up bills. He unfolded them and flattened them on the table trying to press the creases out. He picked up the plate and set the twenty and five dollar bills under the plate. "Who you work for at least? Clearly your not a cop with the suit and tie, FBI?" he asked innocently getting up to leave.


    The man didnt answer, and Ryan just shrugged starting to head out the door. The man wasnt FBI, and he wasnt any local cops he had seen before. Shit, Ryan thought, he wouldnt have that phone if he was any kind of federal or goverment police. He pushed the glass door open and walked out into the daylight.

 Chapter Six: Memories

    Ryan was walking away from the small restaurant he had spent his breakfast in. It was probably around nine in the morning and the small town was more alive with activity at this early hour. He crossed a road jogging slightly to avoid the oncoming cars and reach the opposite side. Starting down the road he dug into his pocket removing the cash he had left. The twenty-five he had left for the waitress he was sure was more than enough for his food and the crumpled up bills were the last to his name. He needed somewhere public somewhere that had internet access. A library was his best bet, chances were there were open computers he could use. Finding it was another story. Who needed to use a public library nowadays anyway? Books could be read online, read to you the internet had sources for all of that. The computers were no longer big black towers but smaller screens that could be left in the pocket and retrieved at the moments convince. No one needed to go to a library to find books anymore. He cursed under his breath. What else would have a public computer he could have access too? He couldn¡¯t think of any and he turned the corner. Metal poles jutted out of the brick buildings displaying large hanging wooden signs. Crafted expertly each one displaying a different thing for a different shop. Cars were parked parallel up against the sidewalk. There was a small coffee shop he passed by. It wasn¡¯t a mainstream place like Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks. The sticker on the glass boasting free WiFi for customers and the daily special. There was an antique store across the street from there, the sidewalk littered with displays of furniture and stands. There was a computer repair place with an open sign that was missing the light O. Which he found ironic that they could fix advanced computers but not the neon O in open. He started wandering by that point, not knowing fully where to go.


    The crime scene was still fresh in his mind. She was executed, a bullet in the top of her head. He could see the scene as if he was there standing there near the counter. The man walked in just as he did, maybe he was weary or tired. Maybe not but that didn¡¯t matter too much. He wore a coat, chances were he didn¡¯t walk in with the gun in his hand. A gun out in the open anyone could see anyone would call the police. No, he was sure that he had a coat the gun tucked under his arm. Hidden from anyone who could see including the victim. Concealed he walked up to the counter. Where was she? He didn¡¯t know maybe she was already at the counter or maybe behind one of the shelves restocking it. No, that didn¡¯t matter because she did her job walking up to the counter when she saw him there. He stopped, he was thinking it was a man, but why? Experience told him it was but he also knew that women were capable of murder too. That and such a small caliber of a bullet. He cursed he needed to go back. See what couldn¡¯t be seen. He would need a car, he couldn¡¯t rely on someone to give him a ride. Chances were he could be IDd and that would just lead to more problems. His gut was alive again, this wasn''t adding up. Nothing added up. Why kill her? The draw was open, but if she had opened it why shoot her in the head? Then there was the way she fell. As he walked his mind recreated the scene almost in real-time. He walked back into the rest stop and up to the body before he had moved it. Seeing her lying there in her own pool of blood.


    She was shot in the back of the head, her back was to the killer. He walked to the other side of the body and knelt on the ground looking at the hole in her face. It was larger than the small entrance hole in the back of the head. Mentally he couldn''t remember much more than that about her. He would need to see the body to make a better assumption. Shot in the back of the head, that was clear enough. Her back was turned, and she fell where she died. Forced to turn around? Maybe, the killer tried to force her into the back barking orders at her. So why not move her to the back? Better out of view of anyone entering. March her to the back put the gun to her head and fired once while she was on her knees. Much easier execution and quicker. The body may not be found until shift change in the morning. Why there, why upfront? More questions without answers. She was killed her back turned eyes wide. She never saw it coming. She had no clue the man had a gun no clue she was gonna die. He looked to the register nearby. An afterthought. He opened the draw after the fact. The murder was his goal and he achieved it quickly and efficiently. She had seen him come in that was sure. The man must have asked for something, something to have her turn around, her back to him. Then BAM. One bullet. That''s all that would be needed. She wasn''t moved or touched after she was dead. He stepped right over her and to the register.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    He looked up to the ceiling for a second. It was blurry his head still piecing together the room but something was there. A vague black circle. A camera. It would have seen everything, the killer enters, the death, the subsequent robbery. Then Ryan showing up and finding the body. He needed to see those tapes, see the video from inside the store. He swallowed more air and looked into a nearby thrift store. He needed new clothes and a fresh shave. Then he would have to head back down the Highway to the store. The police would have made copies of the hard drives that the cameras were recording too. But they wouldn''t have taken them, they couldn''t have. The owners would need those copies for any insurance claim they would make. If he could get in there...He stopped himself and stepped into the store. There were dozens of racks of clothes, pants, shorts, shirts, jackets. On shelves were around him was other objects. Flasks, guitars, music instruments, books computers. There were old signs and signs with inspirational quotes on them that some family would hang in there home as decoration.


    He used the last of his money to buy new jeans and a dark green jacket. He traded in his old pair of boots for black combat boots and outside on the curb he put the new shiner boots on. He looked down the road, he had crossed two streets in his aimless walk and could see down the road to where the detective was getting into his unmarked car. A black Crown Victorian with there being a push bar covering the front grill. Something he always wondered about. How did undercover cars get away with being undercover? Even with the newer chargers and mustangs, cops were getting, they were still that duller black grey color with the same bar in the front of the grill. He didn''t know, maybe it was something people just didn''t pay too much attention too. That was until the lights came on behind them and their hearts jumped up into their throat.


    The car started and rolled down the street past Ryan who watched it pass. He didn''t move from his position on the side of the road. He reached into the pocket of the jacket and removed the old flip razor he had bought from the store. He needed a shave, to get rid of the beard that was growing in. Ryan rubbed his hand on his beard tiredly again and letting his feet rest. He probably looked homeless. Not that that bothered him much, much easier to blend in. No one paid attention to the homeless man tiredly walking down the street. He started back down the road following the same path the detective drove off in and took the same turn. He still was following his gut as he walked. He then ducked into a McDonalds on the corner where two roads intersected. It was newer, being built with this white thick border that rant he top of the building then came down in an L shaped. The walls were this reddish concrete walls. He pulled his hood up to hide his face from the cameras and slipped into the bathroom. From inside he could lock the door with a top latch. The inside was just as new with white tile and grey walls. The stalls black with white dots, there were about six of them total. The sinks almost shined inside, much different from the normal dirty bathrooms you''d expect at a fast food joint. He ran the water knowing full well he wouldn''t be able to stop it and pool it inside the sink bowl. Slowly he flicked it open and washed the blade under the sink. He would need to head back to the convenience store, but that could wait till the night.


    Freshly shaven with a slight cut on his left eye he unlocked the door and stepped out and back outside. No one even noticed him come or go. He started looking for a park somewhere. Still, with his old sweatshirt he could ball up as a pillow he pushed on trying to find a nice quiet place to sleep. Eventually, he found a wooded area that he guessed also ran parallel to the interstate behind him. With the shade of the trees that judging by the angle of the sun wouldn''t leave him until just about the end of the day. He collapsed onto the opposite side of a fallen down tree facing away from the road and slipped down so his back was more touching the dirt and grass then the wooden log. With the balled-up sweatshirt as a pillow, he looked around once more checking to make sure he was well concealed. Then he crossed his arms and closed his eyes for what felt like the first in days. Quickly Ryans breathing slowed and steadied as he fell asleep.

 Chapter 7: Second Murder

    He was standing across the street almost up against the woodline on a small patch of grass that bordered the forest and road. He was in a blue button-down shirt and matching blue pants. He stood there smoking a cigarette the white smoke disappearing in the light. Under his one arm, a similar blue ball cap tucked away. He was starring at the store across the street. He put the cigarette to his lips for another puff letting the nicotine sink into his lungs. Looking into the store, the clear glass that ran almost from the bottom to the top of the store. Six windows in total set in grey new concrete. One of the more newer stores, to the old slow town. To some a sign of progress, a step to modernization. He was standing opposite of it but he could still see inside the store. The rows of almost chest high shelves and display shoes on top of those shelves. In the windows there were more shelves, these shoes pointed to the street for a person walking by, maybe window shopping to see.


    There was no large sign above the store, instead, it was painted across the window. Large letters in yellow bold writing went across the windows. Along with smaller writing that was newer and in white saying stuff like "Grand Opening Sale!" and "New Fresh In Stock!" in smaller lettering. On the single door was a smaller version of the name with the bottom half having the store hours. Hanging in one of the windows was a bright neon Open sign that hung off small black chains. He could see movement inside the store. There was someone in there, he knew who. He had been standing here for thirty minutes watching the store. No one had entered or left in that time. She was in there, alone. He had seen her before when he stopped by a few days ago. Alone, working the register. She was short and skinny, wearing a slim black dress that seemed too tight for her body. She had short curly black hair that seemed poofy.


    He could feel a rush just thinking about it. His heart rate increased and he could feel it. A sudden quick rush as adrenaline was dumped into his bloodstream and like an uncontrollable fright, train rammed into his brain. He didn''t move but he felt like he was bouncing all over. A sudden tunnel vision enveloped him and he lost all ability to see anything but the store before him. He sept his head left and right looking up and down the road before stepping over the white concrete curb and heading across the street.


    Ryan woke up from his resting place. He didn''t know how much time had passed although he did feel groggy. A side effect from being pulled out of what was a deep sleep. What happened? He didn''t know and he didn''t move to debate to go back to sleep. But something had awoken him, that was sure. You didn''t just come out of deep sleep for no reason. An instinct that kept their forefathers alive in dangerous times. A smell? No nothing could be smelt because there was nothing to smell. Nothing touched him. No snake slithered up next to him to choke his throat while he slept. A sound then, a quick sudden single sound that waking him out of his sleep. A single sound that he would only hear once. Then what woke him, what sound? He woke with a start ready to pop up ready for action. A reaction that had been ingrained into him from his time overseas. He had been shot at a lot and despite the clouds in his head, the first shot got you up and moving, the second would clear the clouds.


    But there was no second shot and he wasn''t sure he even heard a gunshot. Maybe a backfire of a passing car exhaust that did one loud bang. Then he would have heard the low rumble of the engine as it passed. No, he woke up, woke up for a reason and woke up ready for trouble. So where was the trouble? He rose slightly looking out from his perch and across the road. If he had a sniper rifle he would be in what a sniper would have dreamed was his hold out. Perfect cover with the log as an easy gun rest for the muzzle of the rifle. He saw nothing. The street was dead, not a single car or person. He looked up, a little past noon, maybe one-thirty, maybe two o''clock. Midday and the street was surprisingly dead. A small town, normal for a small town to be dead on the midday of a weekday. This wasn''t a big city, he had to remind himself and he curled back up drawing in onto the log resting his one arm on the log and drawing his chest above it. His feet were planted firmly in the dirt almost like a track star runner would before taking off. He was waiting to rehear the sound.


    Across the street from him was a small shoe store, probably built in the past four years seeing how fresh and new the grey concrete was. He wasn''t entirely sure and started there moved down the road till his view was obstructed by the green leaves of a tree. Something snapped his head back to the shoe store. Something in the corner of his eye that refocused his view. Movement, something that blew in the wind? Movement on a dead street that looked as if one stepped inside a photo, a moment is almost frozen in time grabbed him. Maybe a clerk and customer. That wouldn''t be too odd, it was a store after all and that was the point of stores. Buying and selling well for the exchange of currency. Ryan left the old jacket there in the dirt coming out of the woods slowly. He could feel the tension around him.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    A science teacher had once told him about energy transfers in a class. The potential energy that was, an energy that was stored and ready to be released was turned into kinetic energy. He could feel it. Feel it in his bones as that thought came back to him. Energy ready to burst ready to take off. Nothing on the surface showed it but he could feel every muscle ready to burst out to take off to work in a fraction of a second. He used very little of that energy to do his slow cautious walk to the road watching the store. He felt like a deer who heard a gunshot. Curious, looking in the direction of the sound locating the movement, but ready to spring to life and take off. Cautiously like a deer, he moved forward uneasy about the ground before him as if it would open and swallow him up. He took a breath and stepped off the curb now taking a glance further down the road. He could see a few cars parked along the curb. Two minivans and a white postal service truck. There were a few trees that helped give shade to the sidewalk, although he could see no immediate movement, no oncoming cars. No signs of any life once so ever.


    He turned back to the store in front of him. The glass door swung open and a man walked out quickly. The blue button-down jacket he wore open and blowing in the wind. He kept his face down looking at the white concrete sidewalk as he hurried down the road. He was wearing a ball cap, the same color as the rest of his outfit. A dark navy blue. He didn''t glance Ryans way once clearly in a rush. Now he was even more curious about the store. What was inside what had happened. Maybe the man had knocked over a display shelf inside and panicked. He bolted out of there out of pure embarrassment. But that small part of his brain said no. He moved across the street now. This is what got you in trouble before he thought, then again he was already in as deep as it got. He used his arm this time, not his hand to push the door open. An arm wouldn''t leave a palm or fingerprints. He was suddenly met with a gust of cold air. As if the air conditioners wouldn''t turn off until the middle of September beginning of October.


    The store was dimly lit with an ironically same pattern floor as the rest stop. Bright white tiles that were was broken only by the seams that the floorers connected them in. It was also Dim. Like the windows were oneway mirrors used in interrogation rooms in police stations where other cops could watch the detective dance around a murder suspect. Only he could see out of them, tinted just enough to make the outside look darker then it was. Although outside looking in you''d never expect that. There were large LED overhead lights in the panel ceiling. Just about one every four boxes or so. A systematic placement that lit up the entire room, only dimmed by the plastic covering. Ryan did a quick sweep of the room left to right. It was lined with shoe socks and any other apparel typical of a shoe store. He looked to the register, from his angle he couldn''t see. It was newer, not the old boxes that held the old display at the top for the cashier to read. This was a simple computer monitor, there was probably a small tower under the desk where it all plugged into. There was no cash draw that he could see and the square credit card reader up on the stand. It all looked normal. Except it wasn''t, the box threw him off. Threw him off big time. It was orange the lid flipped open and one grey and white shoe out on the counter. Any employee of anywhere seeing that wouldn''t have left it there. It would be put back returned to a place on the shelf.


    He stepped closer now taking his time knowing full well to rush was to miss a detail that could save his life. He swung around the counter and saw it. With a gulp of air, his mind nearly imploded with what happened. She was short, skinny with curly black hair. His mind flashed back to the original scene, the woman lying motionless on the ground rolled onto her side, covered in red blood. Then just like that like a flick of a light switch, he was back. Near where he was standing he could see two brass-colored shell casings on the ground. He hadn''t noticed them before, at least not at the other scene. It looked identical in almost every way. Shot to the head with what he knew for a fact was a twenty-two caliber because he was looking down at the small shell casings. Shot in the head twice. The standard double-tap to insure death. He knew he had done plenty before.


    She had a clear hole in her head, dead. The cash register busted, pried open and broken into. Different store, different place, same scenario. He could even picture where the killer stood when he pulled the trigger combined to where she stood. Back to him, not knowing that her life was to be snuffed away. No, he corrected himself, Stolen. She was young as well maybe twenty-six, still very young. Her whole life ahead of her still. He paused, dead in his tracks his mind slamming into a brick wall. What had awakened him? He spun on his heels and nearly busted the door down on his way out. Body slamming the glass that sent it flying open. The man leaving, He had just left. Entering outside into the street he didn''t look just spinning and running down the road. Only the man was nowhere to be seen. He stopped on the corner of the road and looked around. Nothing, a dead street of a quiet town. He ran his hand through his hair.


    "Son of a Bitch" he mumbled doing another sweep