Synopsis: Jack and Rayne finally escape from Blackjack's compound and begin to settle into the whole fact that they have escaped, when suddenly Blackjack pulls a horrible card from his sleeve, using a weapon so personal and damaging to Jack that he can't even fight back.

Author's Note: Alright, this is one of my longer, and, albeit, probably more boring chapters, so, I'm just warning you now. Lot of imagery, lot of detail, lot of dialogue, and only a little bit of action towards the end. This is the beginning of the second conflict in the novel, before it is the transition, which would explain some of the less actiony material. Anyways, try to enjoy it as much as you can and please fav, comment, spread around and please talk to me about it. I love when people talk to me about my stuff!
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Chapter 12: Take It on the Run

The wheel of the twenty-year-old pickup truck feels gravely and hard against the rough fleshy pads on my fingers. The leather of the old Dodge’s seats has cracked with age, along with the fading of most of the other interior of the ancient vehicle. But it’s in perfect running shape, despite some of the exterior appearances.
I feel unsure leading the big vehicle along the dusty, almost unused road because of its immense weight and size. With the cab-over camper in the bed, surprisingly new compared to the hunk of metal it sits in, it makes the truck twice as heavy as it needs to be. Thankfully most of the road since leaving a small town called Circle, Montana, has been dead empty.
As we left the compound that Blackjack called home, my nose was filled with an acidic, burning scent and my ears always seemed to pick up a little buzzing or ringing noise that seemed to emanate from everywhere. But now, a hundred miles away, the sound has dissipated into nothing and I feel at least a bit at peace.
Rayne has fallen asleep sometime back and dozes lightly on her side of the cab. Turning an eye towards her, I see her frame crumpled into the corner of the truck like a used tissue paper, but at the same time it reminds me of a Greek maiden carved from marble.
Her light, thin frame warps and twists like a young vine reaching up a tree, her fur sticks out and falls soothingly downwards as grass upon the prairie. Even her large, bushy tail which has wrapped around her body seems so luxurious, like the finest furs bought at the most exquisite store in Midtown New York City. I swallow hard and slowly let my eyes drift back towards the road.
I passed a sign reading ‘Welcome to South Dakota’ about an hour back and traveling at this rate, well above the speed limit, I know that I must be nearly a hundred miles, if not more, from that evil man. But I can’t cast away the feeling that something is amiss here, like this escape has been too perfect. I mean, even Captain Virgil Hilts had problems escaping the Nazis. I mean, only three men actually escaped, in the end.
But I have even more problems than Blackjack and his kind. I mean, I have a girl sitting right beside me who must think that I’m taking her all the way to Baltimore. I can’t do that, I mean, she isn’t my problem! Doesn’t she have somewhere she can go besides ride my coattails?
Leaning forward, I turn on the radio with a click of my claw and then sit back in my seat as I watch the empty road stretch out in front of me. Most of the scenery hasn’t changed since Montana: the ground is covered with patchy, scraggily brush and dried grass, the distance is either endless or cut off by short mountains or copses of trees and the sky, oh the blue sky, runs as far as it can until it meets the land.
But now in the distance to the west I can see a black formation of clouds rolling over the endless landscape. Turning my head towards it, I can see that it stretches from horizon to horizon and the rain dumps from beneath it like a thick, black blanket. It’s so dark you can see it from here, the rain falling. In a way it makes my stomach churn while it makes my heart wonder at the strange beauty of nature.
Turning my ears around like radar, a sensation that fills me with a strange, spine-tingling feeling, I hear Rayne beginning to stir. Slowly I turn my head around and watch as she rolls over onto her side, digging her gray face into the brown leather, vinyl, who knows, seat surface. She wraps her arms around herself and pulls her legs in.
But her eyes don’t open and she soon returns to being nothing more than a furry statue. My lips pull back into an unsure smile, wondering what to do next. I don’t need him to tell me that I can’t take her with me. I know it deep inside. In the next town, yeah, in the next town I’ll drop her off and make sure she has a bus ticket to wherever she wants to go.
But it’s strange; we haven’t travelled through too many towns out here. And the towns that we do pass through are nothing more than a couple of square buildings standing in a tiny collection of streets that makes a small square on the map. The people are sleepy and tired and most of them watch us as we go by, no doubt thinking we’re not from around here. And they’d be right.
Most of them did have a bus station though, a little art deco-style Greyhound bus stop with an old woman sucking on a cigarette sitting inside the barred-off office with a fan turned to her face. They are often standing opposite of a motor hotel that is crumbling from the age and disuse and next to a bank that has no doubt been a stage coach station or a Wells Fargo building at one point or another. And all of the streets seem right out of a fifties movie.
“Where are we?”
Turning my head slowly, I see that Rayne has opened her eyes, which have turned upon me. But she is slow to sit up and is reluctant to move at all. But slowly she does it, unfurling her tail from around her body and dragging herself up through the seatbelt that has secured her fast to that seat. When she is sitting upright, she straightens out her shirt, fixes her hair and yawns.
“Somewhere in South Dakota,” I reply. “Is there someplace that I should drop you off at?”
“Drop me off at?” She asks with a confused tone.
“Yeah, drop you off at.” I confirm. “Rayne, I’m not going to take you all the way to Baltimore with me. I thank you for helping me get away and I’m glad that we’re both away from there, but I can’t drag you along with me.”
“Drag me along with you?” She indignantly demands.
Turning my head towards her for a slow glance, I quickly turn my eyes back to the road when I see her glowering at me. My father used to say it was the woman look. You can almost see the daggers shooting from her eyes, the way they do in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, with blood on the tips and everything. I swallow hard and feel my heart begin to pound, waiting for the onslaught.
“Well I’m sorry if I just saved your dumb ass from being mauled to death by a monster twice your size a five times your weight!” She cries out in anger. “Next time I’ll just let the bulldozer that’s about to crush you crush you! Maybe I’ll even make it go faster too!”
“Oh, boy,” I sigh.
“No, no, I don’t want you to give me that crap!” She hollers at me. “Maybe next time I’ll just like you die, the way I should have back at the circus!”
She huffs and crosses her arms, letting me know that she’s done cussing me out. I’m silent for awhile because I know that there is no arguing with her. I learned never to argue with a woman like this because you’d only be digging your own grave. Just accept she’s right and move on, or else.
Up ahead the road begins to lead slowly down into a small gulch. A little creek breaks the ground to the right of the road and a little mesa rises up alongside the road. Just beyond that small rise of land, glimmering steel begins to peak above the monotonous brown landscape.
Then, I begin to see red brick buildings and small houses sticking up. I sigh quietly, thinking to myself about how thankful I am. I can ditch Rayne here and maybe even get something to eat and wash up. My hair looks like hell and my new canine nose tells me that I’m about two days overdue for a visit to the shower.
Guiding the heavy truck along the road, I pass a sign that says ‘Buffalo, South Dakota’ and wavers as the dust from the truck whacks onto its surface. Rayne is cold and silent for the entire ride into this little dusty town straight out of one of those B-Movies I mentioned. I know she’s pissed off beyond all belief, but, I don’t really care.
As we cruise through town, I turn and look at all of the buildings that we pass. Townhouses, a school building, an old bank, and not many people walking around on the outside fill this town. Those that are walking outside turn their heads and watch us pass by with dull curiosity before returning their attention to their book or newspaper.
Seeing a white building with the word ‘cantina’ written on the sign, I slow the truck and begin to pull into the parking lot. A huge building, it’s supposed to look like a colonial Spanish building, but fails because of its size and hulking air conditioning units. Across the street is a restaurant with the word ‘saloon’ in its name just beside a gas station of a company I’ve never heard of.
“What are we doing here?” Rayne asks me as the truck bumps up over the uneven pavement.
“I need gas, food and a shower.” I tell Rayne. “Besides, you’ll have to figure out where you want to go from here. There’s a municipal airport on the other side of this window-box town and I’m sure they’d be willing to take you wherever you want to go.”
Without letting Rayne begin her onslaught, I guide the truck into a parking spot away from the building, thrust in the parking brake, kill the engine and begin to open the door as I pocket the keys. As my paws step down onto the hot, dusty, old pavement, I hear the other door creakily open and slam shut.
Loud pawsteps begin around the front of the truck, but I turn slowly away and begin to walk towards the cab-over trailer in the bed. I turn my ears around and listen as Rayne comes rushing up beside me and then watch as she skids around in front of me. Instantly she raises up her arms and then forces me to stop.
“Why are you trying to get rid of me so quick?” She demands of me.
At first I am silent, just trying to roll that question around inside my head for a little while, but, I don’t come up with an answer very quickly. Instead I tighten my lips, grunt, and then look up towards the sky and the coming storm. The heavy black clouds are quickly descending upon us; no doubt we’ll be soaked in a couple of minutes.
“Well, because I don’t want to drag you across the country with me.” I reply with as little anger as I can muster. “Besides, I don’t like you, you don’t like me, and I really doubt you want to spend a lot of time with me—”
“Oh, and you would know exactly what I want, wouldn’t you?” She interjects. “Maybe I didn’t want to escape with you, huh, did you think of that? Maybe I liked it back there.”
“Then go back!”
I push by her and tromp around the back of the pickup truck. Pulling the keys from out of my jeans pocket, I unlock the back of the camper and yank open the door. Stepping up inside, I don’t waste a second on looking around the place and immediately go into a small bathroom that is immediately inside the door and to the right.
Opening up a medicine cabinet, I find a comb and some hair gel. I slam shut the door and begin to put my hair back into the place it needs to be. Running the comb through my black hair, I don’t stop until I look like I just stepped out of American Graffiti. Then, once it’s alright, I smile and put down the comb.
But the smile doesn’t last that long and soon I suddenly notice the silence. Looking into the mirror, I watch as my brown eyes bobble around and the whiskers on the end of my wolfish face twitch around. I stick out my tongue slowly and lick my lips over, my ears twitching around as I think.
Finally, I turn my head towards the door and don’t see Rayne there, ready to continue this fight. I sigh quietly, knowing something is wrong, and then step into the doorway. Hanging onto the plastic and metal box that sits in the bed of the truck, I slowly step down the steps and back outside.
I look around for Rayne but see she isn’t there. Turning my head, I see a shadow cast upon the ground and walk to the corner of the truck. Peeking around, I see Rayne is leaning up against the side of the camper, one arm limp at her side while the other holds onto her other elbow. Her head is reclined against the metal and her eyes are closed.
“I’m—ugh . . .”
“No, no, it’s . . . uhm, all right . . .” She slowly says. “I’ve been with Blackjack for about a year now and that year has felt like decades. He’s a monster and does strange things to people . . . especially the ones that have been there as long as people like Jekyll or the Clowns. I’m glad I got away.”
Turning my eyes away from her, I step back and put the back of my leather jacket onto the metal frame and then look west, over the town. The black clouds are bearing down upon us, turning the once vibrant and bright landscape into a shadowy, clouded scene.
“Do you think he’ll find us?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She replies. “I don’t think so. I mean, he’s powerful, but, he’s not omnipotent. He’s no god, despite what he thinks of himself. I figure the only way that he can find us is if one of his minions knows where we are. Then he’d be able to come straight to us.”
“That seems like a pretty long shot.” I comment.
“It is.” She says. “We’re two hundred miles away from him, at least. There’s no way that he could find us here.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh.
Looking to the rain, a bit of thunder hits my ears and I sigh. Leaning gently away from the truck, I turn and peek around the corner. Rayne has opened her eyes and is looking out into the distance, taking in the vast sky and endless horizon that is the West. I swallow hard and then clear my throat to get her to look in my direction.
“We should go inside the truck. The clouds coming from the west don’t appear very promising. It’ll be pouring soon and we need to get some food and drink.” I tell her.
She nods her head and then steps away from the truck. Letting her arms fall to her side, she turns towards me. Her tail swishes around behind her as if it has a mind of its own. Turning her eyes towards the ground, Rayne slowly steps forward, her black hair, cut short, bobs around on top of her head between the tall, ever-twitching ears.
I stand still as she walks around me and goes up into the truck. Her tail whips against my jeans as she passes me by and turning my head to watch her go I feel my own tail begin to shake back and forth just gently. As the truck creaks at the addition of new weight, I turn and look towards the sky with a sigh. I know this will be frustrating.
“You never answered my question.” She says from within the truck.
“What question?” I ask as I slowly turn towards the door.
“The one about why you went to Blackjack.” She answers with a holler. “Why are you out here anyways if you live in Baltimore?”
Turning my body around, I step up into the truck and pull the door gently shut behind me. Taking in the camper in the bed of the truck, I see that to my immediate right is a stove, a microwave, a small sink, fridge and enough cabinet and storage space to fit a small house. A window punctuates the wall there above the sink.
To its opposite side is the bathroom that I went into which is nothing more than a small sink and toilet and an area set back in for a shower, a very pitiful shower. Just outside are a table and a couch which turns into a bed if needed. At the very end of the camper is a window that looks in on the cab of the truck and above the cab is an area where a full sized mattress makes a bed.
Rayne lounges on that uncomfortable looking couch and turns her eyes to me as she puts her paws up onto the table. A rumble of thunder enters my ears again and makes me glance over my shoulder, as if expecting someone to be at the door, ready to drag us back to that trailer with the cages.
“I was out here with my two uncles.” I say slowly, unsurely.
Turning my head back towards Rayne, I step forward slowly and then lean against the cabinetry and relax a bit, but with my tail whipping around behind me. I’m not so sure how comfortable I am talking about this kind of stuff, but, I knew this conversation had to come at one point. I knew she wouldn’t just lie down and take a bus wherever. But why, though, that’s the question.
“They’re cool men, old, unmarried; they said that they used to be with the show here, with Blackjack.” I continue. “They used to be trick shooters in the circus, doing whatever, before they worked at a casino in Vegas. They were the ones that took me to Blackjack’s circus; they knew him from all those years ago.”
“All right, it sounds fine, but, why did you go to Blackjack, that’s what I want to know.” Rayne demands as she takes her paws from the tabletop and leans forward to address me. “I mean, you obviously didn’t go because you were interested in his power or something like that. A lot of the performers at the circus went to him for that just to get hooked into his bait-and-switch game.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Oh, it isn’t? I’m riding across the country with you, it sure is my business!”
“I’m not making you come across country with me, dammit, in fact, I offered you to leave!”
“Well, I don’t want to leave, I want adventure!”
“All right, Indiana Jones, why did you go to Blackjack?!” I scream at her.
Suddenly she is quiet and sits back down on that fluffy seat, having risen up off of it in the heat of the argument. Her eyes, once wide and glittering with life, now darken as she slumps back into the seat. Crossing her arms, she turns her eyes away and clears her throat.
“Well, I went to Blackjack because . . . uh . . .”
“See, it isn’t fun when you’re the one under the gun.” I say frankly.
Thunder fills the air and the light that streams in from the few windows on the camper begins to darken as the clouds roll overhead. There is a long and nearly painful silence as both Rayne and I try to be the last person to break the silence. So we both sit and listen as the rain begins to trickle down on top of the camper.
A little rumble of thunder comes now and then and soon the little trickle turns into a heavy downpour, pounding onto the metal roof like continuous rounds of birdshot. The darkness outside intensifies until it almost seems purely dark in the truck. Leaning over, Rayne flips a little switch and the lights in the truck turn on.
“How did you know that this truck was unlocked and that the keys were inside?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation to somewhere else.
“I’ve been working on my escape basically since I joined the circus. A lot of people have been and we all know that there are a few vehicles out there that are ready for anyone brave enough, or stupid enough, to take the chance of getting away. Everybody in that circus wants to get away, but the people that have only been there for so long are afraid of Blackjack and the ones that have been there forever . . . it’s like they have no will or desire to escape, I’m not sure which.”
I clear my throat and look to the ground.
“Like Jekyll?” I ask. “About the people that have been there for so long . . . is there something . . . different about them?”
“Well, you’ve seen the sad clowns, haven’t you? It’s said that they’ve been there forever and that they’ll never leave. It’s like they’re not . . . not really themselves anymore, like Blackjack did something to them.” Rayne replies quietly.
“He’s a monster.”
“No shit.”
We are both silent for the longest time, simply waiting and listening to the rain fall upon the truck outside. The heavy sounds fill my ears for what feels like just about forever and by the look on Rayne’s face, I think she feels just about the same way. Turning my eyes towards the window, I watch the torrent fall for several minutes.
My stomach begins to growl and rumble and, putting a hand over it, I clench my jaws and swallow hard. I haven’t eaten in almost two days now and I’m beginning to feel pretty hollow, almost sick. Turning towards the fridge that is set back into the cabinetry, I wonder if there’s anything in there, but, then I realize it has to be empty.
“Maybe you should run over to that cantina and get us something to eat, huh?” Rayne asks me. “I have money, surprisingly, and I’m sure there’s money hidden here in the truck. Besides, I want to get a shower and I don’t care how tiny that one we have is.”
I try to hide a smile to her, knowing that she must have seen my pain and has offered to relieve it. Leaning away from the cabinets, I step towards her. She reaches into her pocket and produces a twenty, crumpled and old, but still a twenty. As she hands it to me, I look to my hand and then to the fur.
“What about this?” I ask and thumb towards my head.
“Don’t worry about it.” She replies calmly. “Towns like these don’t usually have a television station and are very likely to have a resident conspiracy theorist. Besides, I hear there’s a whole fandom out there that dress like creatures like us, so, you can play it off as if you were one of them.”
I nod my head and shrug my shoulders. Looking towards the window, I see that the rain has calmed down just a bit and most likely won’t last too much longer. Rains in the Midwest are like that and storms in the middle of the summer are very harsh but very brief. Flashfloods are likely, but, at least they pass by quickly enough that it doesn’t affect too much life.
“Just don’t get into any fights.” Rayne quickly adds. “And get me some chicken.”
I glance at her and shake my head, trying to hide a smirk that has appeared on my muzzle. Turning around, I slowly pad back towards the door while shoving the twenty into my leather jacket. I quickly tromp down the steps, thrusting open the door with a strong hand. Once outside, I land down onto the wet blacktop, the water splashing up in-between my toes, making a gritty feeling rush up my body.
I look around and see that the streets have been all but deserted, most of the people having taken shelter inside to escape the torrent. The cantina, a mockup of a mission church in the colonial Spanish-style, has browning white walls with high, fake towers and a brown board displaying the name on the front and side. Some neon lights up the parking lot, but not very well as most of the tubes are blackened from age.
The door slams shut behind me and, swinging my head around, I see that Rayne has pulled it shut herself. She stands in the window for a brief second before she yanks a curtain over it. I don’t want to know how terrible that shower is, being only a few square feet in its entirety, and I’m not even sure if there’s any heat or not. I don’t really want to find out.
Slowly I turn my head back around and begin to slowly walk towards the double doors leading inside the one-story building with a huge, near-empty parking lot. Lowering my hands to my side, I quickly fix every little wrinkle in my clothes and even try to make sure that my fur looks as presentable as possible, not that I should care.
After striding quickly across the empty parking lot, I come to the door and quickly stop, my hand outstretched and ready to pull open the door leading into the foyer of the restaurant. My heartbeat pounds and I feel a bit faint. This could be a pretty bad situation, some kind of Turn the Page moment where the eyes stick to me like gorilla glue.
But, I lick my lips and then twist the brass knob and pull the door open anyways. Delving inside, the air conditioning sweeping over me like a great, white sheet, I stand just beyond the door until it clicks shut behind me. As I stand in the air conditioning, I suddenly realize how hot and humid it was outside, how my jeans and shirt clung to my body but how outside things held all of my attention away from it.
“How can I help—?”
Turning my head, I look down to a woman in a white dress who stands behind a wooden podium with a menu in her hand. As I turn my eyes onto her, her eyebrows shoot up, her pupils widening, and her mouth shoots open. Her body jumps and the menu she is holding falls from within her arms and to the ground.
I can see her chest beginning to convulse as she gasps for breath. Her eyes scan me over, darting back and forth as she steps backwards just once before holding herself steady. I hold my hands out in front of me and try to think about what to do. I wish I would have at least put a little thought into how I would explain looking like this to the waitress.
“Now, just calm down . . .” I say slowly and steadily. “I’m only looking for something to eat. And I’ll take it out too, as long as this place’ll have me.”
The waitress gasps again, shakes her head around and quickly darts back into the sitting room. As I listen to her footsteps disappearing into the white noise of clinking glasses, utensils banging against plates and quiet chatter, I know that this is already a farce. But I don’t immediately turn around and begin to walk out.
Instead, I raise my head up and sniff at the air: the sweet aroma of baking bread and the savory smell of cooking meat keeping me from turning around and leaving. The last time that I ate was at my uncles’ house and that everything-stew is beginning to seem a lot better than it tasted at the time.
“What do you mean?” A voice asks.
I hear a whisper coming from through the building and am surprised at what I can hear with my new ears. I can tell it’s the waitress, but not what she’s saying. Then I hear a loud male voice, the first voice, scream back at her. Lowering my head, I see a man storm out from a back room and stand in the middle of an aisle leading to the foyer I stand in.
A plump, short man in his fifties, this short order chef looks like he has an even shorter temper. Standing there for but a second, he eyes me up and then his face contorts into both surprise and fear. Looking around to see if anybody has noticed me or not, he whispers something to the waitress and then begins back towards the room from which he came.
The waitress watches him go with her face turning red and then peers around the room filled with eating patrons. Slowly she begins to return to where I am. I suppose the chef has gotten her either to order me to leave or to take my order. I hope that it’s the latter because my stomach is eating itself from the inside out.
The waitress refuses to meet my eyes as she reenters the room. Once inside, she purses her lipstick-covered lips and kneels down to retrieve the fallen menu. As she stands up, her cheeks blush again and she swallows hard. Slowly she approaches me and gives me the menu.
“Our special today is hamloaf with gravy as well as chicken-fried steak with the house sauce.” The waitress says without missing a beat. “The chef says you have to pay upfront.”
“As long as you stop treating me like a freak, I don’t care.” I say back.
I hear her gasp and lift her eyes up. When she finally meets my eyes, I snatch the menu from her manicured fingers and then flip it open. Scanning through it with quick eyes, I see the first thing to appeal to my eyes and pick it out. Then I figure about what Rayne will want.
I keep thinking that she’ll want something really girly, something frilly or low-calorie. Then thinking about how she acts, it must be something just the opposite. So, I take a random guess and pick out something that would make Dan Conner proud. Flipping shut the menu, I hand it back before the waitress can even comprehend that I could have chosen two dishes that quickly.
“I’ll have a fried chicken dinner as well as a cold roast beef sandwich.” I say to her.
She sheepishly takes the menu and then holds it to her chest, as if I’ve been looking her over since I came in. Her eyes go down to the floor and she tries to say something, but her voice cracks and she quickly clears her throat. Then she swallows hard and takes a deep breath.
“Will that be with chips or French fries?” She asks slowly.
“I don’t care . . . either.” I respond.
“And will the sandwich be on white, rye or wheat?”
“Ugh . . . white, I suppose.”
“Will you have Mayo or Miracle Whip?”
“I guess Miracle Whip.”
“Would you like pickles or none on the sandwich?”
“What are you, the captain of the stupid question squad?” I suddenly demand. “Here’s a twenty, just go get the food.”
Before she can react, I shove the twenty into the space between the laminated menu and her chest. She gasps as she looks down to what I’ve done, her face blushing for the third time, making it look as if she’s on fire. Then she quickly turns around and rushes through the doorway and into the dining area.
“People,” I say to myself.
I take a seat in a leather-bound and metal chair at the door and wait. My eyes drift towards a window near the door and I watch the dreary sky outside as well as the cracking cement just beyond. The sounds of the restaurant fill my ears and for the ten minutes that I wait, I hear nothing abnormal.
In fact, I don’t even hear anybody inside the dining room quiet down or begin to discuss the monster sitting in the front room. I don’t even think they notice, but, I have no problem with that. I just sigh and am glad that, other than the waitress and her boss, I haven’t been singled out.
About ten more minutes go by and finally the waitress returns with my food. It is all packed up tight in Styrofoam boxes and plastic bags. There are even two Pepsis inside, but the waitress doesn’t give me any change. I know I’ve been screwed, but, I’m not sure if I should care or not. I decide not to care, take my food and leave.
Crossing the parking lot back to the truck, I hold the bag to my chest and try not to spill anything inside. Looking down, I smell the wonderful aromas wafting up from inside and focus on it for as long as I can. As I near the truck, I lift my eyes up and grab the door handle.
Yanking it open, I set the food down inside onto the top of the counter just inside the door. Then, as I begin to climb up inside the truck, I hear a loud banging noise come from nearby and stop myself. It sounded as if somebody had just closed the door on the truck. Moments later the truck shakes a bit as some weight is shifted off of it.
Stepping back down, I close the door and walk to the corner of the truck. Peeking around, I see a man standing near the front door, his head looking over the front of it. Just to his left is a Harley Sportster that looks new. He seems familiar, but he’s dressed like a new age cowboy, complete with hat and belt . . . and gun.
I walk around the truck and begin towards him. Swinging my arms and ready for anything, I watch the back of his head covered with long hair peer away from me. His arms are crossed over his chest and his fingers are far away from the trigger of that gun. Although I make my presence very obvious, the man doesn’t turn to face me.
“Hey, you, what the hell are you doing?” I yell out to him as I approach.
Suddenly the man turns at the waist and looks back at me. I stop dead in my tracks when my eyes meet that of my Uncle David’s. My arms go out at my side and a twinge goes through my heart. What the hell is he doing here and how could he find me all the way out here?
More importantly, why is he dressed like that and where did he get that motorcycle? At first my uncle doesn’t say anything, instead standing there and looking at me. His face is eerily calm and his eyes . . . his eyes look at me but they give me the feeling that there’s nothing behind them, like they’re hollow. Then he begins to slowly smile.
“We’ve been worried about you, Jackie.” He says to me, his voice a bit monotone. “We want you to come back.”
He slowly turns his body around and then puts his arms to his waist, his hands resting just above the bullet-filled belt that hangs there ever-so limply. His body, covered with a short duster, long jeans and heavy boots accented with that belt, button-up shirt and red and black neckerchief, seems something that I could never see him dressed as.
But at the same time, I think I’ve seen him like that before, but, not in person. Yeah, he and Daniel were dressed up like that in . . . in Blackjack’s circus all those years ago. But he doesn’t look the same way he did in those photographs, there’s something missing, something on the surface, something that can’t be captured by a camera.
“How did you find me?” I ask him, astonished.
“Don’t worry about it, nephew, just come on home and we’ll straighten . . . we’ll straighten everything right out.” He says, his creepy voice sinking into my very soul.
“No.” I say as I look at him. “You’re . . . you’re not David. Who the hell are you?”
David cocks his head to the side and stops smiling. His one hand begins to reach towards me while the other reaches towards that pistol in the holster. He takes a step forward and the leather in his boots creaks with age and disuse. I take a step back at first and then take two steps forward.
“Who the hell are you?” I loudly demand.
“You shouldn’t have run, Jack, you shouldn’t have stolen from him.” David says, his eyes seeming to glint red. “He’s too powerful for anyone and he’s all-knowing. So give it up now or you’ll know why people fear him.”
“I’m not going back, Blackjack. I’m not an object to be bought or sold.” I say. “I’ve made my decision. Now enforce your sentence.”
David’s lips twinge a little bit and suddenly his fingers wrap around that pistol. Yanking it upwards, he pulls back the hammer and begins to line it up with me. But at the same time, I lunge forward, lifting my arms up, and grab at him. As David’s arm becomes completely straightened, ready to shoot me, I grab him hand and then force it into the side of the truck.
The loud sound of the banging metal fills my ears and no doubt must have hurt David. But he doesn’t show any sign of emotion, other than a look of pure rage or possibly astonishment. With my other arm, I slam a fist into his elbow and make his grip fall apart.
The pistol falls from David’s fingers and hits the ground with a loud clatter before it skitters beneath the body of the heavy truck, out of both of our reaches. David growls and then swings with his other arm, putting all of his weight into it and aiming for my head. But I let go of his arm and duck, letting him free to break several of his fingers into the wall of the trailer.
As I stand back up, I hit David twice across the face with quick, light jabs and then land a punch into his stomach. Unfortunately, the punch that he put into that truck seems to have left him unscathed and the hits I landed on him seems to have no effect. He reels back and hits me once, hard, in the chest.
Stumbling backwards, I reel into the wall of the truck, where my head goes back into the metal. Stars fly before my clenched eyes and a pain like that I haven’t felt in months fills my body. I gasp for breath, unable to draw even the smallest bit of air. A few seconds later, everything comes back to me and I open my eyes just in time to see David standing before me.
“You can’t beat me, boy!” He cries out in a voice that is only half his. “I’m stronger, faster, and wiser than you could ever be! Give it up, slave, or your sentence will be permanent!”
“Never,” I choke out.
David suddenly puts one of his hands around my neck and forces me into the truck. With his other hand, he reels back as if to crush my windpipe and kill me right there and then. But as he puts all of the strength from his body into that one limb, reeling it back for a killing punch, I lift my arms up and push him back away from the truck.
Losing all of his balance, I throw him over the motorcycle parked there and watch as he hits the ground hard, his head knocking against the concrete as the motorcycle tumbles over on top of him. The last look on his face before he knocked himself out was one of pure rage and then pure astonishment.
I cough and choke as I grab my neck, still able to feel where each finger was laid on me. Then, without evaluating how much my uncle now hates me, I stumble away and back towards the door leading into the cab of the truck. I yank it open roughly and then clamber up inside.
I pull shut the door and sit in the driver’s seat for a long, hard moment, my cool breath filling my lungs again. Then, blinking several times as my wits are restored, I lean forward and start the engine. Without putting on a seatbelt or warning Rayne of the fact we’re moving, I put the truck into drive and slam on the gas.
The truck lurches forward and I lead it through the parking lot and onto the road. I hear Rayne scream and then something slam in the camper behind me. Growling, I hear Rayne yell at me. Moments later, I hear heavy pawsteps stomping up through the truck and then the window separating the cab from the camper opens and she sticks her head through, her fur and hair soaking wet.
“What the hell are you doing?” She demands of me. “Didn’t you remember I was in the shower?”
I turn towards her and suddenly she sees the tears on my face and how shaken up I am. I smile as I look to her and cough several times, sending spittle out onto my lips because of the pain in my neck.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” I say to her before I go into a fit of coughing. “I’ll . . . I’ll explain later.”