Witness On The Run

Her heart constricted with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Is that why you came to Alaska?”

“Yes.”

“You needed to get away from the bad memories.”

He shifted on the mattress, seeming uncomfortable. “I thought if I kept moving, I could...move on.”

“Did it work?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

He fell silent again.

“It’s okay to grieve, even for a long time.”

“Let’s talk about you,” he said.

“Me?”

“You’re on the run for a reason.”

It was her turn to be quiet.

“You won’t tell me about it?”

“No.”

“You don’t trust me?”

That wasn’t it. Right now, in the dark of the cabin, with flames crackling in the fireplace, she trusted him. She didn’t think he would hurt her or take advantage of her. But she also couldn’t expect him to rescue her from this mess. She had to rescue herself.

“I don’t want to involve you,” she said finally.

“Why not?”

“It’s not your problem.”

“Maybe I can help.”

She shook her head in denial. “I just have to lay low for a while. I’ve done it before.”

He grunted at this admission, as if it didn’t surprise him.

“I’ll be okay. I can find a job.”

“Where?”

“At a diner.”

“A diner with no cops or truckers? Good luck with that.”

“I’m not worried about truckers.”

“You should be, because they’ll recognize you.”

“So?”

“They’ll talk about you on the radio.”

“They will not.”

“Sure they will. They already do. I’ve heard them.”

She moistened her lips, incredulous. “What do they say?”

“Complimentary things. Some of it’s a little crude.”

Those bastards. She curled her hands into fists. If truckers talked about her on the radio, she’d be in trouble. Anyone could listen to those stations, including the cops—and the killers. But maybe Walt was okay, and no one would come looking for her. Maybe no one would worry about a missing waitress.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find work on your back, if nothing else.”

She sat up in bed, her eyes narrow. He wasn’t insulting her to be mean. He thought he was helping her. “You’re trying to scare me into going to the police.”

“You should go to the police.”

“Why do you care?”

He tucked his hands behind his head. “I don’t know.”

She settled back down and hugged a pillow to her chest. Cam meant well, but she didn’t trust the police. She could take care of herself. Cam felt responsible for her because he’d given her a ride, and now she was like...his cargo. He wanted to deliver her safely. But she knew better than to expect him to stick around.

He was a trucker. He’d move on in the morning.

She closed her eyes and tried to rest. Visions of murder and violence plagued her. She burrowed deeper in the blankets. When she finally drifted off, the nightmares closed in. She was back at the diner. There was a bloody pile of innards sizzling on the griddle. She plated the mess and took it out to her customers. The killers were sitting at a table in the parking lot. She dropped the tray and started running, but her legs didn’t work. She couldn’t escape, so she climbed inside the dumpster to hide.

Walt was at the bottom. He’d been disemboweled.

She let out a terrified shriek, covering her mouth. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was Duane.

“I knew I’d find you in the trash with another man.”

He struck her across the cheek, and everything went black.