On the Run

by Charlotte Greene

  This hitchhiker was different; she could see that right away. For one thing, the person was walking away from her. Usually this close, close enough to hear her car, they would turn around and hold up a sign. This one didn’t. Also, she could see even from here that this person was slight, short even, and dressed inappropriately for walking along the side of the road.

  It was a woman.

  As her car roared past, she turned her head toward the woman outside, and their eyes met—it was less than a second, but it was enough. Gwen moved her gaze back to the road, unaccountably gripping the wheel, her knuckles so tight they drained of blood. What was that woman doing out there? Why on earth was someone like that walking alone on the side of the road? Where had she come from? Even with a glance, she’d seen that the woman’s hair and clothes had been nice—formal even, as if she’d just walked out of the office for a cup of coffee. In fact, the only thing off about her had been her eyes. She’d looked terrified.

  “Shit,” she said, slamming the steering wheel with her hand. Already, her foot had moved to the brake, almost unconsciously, and her car gradually came to a stop as she pulled off to the side of the road. She was well beyond the woman, now a tiny speck in the rearview mirror, so she took a second to think. Was she really going to do this? Helping her would delay everything.

  “Motherfucker,” she said, and turned her car around.

  She slowed down as she reached the woman, shooting past her slightly to turn back. This far from nowhere, she basically had the road to herself. The woman had stopped now to watch, and when Gwen got her car pointed in the right direction, the woman put up a thumb. She pulled over a few feet in front of her and rolled down the passenger window. The woman outside hesitated, still standing some ten feet behind the car, staring at her, but she finally walked over and leaned down, peering inside, her fingertips on the edge of the window.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi. You need a ride?”

  The woman hesitated, her glance darting around as if searching for something. Up close, her clothes were even nicer than they’d seemed while driving past. She was like a fashion plate for a businesswoman in her dark-blue skirt-suit and stark-white silk shirt. She had a little matching purse tucked under one arm, the thin strap over her shoulder. Her blond hair was pulled up into a neat, stylish coif, and she wore tasteful, delicate makeup. She seemed fresh and clean despite the heat, only a thin sheen of sweat on her upper lip reflecting some slight discomfort. Finally, she stopped her nervous search of the car and rested her gaze on Gwen’s face, assessing, reading it.

  Finally, she nodded. “Yes. Please.”

  “Get in.”

  The woman continued to stare at her evenly for a moment longer, and then she stood up and opened the door. She was about to sit down when she spotted the water bottle on the seat.

  Gwen grabbed it. “Sorry. Forgot that was there.”

  “No problem,” the woman said. She was wearing low, white heels, and she climbed inside carefully, almost daintily. She buckled her seat belt and then sat there, eyes straight ahead, rigid and almost completely still. She’d consciously or unconsciously clutched her purse against her body with her right hand.

  “You can have the bottle if you want it. Hasn’t been opened yet.” She offered the water to her.

  The woman shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  Wary, careful, Gwen thought. Still scared, but smart.

  “Where you headed?”

  The woman didn’t reply, still staring ahead, but finally her head turned toward her, eyes suspicious.

  “Why?”

  Gwen laughed. “So I know where to drop you off!”

  Some of the tension left the woman’s shoulders, and she gave a weak smile. “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Anywhere, for now. I need a telephone.”

  “We’re almost to El Paso. That work for you?”

  The woman nodded, staring at the road again.

  She shook her head, baffled, and pulled back onto the road, not bothering to check her mirror or give a signal. Five minutes out here and nothing had passed them.

  She let the silence stretch out for several minutes. She could see the woman in her peripheral vision, tense and still next to her. It’s fine, she thought. I don’t want to make small talk, either. Still, she couldn’t help the almost overwhelming curiosity gnawing at her. Where had this woman come from? Nothing was out here—no houses, no towns, no businesses, nothing at all. She’d have passed the woman’s car if she’d had a flat tire or engine problem, and she hadn’t seen anything like that all morning. It was possible she’d come from a different road, a side road to this one, but Gwen didn’t think so. The only other explanations were far-fetched. Either she’d come from one of those broken-down farms she’d passed—and one glance at her was enough to suggest otherwise—or someone had dropped her off there on the side of the road. Either way, it was strange. And that expression, the one she’d seen when she first drove past her, had been telling. If she herself had been walking along this road, with no water and no car, she’d have been desperate to flag down the first car or truck she’d seen, alone or not. This woman hadn’t even tried. And she’d been scared—more than scared. She’d watched her as if expecting something or someone else.

  Finally, too curious to stop herself, she asked, “You have a name?”

  The woman continued to stare straight ahead, her shoulders, if anything, tensing even further. Finally, she nodded, her eyes flicking sideways to meet hers. “Yes. Abby.”

  “Nice to meet you, Abby. I’m Gwen.”

  Abby didn’t reply. She sat there, still rigid, eyes still rooted to the road in front of them. This response didn’t bother Gwen. She’d expected this exact behavior, so it simply confirmed what she’d already known. The longer she sat here with this woman, the more she knew about her. Abby wanted nothing to do with her, and she was giving nothing away. She was frightened, terrified of something, someone. She simply wanted to get somewhere safe, away from whatever or whoever it was. She’d lied about her name, but again, Gwen had expected that. Something was clearly up with this chick. But what?

  Chapter Two

  Just shy of the city limits, the diner was the kind of place built specifically for people passing by—an inordinately large parking lot for what amounted to a double-wide trailer with lots of glitzy chrome. If it had been nighttime, Gwen was certain those neon lights she saw would be blaring and visible for miles. Still, it was a strange establishment this far from any major highway or interstate. This time of day, neither lunch nor breakfast, only two other cars sat in the lot besides hers, likely the staff’s.

  “This do it for you?” Gwen asked, pulling in to a spot.

  Abby, who had remained virtually motionless for the last thirty minutes, relaxed a little. Her eyes met Gwen’s briefly, and she nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  She reached for the door handle, and Gwen, almost against her will, touched her shoulder to stop her. Abby flinched and Gwen held up her hands. “Sorry. Listen—I just wanted to know if you need any help.”

  Abby met her gaze, held it, and then shook her head. “No. I’m okay. Thanks.” This was the greatest number of words she’d said so far, and Gwen realized she had a slight accent—Southern, maybe West Texas or moneyed Dallas. Cultured, classy.

  “Do you need any money? For the phone call?” She heard herself make this offer with a shock of disbelief.

  Abby continued to stare at her, clearly wary, suspicious. “No. I’ll be okay. Really. Thanks again.”

  She didn’t stop to hear Gwen’s reply. She got out of the car and almost slammed the door closed behind her. Gwen watched her walk away and then inside the diner, disappearing behind the glare of the large windows.

  “Leave it alone, Ramsey,” Gwen told herself, putting the car in reverse. She pulled back and stopped, staring at the diner. Her fingers itched to throw it in gear and get the hell out of here. She was so close now. New Mexico wasn’t far enough, but it was a start, an
d it would be better than staying here. And anyway, who was this woman to her? What difference did it make if she helped her or not? She clearly had problems—anyone could see that. Getting involved was silly.

  But she couldn’t help remembering that first sight of her—that terror in her eyes. Who or what was Abby afraid of? Was she running from something? Was someone after her? Could Gwen live with herself if this woman got hurt, all because she was in a hurry?

  “Goddamn it,” she said, and reparked the car.

  It was dim and blissfully cool inside, despite the enormous windows. The glass must have been treated with some kind of reflective surfacing, as the sunlight was markedly dampened inside. The usual long counter had empty, orange seats, as did the three booths to the left along the windowed wall. The lone waitress was dressed in a bright but dirty pink uniform, a little orange cap sitting jauntily on her bleached platinum hair.

  “Sit wherever you like, hon,” she said. She was, of course, chewing gum.

  “I’m looking for—” Gwen said, finally spotting the phone booth at the back. Abby was inside, her back to the room. “Okay, thanks. I’ll take a coffee, please.”

  “Sure thing. Menus are on the table.”

  Gwen took a seat in a booth, facing the phone, watching as Abby made her call. It was obvious, even from out here, that things weren’t going well. Abby kept hanging up the phone, picking it up, and redialing. She wasn’t putting any money in, which meant a collect call, so either she wasn’t getting through or whomever she was calling wasn’t accepting the charges. She kept trying, however, long after the waitress had brought the coffee and Gwen had finished her first cup. After the fifth or sixth try she’d witnessed, she saw Abby hang up and simply stand there, her shoulders sagging. She kept her hand on the phone, as if in deep thought, perhaps deciding whom to call next. She finally let it go and turned around, opening the little glass door. She spotted Gwen and stopped completely, eyes narrowing.

  Gwen gestured across from her. “Have a seat. Let me buy you lunch.”

  Abby opened her mouth as if to protest and then, seeing the waitress watching them, nodded and joined Gwen in the booth. She sat there staring at Gwen for a long moment, her green eyes puzzled and wary.

  Gwen tried to look reassuring. “Okay, Abby. I’m going to make this really easy on you. I’m going to buy you lunch because I want to help you. You don’t have to tell me anything, we don’t even have to talk, but you’re going to let me buy you something to eat. After that, I’ll take you someplace—anyplace. Better than this, anyway, where you can get a ride or something. I’ll even get you a bus ticket, if you need one.”

  Abby said nothing.

  The waitress appeared at the side of the table, a little notebook in hand. “What’ll you have?”

  Gwen glanced up at her. “Egg-white omelet, mushrooms, onions, no butter. Plain wheat toast.”

  Abby was silent a few seconds longer, and then, still holding Gwen’s gaze, she said, “Double cheeseburger, onions, pickles, lettuce, and tomato. A full order of fries and onion rings. Ranch dressing. Large Coke. A slice, no, two slices of pie—cherry. Both with ice cream.”

  Gwen couldn’t help but smile at the order, but she said nothing, waiting for the waitress to walk away. Soon Abby rested her arms on the table, eyes slit, brows creased.

  “Why are you helping me?” she asked.

  Gwen shrugged. “Maybe I’m a Good Samaritan.”

  Abby shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Gwen laughed. “Why not? Don’t I look like one?”

  Abby gave her first genuine smile. “No. Sorry, but you don’t.”

  “What do I look like, then?”

  Abby surveyed her up and down, her eyes resting on Gwen’s exposed forearms, clearly taking in the extent of her tattoos, which left very little natural skin exposed. Gwen had lost a great deal of weight recently on her last job, and her wrists and hands seemed scrawny, even to her. Abby’s gaze shifted upward, taking in her visible clothing. Gwen was wearing an old, black band T-shirt, fraying at the sleeves and neck. Finally, Abby stared at her face again. Gwen had several piercings, both ears all the way up the edges, her nose and eyebrow, and she always wore a lot of black eyeliner. Her head was shaved on one side, the other side a bobbed mess of loose black curls that reached past her ears and the back of her neck.

  Abby peered outside at the car and then at Gwen. “I don’t know what you look like. I know one thing, though—that’s not your car.”

  Gwen was surprised. She was right. “What makes you think that?”

  Abby lifted one shoulder. “What difference does that make? It’s not, is it?”

  Gwen hesitated, and then, realizing she had no reason to lie, shook her head. “No. It’s not.”

  “Did you steal it?”

  Gwen laughed. “So that’s what you think I am? A car thief?”

  Abby hesitated and then shrugged. “No…I didn’t say that. I don’t know what you are. But you’re not a Good Samaritan. So again—why help me?”

  Gwen didn’t know the answer. Almost every instinct had told her to keep driving, to mind her own business. She had her own problems and places to be. Well, places not to be, at any rate. Yet she’d turned around to pick her up. She’d had an easy out twenty minutes ago, too. She’d seen Abby safely here. It wasn’t much of a place, but it had a phone, food, drink. She could have kept going. But here she was. So why was she doing this?

  Gwen sighed. “I’ve been in a tight spot myself. More than once. I would have done almost anything to get out of certain situations in the past, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have anyone to help me, anyone to call. Let’s just say I know what it’s like and leave it at that.”

  “What makes you think I need your help?”

  Gwen laughed and counted off on her fingers. “I’m driving. I see a) a woman, dressed like,” she gestured at Abby, “and b) walking along the side of the road, miles and miles from anywhere with c) no water in million-degree weather. A classic damsel in distress. What else could I do?”

  “That still doesn’t explain this,” Abby replied, gesturing at the menu. “Why do this?”

  Gwen bent her head closer, motioning for Annie to do the same. “Maybe this is for me. I wanted to buy a pretty woman something to eat.”

  Abby flushed, and Gwen sat back, laughing. The waitress appeared again, setting down Abby’s Coke and refilling Gwen’s coffee.

  “Food’s almost ready,” she said, walking away.

  Gwen touched her hand. “I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Have to get my kicks somehow. I’m just fucking with you.” She grinned. “Sort of.”

  Abby was still flustered, her complexion an unflattering, mottled pink. She was one of those pale sorts whose skin gave away every emotion. Even her eyes were pale—an almost colorless green. Her brows and hair were almost white, that light platinum blond so many people tried to mimic, their waitress among them.

  “Hey,” Gwen said, tapping the table lightly. “Why don’t we forget about motivations? You don’t have to believe me, but I really want to help. Call it whatever you like, but that’s all there is to it.”

  Abby frowned and then nodded. “Okay. I believe you. I think.”

  Gwen laughed again. “You think. Okay. That’s good enough for me.”

  The food was delivered then, Gwen’s modest lunch and Abby’s mountainous feast. Abby dug in, eating as if the food might be taken away. The sight of her ravenous hunger made Gwen forget her own meal. Abby was completely absorbed in hers, stuffing in as much as she could with each bite. The enormous hamburger, which appeared to be too big for her hands and mouth, disappeared in perhaps five bites. She almost swallowed the onion rings and fries, doused liberally in the thick, white ranch dressing, whole. Next came the dessert, each slice of pie shoveled into her mouth in huge bites, the ice cream still so fresh it hadn’t had time to melt. Gwen was holding her own utensils, lightly, not doing anything but watch this bizarre display,
so astonished she almost forgot to breathe. Finally, Abby finished eating, pushing away her plates, all empty, all sparkling clean, her expression calm, unembarrassed.

  She noticed Gwen’s open-mouth stare and frowned. “What? Aren’t you hungry? Do I have food on my face or something?” She wiped at her lips with her napkin.

  Gwen shook her head as if clearing it, chuckling. “Not exactly, but you do have half a cow over there on the side of your cheek. Holy shit! I’ve never seen anyone eat like that. Where did you put it all? You have a wooden leg or something?” She glanced under the table at Gwen’s slim, exposed legs.

  Abby smiled again. “I didn’t know there was a dollar limit on your charity. It’s been a long time since I—” Her mouth snapped closed, and her expression grew suddenly wary again. “Never mind.”

  Gwen noted the slip but pretended she hadn’t heard it. “Do you need something else? We could ask them to butcher a pig for you. Beyond that, they might have to call in delivery.”

  The smile returned, and Abby threw her napkin at Gwen. “Fuck you.”

  “Christ! It was like watching the lions at the zoo.”

  Abby giggled a little, and then, as if remembering something, she sobered almost at once.

  “Can we get out of here? I mean, if you’re not going to eat that?”

  Again, Gwen noted the change but didn’t remark on it. She frowned down at her meal, now unappealing and cold. “No. I’m done. Let’s get rolling.”

  They slid out of the booth in unison and walked over to the old-fashioned cash register. The waitress met them there, seeming surprised.

  “Finished already?” she asked, her glance sliding over to their booth and the piles of empty plates. Abby had eaten everything in less than five minutes.