9 Seconds of Freedom, original fiction, part six, with links to parts 1-5

markrmorrisjr (70)in #fiction • 7 years ago

"When you're laying there on that floor and they're counting, for nine seconds, all you can think is how free you are. But then you know, you gotta get up, and you gotta fight some more, cause if you don't, they're gonna kill you."

Dalton West is lost. Not in a physical sense, much deeper than that. From the time he'd awakened on the side of the road in an old pickup truck six months back, until today, was all he could remember. Even the name he carries is borrowed from a sticker on the back of that truck.

A fading polaroid image of a young boy, with a big, antique teddy bear that he somehow knows is him, and a small, silver medallion on a string around his wrist, are the only clues he has to who he might be, and what happened to make him forget everything else. Everything except an urge that keeps telling him someone's life depends on him remembering.

When he meets Leeanne, a small town girl, with even bigger problems, he'll put his search on hold to make sure she gets more than nine seconds of freedom.

PART SIX

The baker house was about three miles from the center of town, down a two-lane blacktop road that turned to gravel about a mile from their house. I studied the map on my phone as I walked to the truck, still parked at the city jail.

That’s probably why I never saw the dark sportscar pull into the curb about a block behind me, it’s lights off, even in the growing darkness. I stuck my phone in the suction cup mounted cradle on my windshield, so that it rode just above the dash, in clear view.

I started the truck and hit the “begin” arrow as the navigation system indicated my direction, distance, speed and distance to next turn. I followed it out of town, into the surrounding countryside.

The rolling hills of the Ouchita mountain foothills, were rimmed with red and gold in the fading sunlight, while a black shadow rolled in behind me, still with its lights out, about thirty yards back. I was too focused on the unfamiliar road, and the GPS to notice.

In fact, I probably wouldn’t have picked up on it at all, except for one thing. About a hundred yards before I reached Fred Baker’s driveway, I passed a bright yellow “dead end” sign. And, as I slowed to turn into the Baker’s driveway, a pair of headlights flashed on behind me, as a small, sleek black car pushed past and into the darkness of the dead end road.

Leeanne greeted me at the door. Next to her was the friendliest dog in the world. His name was Pepper. He was medium sized, with a shaggy black coat and orange and white markings on his chest, with an orange muzzle. Pepper was an Australian shepherd and one of the most amazing animals I’d ever met.

He immediately walked up to me waiting for me to pet him. Not a hint of suspicion or the rowdiness of many friendly dogs I’d met. Another memory passed through my mind, shrouded in mist, almost close enough to touch. I sighed.
A dark-haired man, with white at his temples, wearing horn rimmed glasses, a dark sweater and olive khakis came up behind Leeanne.

“You’re dog is very trusting of strangers,” I said.

“He’s an excellent judge of character,” the man said.

“I’m Ben. Fred’s been telling me so much about you.”
He offered his hand. I shook it. Warm and friendly.

“That smells wonderful,” I said.

Fred had appeared from another part of the house. The kitchen, I guessed.

He was carrying a covered casserole dish. He set it in the center of a dark wood dining table in a formal dining room just to the right of the entrance. It smelled delicious.

“I hope you like lasagna,” Fred said.

I thought about it. I didn’t know.

“I don’t remember ever eating it,” I told him. It was the truth, although probably not the way he thought.

Lasagna, it turns out, is delicious. I had two helpings, and in between, we discussed renovation plans. Fred and Ben took me on a tour of their home.

It was a beautiful, late Victorian farm house. They had a created a roomy, open floor plan on the first floor, and converted the four bedrooms upstairs, into a master suite, a guest room and a study.

“I love what you’ve done with this house,” I said. It was true. They had modernized it in a very comfortable way, so that the house’s charm seemed accentuated, rather than diminished by it.

“Well, Ben is the mastermind. He’s got drawings of what we’d like to do with Hill house, the one you were at today, if you’d like to see them,” Fred said.

I said that I would, and Ben led the way into the study.
Fred pushed a leather club chair up close to the desk where I could see and Ben sat down in the desk chair and pulled up renderings of the house.

The changes were not as extensive as what they’d done in their own home, but if I stuck around, I wouldn’t be looking for more work any time soon, this would keep me busy.

“So, what about a crew?” I asked.

“You’re looking at it,” Ben said.

I looked around the room. There were four of us, able bodied, but I was the biggest one, and had never considered myself a big man. This was going to be a lot of heavy lifting with such a small group. But, the more we talked, the higher my confidence grew. I just knew that I was capable of making it happen.

I drove back to the hardware store in the dark. This time, I was watching. The car diving into the dead end lane had gotten my attention before dinner, and about halfway back to the paved road, I spotted a pair of headlights behind me. They pulled up to about thirty feet back and matched pace with me.

I wondered who would be following me, I didn’t know anyone here, or did I? That was the weird thing about not remembering. I couldn’t make any assumptions about myself. For all I knew, I’d been here before and committed a triple homicide. The car behind me could be out for revenge, but I doubted it.

There was only one way to find out. As I reached the next curve, I gunned the motor, then turned off my headlights, putting distance between myself and my followers. When I was far enough ahead to stop safely, I skidded the truck to a halt, sideways, blocking the narrow country lane.

I didn’t have long to wait. I reached under the canvas cover and came out with a 20 ounce hammer. The car slowed, then, pulled up to me. I couldn’t see past the blinding headlamps. I marched toward the driver’s door.

I was trying to project a confidence I didn’t feel. I swung the hammer up and tapped on the window.

It rolled down. Hal, from Boots’s place the night before sat behind the wheel. He looked scared.

“Hey man, you having car trouble or something?” he asked. His hands were shaking on the wheel.

“Why were you following me?” I asked.

“Following you, I wasn’t,” Hal swallowed hard. I tapped the hammer on the rough of the car, and let it drag along the side post of his door, until it rested on his window sill where he could see it. I reached in, turned off his keys and took them out of the ignition. He didn’t move.

“Hal, you see this hammer? I can drive a nail with it, in one blow. So, just imagine what I could do to, oh, I don’t know, let’s say your skull, with this,” I said. “Why were you following me?”

“Hey man, I’m real sorry about last night,” Hal said. “I wasn’t following you honest, I was just coming home from,” he started to point behind, then realized, I probably knew it was a dead end road.

“Yeah, me too, but probably not as sorry as I’m going to be. Why are you following me?” I asked again. Hal said nothing. So, I slipped his keys into my jacket and mimed throwing them as hard as I could into the dark.

Hal pulled the lever to open his door. It pushed against my leg. I pushed back, the hammer leveled at his nose.

“What the hell dude?” Hal said. He was starting to come unglued around the edges. “How am I supposed to find my keys?”

“I’ve got a feeling they’ll turn up,” I said. “Why are you following me?”

Hal sighed. He was far enough from town he knew he couldn’t outrun me, not without his nice little sports car.

“Fine, but if he finds out I told you, he’ll kill me, okay?” Hal said.

“Okay, I’ll take that into consideration,” I said.

Hal glared at me. “Big Daddy Crawford asked me to keep an eye on you,” he said.

“Do you always do what Big Daddy Crawford says?” I asked.

“Well, yeah, he’s the sheriff. And he sometimes does favors for me,” Hal said.

“Like what?” I asked. Tapping the hammer on the edge of the door softly.

Hal eyed the hammer. He swallowed hard. “I don’t know, fix tickets and stuff,” Hal said.

“What kind of stuff?” I asked.

“Look, he asked me to follow you and tell him wherever you go. Nothing personal, okay, can I please get out now and find my keys?” Hal said.

“Sure, but you’re not going to follow me anymore, got it?” I said.

“Whatever, can’t follow you now, my keys are lost!” Hal said.

I turned and walked toward my truck.

Hal dove off into the ditch, shining the flashlight app on his phone, aimlessly around the shoulder of the road. It was useless.

“Say it, Hal, I won’t follow you!” I said. Still walking.

“Okay, I won’t, I just, shit, how am I ever gonna find,” Hal said.

The keys sailed back over my shoulder. I’d given them just enough force to land with a thunk on Hal’s hood.

“Hey man! Stop throwing rocks at my car. It’s new paint, oh, uh, thanks man,” Hal said, picking up the keys.

I opened the truck door and slid in, “Stop following me Hal, got it? And tell your friends. If Crawford wants to know what I’m up to, tell him to ask for himself, deal?”

I couldn’t hear his response. I slipped the truck into reverse and righted myself on the road. The tires scratched as I shifted into drive and gunned it back toward town.

#story #writing #inspiration #life