Amy Cantrell drove from an unrelenting past into an unknown future, and neither the rain on the windshield nor the tears running from her eyes showed signs of letting up any time soon. Her bags were piled on the back seat, if two broken down suitcases, an old guitar case and a small box of books could be said to be a pile. It wasn’t much of a trove of worldly possessions, but then Amy had never considered herself much a part of this world.

     She knew she was running away, but somehow it felt more like she was finally running toward something, even though she had no idea what that something might be. Anything would be better than staying even one more night under her step-father’s roof. “His-house, his-rules” had been the code she and her brother had lived under for the last seven years. Brandon had made it easier for her. He had always been the one to step in and protect her. Until the accident, that was.

     That night still hurt too much to think about, so Amy reached over and turned up the music. Maybe some rock and roll could do for her memory what the miles were doing for her body. Providing an escape from the hell that was still back there waiting for her to give in and turn around.

     She no longer even felt the streaks of mascara that were etched in drying lines down her cheeks. She knew that the 3/4 of a tank of gas that was left in the car wouldn’t get her far enough away, but she had $350.00 in her pocket and she could always make money by playing her guitar somewhere, in whatever city she made it to.

     That guitar was all she had left of Brandon, and she was going to make her twin brother proud of her, even if he had to watch her do it from Heaven.

#

Mike Adams turned off his desk lamp and stood. The bones in his back gave out small ratcheting sounds as he stretched. He had spent far too many hours slouching over his keyboard as if he were made of wood, and his body let him know it wasn’t happy about it.

Mr. Murdock didn’t care about overtime, which made working late good; Mike didn’t have anywhere to be except his lonely apartment anyway, which made extra hours here even better. When he was at work, he felt like he belonged somewhere. His coworkers may not have been actual friends, but at least he could hear their voices as they talked to each other.

     There were times, sitting at home staring at the TV or eating yet another microwave dinner, that he felt like he was the only human left in the world. It was depressing when he thought about it, so he tried not to.

     He donned his coat, and left the building.

The wind bit into his cheeks as he walked, and he turned his collar up to block out the worst of it. He made his way as he did every evening, through the small park that marked the border between uptown and downtown. This no-man’s land was usually quiet by the time he came through, and tonight was no exception. Mike’s apartment building was two blocks further toward the low-rent district, and he paused outside the tavern that was the only place along his path with any life, this time of evening. The sounds of laughter and karaoke from within made him nostalgic for the days when he had been at home with his mom. She had loved to sing, and he never realized just how much he would grow to miss her off-key crooning.

With a heavy sigh he turned away from the lights and music, and made his way through the cold wind toward his empty rooms.

#

The sunshine streaming in the window forced Amy’s eyes open. For a moment, she thought she was still back there, and her heart started thumping in fear that she had overslept again. As her head flew up off the seat, the realization of where she was flooded in and she laid back, closing her eyes against the sun in her face.

     She picked up the folding travel clock on the floorboard, but after a single look she held it to her ear. Dead.

Shit!

Obviously she had forgotten to wind it last night. There was no way it was 3:30, a.m. or p.m.

The temperature in the car was just beginning to climb toward the morning heat, and the sun was still low enough in the sky that Amy figured it must be no later than 8:30. Maybe 9:00. Her stomach rumbled it’s argument for noon, but she knew it was still morning.

Climbing out of the back seat, the sound of birds in the trees of the rest area echoed back their opinion that it was a wonderful morning. Amy wasn’t sure how wonderful it was. In fact, the only thing she was certain of was that she could never remember having to pee so bad in her entire life. She felt quickly to confirm her keys were in her pocket, then pushed down the lock on the open back door, and slammed it. She turned and hurried toward the bathrooms, performing the universally recognizable speed-walk of those whose bladders are beyond the capacity to run.

In her haste, she failed to notice the eyes of the truck driver watching her. He was too far away for her to see his smile become a leer, as he sat back into the shadowy cab of his Peterbilt.

#

Saturdays sucked.

When Mike was a kid, Saturday had always been his favorite day of the week. He would get up and wrap his robe around his Superman pajamas. Next would come a big bowl of cereal and his favorite cartoons. Then he had the whole morning free to read, or explore the rock formations in the Nevada sun. Saturdays meant no having to hide from the bullies at school. No pretending he wasn’t smarter than all the other kids, so they wouldn’t make him feel like more of a freak than he already did. He looked forward to Saturday all week long.

That had been in the before.

Mike stood and carried his bowl to the sink. Cereal used to taste better, but some habits it seemed were lifelong. Too bad his appetite for cartoons and fun had both been replaced by never ending feelings of loss, despair, loneliness and worst of all, apathy. He found it harder and harder every day to care about much of anything, now that Mama had joined Papa and Emily in the ground, out at Mount Palisades.

It had been on a Saturday his sister Emily left. He had only been 8, and she was 12 on that last day of normal. He held her hand while Mama cried in the front room and talked to Papa’s picture--she had never gotten over Papa’s death.

Emily had always been the strong one, but on that Saturday, she had given up the last of her strength, and her final words had been for Mike. “I love you, Booger.” Then she had died.

He had sat there and silently held her hand as tears flowed down his face. He had been hoping and praying she would wake up, but in his heart he’d known. Even before her hand had grown cold and gray... even before the paramedics had come and taken her away.

His sister had left him behind, and Saturdays would never again be the same.

#

Four states between them now, but Amy could still feel his presence. Howard Milligan. The man her mother had chosen to be her step-father before she had died.

His true nature had surfaced soon after her mother’s funeral. Howard had decided that since she was now the “woman” of the house, it was her responsibility to make sure that his house was spotless, his clothes were cleaned and his dinner ready when he got home from work. She and her twin brother had become his servants. Brandon was gardener, plumber and pool-boy; God forbid the garage floor wasn’t oiled and swept with wood shavings every day.

They had both learned early to fear his “reprimands.” The two of them were eleven when they were left with him. Howard had decided they needed discipline, and for seven long years, the two of them had survived together.

Brandon had wanted to kill Howard for the last few years. Their step-father was too big to fight off, and too mean to reason with. Often, he was also too drunk to be awake for long after dinner.

Brandon had gotten a gun someplace, and Amy desperately wished that he never had.

The accident had been two months ago, but the pain was still as fresh and as sharp as the day she heard that gunshot. The day she had found her twin brother lying in a pool of blood, and her step-father gone in his truck, the garage door still open.

It had been ruled an accident, but in her heart Amy was sure that it had been Howard’s fault. Two days after Brandon’s funeral, Howard had come into her room at night and forced her to do something. She couldn’t remember exactly what he had said or done; she had gone somewhere else in her head.

The next day—a week ago now—she had grabbed what she could carry, and left. The car was legally Brandon’s still, so at least Howard couldn’t accuse her of stealing it. The sign on the side of the road read ‘Stanville 3’ and her gas gauge was approaching the red line that meant it was time for more. She hit her blinker and moved onto the exit ramp.

Three vehicles behind her, the green Peterbilt followed suit.

#

Mike sat on the picnic bench and watched as the orange sun lit the beach in a warm glow. He watched a pretty girl walking along the shore as the waves slowly bid goodnight to the land. Now that he had made his decision, his mind was calm. He wondered if that was normal for someone in his position, and then realized that nothing was normal about his existence.

Hell, no one would even miss him.

     Sure, old man Murdock would be in a bind for a little while, trying to find someone to replace him, but there were lots of computer programmers in the world. There were probably five or six with their resumes in the old man’s desk drawer already.

     Mike knew how he would do it. He had always been afraid of pain, but he read somewhere that drowning wasn’t painful. He was going to do it right over there, on the breakwater jetty. At low tide, the rocks of the jetty were exposed to the sun and salt air, but at high tide the water covered all but the top couple feet. He knew that there was a big rock along the water at low tide, that would make a great nap spot - and a permanent one as well.

The bottle of sleeping pills with Mama’s name on them was sitting in his bathroom medicine cabinet, and the warning on the side couldn’t have been any clearer. DO NOT TAKE WITH ALCOHOL. A bottle of Vodka would mix well with orange juice, and after a snack of pills and firewater, he would come down here and take himself a nap on that rock. With any luck, they’d never even find his body, although there would be no one to identify him anyway.

When high tide would happen in the sunshine was an easy thing to find out, easier in fact than spending another week alone in his apartment.

© 2017 - dustygrein

** (Part 2: https://theprose.com/post/155121/twin-crucibles-part-ii )

** (Part I: https://theprose.com/post/160600/twin-crucibles-part-i)

The guitar seemed to sing along with Amy as she played and, more often than not, the folks passing by would stop for a moment to listen. More than one had to wipe away a tear as they dropped their spare change in her guitar case.

        She had Brandon's picture—the only one she had of him— taped inside the lid, and a small wreath of flowers next to a RIP sign stood in the depression the guitar sat in when it wasn't being played. Amy knew she was quite skilled. It was one of the only things she did better than Brandon. He always teased her that he would improve someday. Now that would never happen.

        She finished the song she was singing, and took a long swallow from the soda at her side. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and she knew the after-work crowd would be passing through the park soon. It was the best time of day to make money busking, and her obvious mourning for Brandon, enhanced by the black sweater and boots she had found at a thrift store nearby, made this the most productive time of day for her.

        She had only been here for three days, but she had already spotted a few regulars, and most of them smiled back when she made eye contact. It seemed strange that she could even do this, but it felt like she was someone new now.

        There was one older man in a jean jacket and baseball hat pulled low over his eyes that she had seen every day now. She caught his eyes yesterday, and something seemed wrong about him. He never approached her, but spent a lot of time seated across the green grass on a bench, reading a paper. She tried to ignore him. His beard and those shadowed eyes frightened her in a way she hadn't been frightened since she left Howard's house a week ago.

        Her troubled thoughts were eased somewhat by the appearance of the short guy in the cardigan. He had passed her every day since she had started playing in the park, and he always stopped to listen. He would be there, and his eyes would be far away. She tried to smile at him, but he only blushed and hurried off.

        She imagined his name was Pete. Somehow ‘Pete’ made her feel safer when he was standing here watching her play. He was kind of cute too, but probably married. That would be just her luck.

        She finished her song and looked up. The strange man in the baseball hat, gave her a small salute, and with a dark smile, he stood and walked off into the trees.

Her name was Amy, and Mike knew he had to see her again. Thursday morning had come and gone, and the bright sunshine of the 11:00 a.m. low tide had gone with it. Funny how much your mind can change in just a couple days.

        Monday morning, he had been set to live out his last three days in quiet solitude. Then he had seen her. He had been terrified that if she ever talked to him he wouldn't be able to form coherent speech. She was so beautiful, and her voice was so pure and sweet. He had stopped every day after work this week and listened to her sing and play her guitar in the park. She had smiled at him once, and the feeling that coursed through his whole body had scared him. It was like electricity, and he wanted more almost as much as he was afraid of it.

        Somehow, he found himself preoccupied with things at work yesterday, and then his lunch break and the shot at his perfect exit was over.

        He had built up his courage all afternoon, and on the way home last night, he had stopped once again to listen to her play. There was a small crowd gathered around her, but as he approached they seemed to part like the Red Sea. Her smile wasn't just beaming, it was radiant; he almost wept at the sheer beauty she was projecting. And she was projecting it at him!

        He smiled back and she paused in her singing. Her fingers continued to caress sweet music from the strings of her guitar, but her eyes were trained on him, and he felt as if they were the only two people here, though the crowd was still rapt.

        "Hello." Just one simple word.

        Instead of his terror freezing him, it seemed to fly off with the sound of her voice. "Hi. You play beautifully."

        A small laugh. "Why, thank you, kind sir." She finished her song and stood as the people applauded and money sprinkled into her guitar case. She let the instrument fall against the strap that tucked it's mysterious way under the hair at the base of her neck. "I'm Amy."

        He reached out to shake the hand she offered, and when they touched he was sure that both of their eyes dilated ever so slightly. Something strong, and sweet, and real passed between them and he continued to hold her hand.

        "Amy. Pleased to meet me. Your name is as Mike as my beautiful eyes do."

        Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her mirth wouldn't be constrained. She laughed and grinned at him. "Well, Mike, I am pleased to meet you." She leaned closer and whispered loudly, "and I think your eyes are very cute."

        Realization of what he had said flooded through him and he could feel his face turning red.

        "I can't believe I said that. Would you forgive me if I bought you dinner?"

        "Oh, I'd love to, but I have plans tonight." His crestfallen features must have been evident, because she squeezed the hand which was still holding hers. "Are you free tomorrow? I hear the Saturday Market here is nice."

        "Sure. I'd love to take you at breakfast... I mean have you for breakfast... I mean... yes, I'll be here tomorrow." Her laughter somehow calmed his nerves. "What time works for you?"

        "I'll be here about 10:00, is that okay?"

        "Great. I'll see you then Amy."

        He walked away, knowing that if he turned back around, he would never be able to leave. The fear that this wasn't real was only slightly stronger than the fear that it was - but one way or another, he knew he had to see her again.

Amy sighed and carried her gym bag into the public facilities at the entrance to the park.

        The bathroom itself was old and consisted of three stalls, one without a door, a cracked porcelain sink and a steel mirror that might have offered a reflection 40 years ago when it was new. She changed into her other pair of pants and the last of her three shirts. She had found a few things at a second-hand store across town, but after she bought this used change of clothes and some new underwear, her cash was running dangerously low.

Last night had been a bust. The kids she had met had told her about the shelter, but when she had gone there it only took one look at the despair in the eyes of everyone there to make her wary. They offered her a bunk, but the mattress was old and yellowed and wasn't much bigger than the back seat of her car.

        She declined.

        As she left, she had given an old man on the sidewalk three dollars; the look in his eyes broke her heart.

        She had gone back to her car and parked in the lot of a 24-hour grocery store. She fell asleep thinking about Mike—he still looked like a Pete to her—and she could feel herself smile as she drifted off to sleep.

        This morning, after her refreshing trip to the old bathroom, she felt much better. It was amazing what the simple act of brushing your teeth could do.

        She checked the wristwatch the tall woman had given her the second day she was here. She had stopped to listen to Amy play, and then with eyes that were guilty of something, and tears that said she regretted whatever it was, she took off her watch and dropped it in the guitar case. It was only a Casio, but it was now one of Amy’s most treasured possessions.

        9:30. Almost time for Mike to show up.

        She sat down on the walkway in what she now thought of as "her" spot. The morning air was warm, but not hot. California was so much nicer than... well, than anyplace Amy had ever been.

        Suddenly, a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind. Her first thought was excitement that Mike had surprised her, but that feeling turned to dread as she smelled the unmistakable scent of Old Spice and beer sweat.

        Howard!

        She started to scream, but the hands left her eyes and she felt a sharp line at her neck, and a hand across her mouth.

        "Shhh." A hoarse whisper. "It's all gonna be okay. But remember, you are mine!" This last was whispered with venom and it froze her mind.

        As suddenly as it had started, the hands and that red-hot line were gone. She turned and there was no one there. In the distance she thought she saw someone with a baseball cap on, but even that was gone when she looked back a second time.

        She spun around, afraid to stand still, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, let alone yell.

        Mike appeared from around a corner, and waved at her, a big goofy smile on his face. She had time to notice his smile fade as she ran toward the safety of his arms.

Mike sat in the chair by the window and stared out at the darkened street without really seeing it. His mind would not slow down, and for perhaps the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth, he let his eyes travel back to the sleeping figure on his couch.

        Somehow, just having Amy here made this room feel like a home, in a way it never had before. It already felt like he had known her for a million years, and he found it hard to believe that it had only been yesterday she said hello to him for the first time.

        He had been concerned when she had come running to him this morning. When she flew into his arms, he had been stunned, but the total trust she showed as she broke down and cried into his neck melted his heart, and created an almost tangible bond between them. The feel of her thin arms crushing him so tightly had awoken something in him, and as she explained what had happened, his incredulity became anger - and the anger became protective fury.

        Mike was a small man in a large world, but with Amy in his arms, he felt larger than life, and he knew there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe, or to make her happy.

        They had walked to an espresso shop/book store on the uptown side of the park, and over bagels and rich coffee she had told him more about herself. In turn he told her about himself, and for the first time ever, he spoke about the before. About Emily, and Mama and even Papa, who he only faintly remembered. She told him about her mother and her twin brother. Their shared loss completed the process that her trust had begun. He was hers now, whether she knew it or not.

        He had tried to get her to file a police report, but she refused. She had no proof that anyone was there, let alone a man who lived over a thousand miles away.

        They had spent the entire day together, and as the sun started to sink, she had guided him back to her car.

        "No." He had been adamant. "You are not staying in your car. I have plenty of room. I can use my couch and you can sleep in a real bed."

        He knew this offer was one that might make her pull away from him. She had been badly hurt, and he didn't really know how deep that hurt went or how much damage had been done.

        She surprised him yet again, and smiled. "On one condition. I will take the couch."

        He had smiled at her as well.

        "Okay, two conditions..."

        He was ready to swear his allegiance to keeping her safe, to do anything she needed him to do, so she would know that he would never hurt her in any way.

        "Number two is that I get to make dinner for you. I have enough cash left to buy what I need. I make a great mac & cheese."

        Now, watching her sleep as the plates they had eaten from sat in the dish-rack on the counter, he thought he had never tasted better mac & cheese in his whole life. She hadn't hesitated, but held his hand the whole way up the stairs while he carried the small bag of groceries—which he had refused to let her pay for—up to his apartment.

        Looking out the window once again he saw her car, parked next to the curb under a streetlight. As he watched, a green semi truck pulled up to the intersection below, and sat there. This seemed like the wrong part of town for a truck like that, but it wasn't unheard of.

        The truck, which had been facing him, turned right. It rolled slowly past his building, then was merely fading taillights on the road.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** (Part III: https://theprose.com/post/155125/twin-crucibles-part-iii)

(Part II: https://theprose.com/post/155121/twin-crucibles-part-ii)

Amy sat in her car with the engine off, the windows down and the surf providing a never ending backdrop of sound, interrupted only by the lonely cry of a gull circling the beach.

        She read the note again.

                leav him. yu are mine.

                dont make me hurt him.

                go bak to the park, or els!

         It had been written on a torn cereal box top in crayon. With the spelling errors and the crude way the letters were formed, it looked like it had been done by a young child who had poor motor skills. Either that or a right-handed person, using their left hand. She had found the note under her wiper blade this morning.

        She and Mike had spent a wonderful weekend getting to know each other. She woke early on Sunday morning on his couch, and found him softly snoring in his chair next to the window. The sound of him sleeping was bittersweet and nostalgic. He sounded just like Brandon when he slept... that same pause between inhale and soft snoring, almost like a cat purr.

        She felt a deep and strong bond with this small man and his mysterious gray eyes. She wasn't sure what "love" was - the only person she had ever really loved was her brother, but that love didn't carry any of the electrical energy that she could feel roiling in her chest when she thought about Mike, and what it would be like to kiss him.

        He had been a perfect gentleman. They had walked around town yesterday hand-in-hand, and she felt like she already knew him well enough to let him kiss her - but he hadn't even tried.

        She had waited for him to make a move last night. They sat on the couch together and watched a movie they had both seen before. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he had placed his cheek on her forehead. She was glad she had seen the movie before, because her mind was completely distracted by the feel of his slightly rough cheek on her brow.

        She had whispered to him. "Thank you for this weekend. It's been more than I expected to ever experience. I mean that."

        He had turned his head and quickly brushed her with his lips. She was afraid that maybe he didn't feel the same way she did. They had just met three days ago after all. It was almost as if he could read her fears.

        "Amy," he said quietly. "I need you to know something. I think I am falling in love with you, and while it scares me, the thought of not being near you scares me even more."

        That was all it took. She couldn't wait for him any more, and instead she sat up, turned, and wrapped her arms around his neck and ever so slowly, while staring into his eyes, she kissed him. He responded and she crushed him to her. When she moved her hand to his chest however, she felt him tense up.

        "What's wrong?"

        "Not yet." His eyes had pleaded with her to understand that this was killing him. "I'm not in any hurry... but I can hold you while we both sleep, if you'd like."

        That was when she had decided that it must truly be love. It wasn't like she was innocent. She hadn't been innocent since the night after Homecoming during her junior year. And then there was Howard...

        That thought brought reality, along with all of her fear and pain, crashing back into her soul. It had to be Howard that was responsible! Once again, she didn't have enough to convince anyone that it was him, but in her heart she knew. And now he had threatened Mike.

        She would rather die than let Mike get hurt because of her. She was afraid to even tell him about this.

        Help me Brandon.

        She prayed silently with her eyes crunched up and her hands folded in her lap.

        Show me what I should do.

        The seagull that had been circling the beach and parking lot, flew closer, and lit on the garbage can three parking spaces away. She watched as it reached down and grabbed something from the trash, then it looked up, staring directly at her. It started to screech the way they do, but what came out was more like a purr... or a snore.

        Suddenly it dawned on Amy that Brandon had already given her his opinion. With a new strength in her heart, she started the car and headed back to Mike's apartment.

        He would be home from work in a couple hours, and they could figure this out together.

Mike stood in the doorway of his bedroom and watched Amy sleeping on his bed. He had finally convinced her to get some sleep. Even if their plan went well, tomorrow would be a long day.

        Obviously her psycho step-father meant business.

        Mike had called the police as soon as Amy had shown him the note. The obvious (to him) ploy of writing it like a child, (and in crayon even!) just made it all the creepier. The police had been very polite as they took her statement, and they promised to track down her father, but it might take a while, since he was so far away.

        "Step-father!" The words were quiet but the tone was harsh.

        "Sorry, ma'am. Your STEP-father will get a visit from the police, but without more to go on, there's not much else we can do." It seemed to Mike that they were humoring her, exactly the attitude she had been afraid of.

        "My advice is to lock your doors and windows, and avoid the park for a while."

        Mike had heard enough. "Thank you officers for your time. Please let us know when you find out more about her stepfather. I will be checking back in with your commander. Thank you again, Officer..." He looked at the copy of the report. "Thurston? Is that right?"

        "Yes sir, and my partner is Jovanovich."

        "Very good. We will expect a call back soon. Thank you." He ushered them out the door, and closed and locked the door, threw the deadbolt and engaged the security chain.

        "They're not going to do anything, are they? I don't think they believed me."

        Mike crossed the room, and wrapped his arms around her. "Maybe they will. I know that asking for their names aloud can sometimes motivate people to do more."

        She laughed a bit. "And threatening to tell on them to the boss doesn't hurt either, I suppose."

        They had eaten salads for dinner, and Amy had actually put one of his sweaters on after sunset. It was still warm, but it probably made her feel safer. She had told him about the night before she left home... if you can call the hell she grew up in a home.

        Mike wasn't sure if he had ever felt such pure and unwavering hatred of another human, as he did for the monster that she had grown up addressing as Sir. The thought of him putting his hands all over her drove shards of ice into Mike's mind. It was then that he began to see a possible plan.

        Maybe it was time to turn the tables on the monster. He had laid out the plan for her, and why he felt it would work. It took some convincing, but she had finally agreed, and they were going to put step one into motion in the morning.

        Mike double checked all the window locks and the deadbolt one last time before he joined her in the bedroom. He slid into the sheets next to her, and as he turned, she snuggled her back toward him just a bit and he wrapped his arm over her. The smell of her hair in his face brought a feeling of contentment he had never felt before.

        He was ready to find the bastard who had hurt her. With any luck, tomorrow would be the last time she would have to wake up afraid of him.

        Ever.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** (Conclusion: https://theprose.com/post/155129/twin-crucibles-part-iv-conclusion)

** (Part III: https://theprose.com/post/155125/twin-crucibles-part-iii)

Amy pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and waited for the paramedics to get done examining Mike. It looked like he was going to need several stitches in his leg, but it was far less than Howard needed - or maybe it was more accurate to say it was more than her stepfather would need. Dead men don't need stitches.

        The plan had started out simply. She was going to go to the park and play her guitar like she assumed he would expect her to. Mike would sneak through the park and come up behind her. Just after sunrise, he had found a natural blind in some undergrowth where he could watch her from concealment, and still reach her in less than 45 seconds.

        She was afraid of that number.

        She had tried to hold her breath for 45 seconds and found that it was a lot longer than she expected it to be. Mike had insisted that he could get to her before Howard could touch her. He could see every approach to the spot where she would be playing.

Mike had made her promise to give him 10 minutes to drive around the park, find a place to hide her car, and sneak into his sheltered blind. She had waited as long as she could, but when her watch showed it had been 15 minutes, she gathered herself, steeled her nerves and made her way to the spot where she would set up her case and play.

        It was spring, but the weather was unseasonably cool last night, and the grass was still covered in dew. There were only a couple people in the park this early, and none were around her spot, or the tennis courts that were across the grass behind her. Her nerves threatened to immobilize her more than once, and it was all she could do to trust that Mike was there, watching her.

        She had no sooner set her guitar case down, when someone stepped out of the tree line. Actually it was two someones. Mike stood there with one arm twisted up violently behind him, and there over his shoulder stood Howard!

        Amy gasped and covered her mouth before she could scream. There was no telling what Howard might do to Mike if she did. The two started toward her, and that's when she saw that Mike was limping, badly. As they neared, she could see that he was bleeding from the back of his thigh.

        So much blood!

        Her eyes scanned for help, but the only people she saw were an old man walking his dogs on the other side of the tennis courts, Mike with pain and rage in his eyes and Howard, who smiled like it was just a beautiful day at the park.

        "Amy, Amy, Amy. I've missed you sweetheart." He pulled Mikes arm up harder behind him, and she could see that he was holding a very large knife to Mikes ribs under his other arm. "I think your boyfriend here and your Daddy need to have a little heart-to heart."

        "Wait!" Amy wasn't sure what had come over her, but she could not just watch him kill another person she loved. "You don't need to hurt him. He's not my boyfriend. I was just using him for a place to shower and have a hot meal. The truth is, I've missed you too, Sir." The words tasted like bile in her mouth, and the pain she saw reflected in Mike's eyes made her hate herself for what this lie was doing to him.

        It had worked though. Howard had stopped and his mouth hung open in shock. She let the tears she felt flow, and gave the best performance of her life. She walked toward Howard, praying that he would keep staring at her. She raised both her arms in a gesture of helpless supplication and cried, "Daddy! Please let me come home!"

        Howard had let go of Mike, pushing him to the ground, and Amy ran to her monstrous step-father and threw herself into his arms. As he reached out to catch her however, she turned slightly and grabbed his wrist below the knife in one hand and his closed hand around the handle in the other.

        With all her strength she drove the knife up between them and watched his eyes grow wide as she directed the force up under his ribcage. She then let go and he stumbled away backwards away from her. She stared into his face and said quietly. "That's for Brandon you son of a bitch. And this..." She reached across the space and grabbed his shoulders. She pulled as hard as she could, bringing his body toward her and down as her knee drove upward, sending the blade even deeper into his chest. "This is for Mike."

        She let him go and watched as Mike stepped up behind the dying man and grabbed his head between his hands and with a loud snapping noise broke his neck. "And that is for her. May you rot in hell!"

        Mike had collapsed then and she had grabbed him and screamed as loud as she could "Help! Someone, please help us! This crazy man stabbed my boyfriend!"

        The old man with the dogs had heard her, and in what seemed like minutes, the police had arrived, and then the paramedics. The responding officers were soon replaced by the two who had taken her report yesterday. They had told her that Mike was going to be taken to the hospital, but she would have to wait and talk to detectives.

        She kissed Mike and promised to be there before they released him from the ER. Her nightmare was over, and whatever came next, she knew she could face it, with Mike by her side.

Mike lay on his left side and watched the IV pain medication drip slowly into the line. He still couldn't feel much from his butt down, but there was a pretty good deep ache, that the doctors had told him would only get worse as the lidocaine wore off.

        His day got much better when Amy came rushing into the ER room. His concern for her had kept him from thinking too much about what had happened, but he knew that he wouldn't have acted any differently if he had to do it again.

        Well, he might not have assumed his hiding spot was empty, and he might have chosen a different spot to turn his back and pee into the bushes. He could still remember the tangy-sour feeling of the knife blade as it sank into the back of his upper thigh.

        "Oh Mike! Did they fix you up?" Amy sounded on the edge of panic.

        "Yeah, I'm fine. The doc said I got pretty lucky."

       "Lucky? How the hell could getting stabbed that deeply be lucky?"

        "Well, first off, it wasn't as deep as all that. And secondly, the blade went in vertically, and kind of slid in between the muscle tissues. If it had been turned sideways, the doctor said it might have cut tendons, or even worse nerves might have been severed. I might have lost all sensation in my butt and/or leg. So since I can still feel this pain in my general butt area, I'm counting it as a lucky flesh-wound."

        He grinned at her. He could feel the morphine working, and he assumed his grin was as goofy looking as it felt. "Of course, I won't be able to sit down comfortably for a while, and I might actually need some help with stuff like getting dressed."

        She smiled back at him. "I think we can handle that." She patted his leg, not realizing it was his right leg until he winced. The look of shame and sorrow on her face was priceless and he had to chuckle to let her know he was okay, even though it had hurt more than he would ever let her know.

        "How did it go with the detectives?"

        "Really well. The older one said I reminded him of his oldest daughter, and that he only wished he could have caught Howard before the attack happened."

        There was a soft knock on the exam room door. "Come in."

        Yeah, the morphine was definitely kicking in now, which was great since the numbing agent was rapidly wearing off, and the stitched area was beginning to burn.

        They both looked up as a short, heavyset man with a slightly graying head of wispy thin hair stepped in the room. He was wearing a wrinkled pink shirt, and a blue tie that had pulled down to about three inches below his open collar.

        "Detective?" Amy's voice sounded surprised. "Did I forget something in my statement?"

        "No, no. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. Mike is it?"

        "Mike Adams." He held his hand out, and the detective clasped it.

        "Howie Stegner, Mike. My partner Paul isn't here tonight. He's a rookie, and gets a little excited about things. This case is pretty cut and dried, so I'm letting him do the paper work."

        Here the older man reached in his pocket and grabbed a roll of what looked like candy. He popped two in his mouth and chewed them. Noticing their looks of curiosity, he said, "Sorry... antacid. Dang heartburn tends to flare on me right before dinner. Listen, I'm not gonna take up too much of your time, but I wanted to let the two of you know that we won't be filing any kind of charges. It was just lucky for you that the bastard tripped as he was coming after you and fell on that knife he was packing."

        The man had a serious and forlorn look on his face. "You know, they really need to trim those exposed roots in that park. Why, a man who trips and falls on his own knife, could quite easily break his neck when he landed wrong on them."

        He winked at the two of them. "Anyway, you kids be careful going home, and stay out of trouble."

        The smile on Amy's face as the detective left the room held more promise for Mike's future than he had ever known.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** Thank you for joining me for the ride. Amy and Mike may not know it, but they have just introduced the world to Detective Howie Stegner, who will be back facing a dangerous serial murderer in the upcoming novel The Puppeteer