Chapter 1
The motorcycle flew down the highway at a high rate-of-speed, the tires squealed with every twist and turn. Now and again, the sound of a passing car would remind Sam that she wasn't alone in the world.
She had been riding all night and day and stopping to refuel ever so often, but now the full tank of gas she had started with had diminished until it was now running on fumes. She soon found a gas station that was so run down it looked like Henry Ford himself had bought gas there.
She whipped her motorcycle to a screeching halt in front of the lone gas tank. She glanced around, half expecting to see a Model T up on blocks. Swinging one leg over the bike, she stood and adjusted her leather pants and jacket.
Soon, a man came out of the building. He looked as old as the building itself. "Sir. We're closed,” he said as he shut and locked the door behind him. She sighed as she pulled off her helmet, revealing blonde hair that fell to mid-back. "I'm sorry, Ma’am."
"Well, you're right about that,” she snapped with an evil glare. "But seeing as I'm probably the last customer you will get before you file for bankruptcy, why don't you let me fill up first? You may need the extra cash." She glared at the older man who adjusted his eighteenth-century glasses.
"A smart mouth won't get you anywhere, young lady." She faked a smile at the last remark.
"Maybe this will." She opened her jacket slightly, revealing a small revolver. "Could you please turn the pump back on?" He nodded about ten more times than necessary and backed up. A twang of guilt ripped through her, and she immediately reached into her pants pocket, pulling out a fifty-dollar bill, and held it out towards him. "Sir, I just need gas. I'm on empty, and this is far as I can go. Please,” she pleaded with blue eyes brimming with tears.
The older man let out a sigh. "Wait here. I'll turn the pump back on." She prayed he didn't call the police. He unlocked the building and went back inside, coming outside a second later. "It's on, little lady." She sighed as she filled up the tank. She hung the nozzle back on the pump and handed the man the fifty-dollar bill. He smiled warmly at her as he pressed the money back into her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. "You keep that, Darlin. You need anything from inside while I'm here. Food?"
She shook her head no, and his brow scrunched up. "You're far away from home, aren't ya?"
"If I had one, I guess I would be." She cleared her throat and turned away from the man, grabbing her helmet. "Is there a hotel around here?" she asked quickly, changing the uncomfortable subject.
"Let me get you a map," she climbed on the bike and flipped up the quick stand, standing it upright. With one swift kick, the Harley started up. He came back outside and yelled over the sound of the motor, "Here ya go." He handed her a rolled-up paper, "It's a map of the next town. It should be easy to find."
"Thank you,” she said and then sped off. She found out later that the older man's name was Gus. How appropriate, a gas station attendant named Gus. At least that's how he signed the map.
Gus had circled a hotel called "Jack’s Inn". He was right, and it had been easy to find. It was one floor, white in color, consisting of thirty rooms at tops. There looked to be a small apartment over the lobby. Stepping stones led off the sidewalk with cobblestones surrounding them. Each room had a little private walkway. There was a trail that led off from the lobby to the back of the hotel. She figured it led to the creek that ran alongside the road. After all, she had encountered in this small town; she guessed that there was a gazebo out there too.
She strolled into the lobby with her head held high. She tried to push back the vulnerability that had resurfaced earlier at the gas station. Vulnerability makes you weak. Sad, but true, and it had been her undoing. But that didn’t stop the fact that it was still there, hanging over her head like a storm cloud waiting to let go of its fury.
After railroading the older man for gas, she also felt guilt. And to top it off, she had found money wrapped up in the map upon opening it. Tears had stung her eyes, and she wiped them away, not letting one fall.
Sitting behind the front desk was a man that immediately stood when she walked in, ringing the bell that hung just above the door.
She guessed him to be about five-eight in height. He had slightly gray hair that was slicked back, trying to hide the fact that he was going bald. He smiled at her warmly when she approached the counter. “How may I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
She fought the urge to snap; why else would one come to a hotel? To get a room, instead, she answered, “I need a room for the night. Any available?”
“Of course.” He passed her a sign-in sheet, and she scribbled her name across the bottom of the page. “I’m Jack Anderson. Call the front desk if you need anything.” He handed her a key from under the front counter. She nodded at him before heading to her room.
Chapter 2
"NO!" she screamed. His head turned with the blow of a fist before his body followed. Blood flowed from both sides of his mouth. They locked eyes one more time before they glazed over, and he lost consciousness. She went to catch him but to no avail. He landed with a thud at her feet, where two henchmen held her back. "No." she said again, so quietly that it came out just barely above a whisper. Tears streamed down her face and mixed with dirt. As they made a wet trail down her face, it ran over cuts and bruises and stung, but she didn't seem to notice. With a wave of a hand, a larger goon did one more swift kick to the unconscious man’s stomach, but he didn’t make a sound. The one in charge nodded, and the two henchmen let go of her, and she immediately fell over her companion.
The door swung open. Sam opened her eyes, and with one motion, grabbed the small revolver that was hidden under her pillow and turned, pointing it at the intruder. “WHOA!” the young man said wide-eyed, his arms held above his head. “Okay, Sorry.”
“What do you want?” she asked, startled.
“Hey, nothing. I was just…”
“Again, state your business here.”
“Okay, I was…”
“Keep your hands up!”
“Okay, Okay.” Now, ordinarily, he would have thought the young lady was a magnificent specimen of a woman, but it was hard to see past the business end of a gun that was being pointed directly at his chest. “Okay, Listen. My father owns this hotel. Some tenants were complaining about noises coming from your room.”
“What noises?”
He hesitated, contemplating his answer. She continued to glare. “A woman screaming.” He watched as her face softened just a bit before just as quickly hardening back up.
“As you can see, it’s just me. So get out!” He opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut with a shake of his head and walked back out of the room, closing the door behind him.
She slowly lowered the gun and sunk back into the pillows. She couldn’t hold back any longer. She burst into tears.
Thirty minutes later, Sam entered the lobby. She walked up to the front desk. The same man that checked her in last night was working on some paperwork.
Just behind him sat the man she had pulled a gun on a half-hour before when he awakened from her nightmare.
He handed her the necessary paperwork needed to check out. “Are you the owner of this establishment?” she asked the older gentleman.
“Yes, Ms. Gordon, I hope everything was alright with your stay here.”
She reached into her pocket, grabbing some bills. “Then I guess, peeping tom here is your son? So why don’t you do me a favor and tell your son to quit snooping around in peoples’ rooms without their permission unless he wants to get hurt.” She glared over at the younger man. “It’s called breaking and entering.”
“I have a key.” He dangled a key from his right index finger in front of her.
“You ever hear of a person’s right to privacy?” she asked, annoyed. The father looked from son to tenant with a furrowed brow.
“You ever hear of murder one?” he answered sharply.
She placed cash on the counter and turned to walk out. “It’s called self-defense. Check into it.” She slammed the door behind her, and the bell clanged so loudly against the glass that it’s a wonder it didn’t fall off or shatter the door.
“Self-defense, my ass!” he yelled in the door’s direction.
“I don’t know what happened in the room, but she did forget her change.”
“I’ll get it.” Dylan rose quickly and grabbed the extra money from the counter before his dad could say anything to stop him. He caught up with Sam just as she reached her bike. “Hey! Hold up.”
She turned and rolled her eyes. “Do you always follow guests?” she asked, clearly agitated.
“I think you forgot something.” He held up the money as he reached her and slowed to a stop. “You already accused me of breaking and entering. I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of stealing next.”
“Listen, man.”
“Dylan.”
“Whatever,” she said as she climbed on her bike. “But I don’t rightly care.” A cell phone ringing stopped her from continuing further with her little tirade. “This is Sam,” she answered. He watched as her jaw clenched. “I told you not to call me,” she practically whispered into the phone. She didn’t even say bye before clicking it shut. She closed her eyes briefly before remembering she wasn’t alone. “Are you done with me?” she asked, her eyes hard.
He looked at her perplexingly but didn’t say anything, just nodded. She smiled briefly before putting on her helmet. He took note that the smile didn’t reach her eyes. With a swift kick, she started up her bike and sped away out of the parking lot.
Dylan watched her leave and then slowly walked back into the hotel lobby. His dad was waiting for him with his arms folded across his chest. “She didn’t take the money,” he said as he put the money back in the register.
“What happened in the room, son?”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that she almost shot me this morning?”
“Dylan, You seemed to have left that little detail out. I told you to check out the noises, not barge into the woman’s room. It’s a wonder she didn’t shoot you. Did you see her eyes? She’s probably messed up in something illegal. Drugs or something.”
“I don’t think so, dad. It looked to me that she’d been crying.” He looked down at the paper where she had checked herself out. Samantha Gordon. “Well, she’s gone now, right?”
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