Love Me Crazy

by M. N. Forgy

  “Mind stepping out please?” His unfriendly eyes narrow in on both of us, and I find it hard to breathe. This isn’t good.

  “Oh shit,” I whisper, my stomach knotting into a twisted ripple of fear, I might puke where I sit. We’ve been caught. The police are coming.

  “Yeah, let me get dressed,” Warner says calmly, letting the curtain fall back in place.

  “What do we do?” I ask in a panic.

  “Get dressed; fast,” Warner mutters, grabbing his jeans and shirt from his bag. Quickly with shaky fingers, I find an off-the-shoulder shirt and some lacy shorts from my bag and get dressed.

  Just as I button up my shorts the van door suddenly opens, and the park ranger reaches in, grabbing me by the wrist.

  “You’ve had enough time!” He grunts, hauling me out of the van like a felon. I scream, reaching for Warner.

  “Get the fuck away from her!” Warner barks in a protective manner I’ve never heard from him. Not having enough time to get to my feet, my knees hit the asphalt we’re parked on as I’m pulled from the van.

  “I knew it, you’re the two that are wanted, and if I had to bet, you’re responsible for that man’s death in the shower house!” He jerks me around like a disobedient child. “Come out boy, your run is over!”

  Twisting my wrist in his hold, I try and break free, I kick at his legs and tug some more. Huey barks, growling at the man from inside the van. The ranger pulls out a long black stick from the back of his belt and tries to smack at Huey with it.

  I gasp with horror.

  “Hey! Don’t hit my dog!” I punch the man in the cheek, and he raises it at me next. Closing my eyes waiting for the hit, I hear a clicking sound and the ranger lets go of my hand, causing me to fall into the van.

  Opening my eyes, Warner has the gun to the ranger’s head.

  My eyes widen, and mouth parts. Oh, my God. What is he doing?

  “River, get in the van,” Warner demands, his tone sharp. Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I grab Huey and get in the passenger seat without another word.

  “Get on your fucking knees,” Warner growls at the park ranger. He slowly gets on his knees, his hands raised in the air as he looks at me with heated eyes. Like I’m scum and shouldn’t be alive.

  Campers from all over stand at the end of their campsite watching, nobody doing anything about what’s going on.

  “Close your eyes and count to one-hundred. If I see you try and come after us, I will shoot you. Do you understand?” Warner threatens, and I gasp with desire. “Fuck it.” Warner lifts his hand and pistol-whips the ranger, knocking him out. Warner is so sexy when he’s in charge and pissed.

  Warner slams the van door shut and runs around to the driver side. Climbing in, he starts the van and we peel out of the campsite.

  Everything in the van is thrown to one side as we make a getaway. Weed flinging into my hair. My heart is beating so fast I feel sick, and my whole body shakes that we’ve been caught. That we’re going to prison and will never see each other again. That ranger is going to call the cops, he’s going to turn us in if he hasn’t already.

  “That was a close one,” I whimper. Warner glances over at me, and reaches for my hand, I grasp his and hold it tightly. I guess he’s not mad at me for accidentally killing his dad, or at least I think it was an accident. When I was tapping the herb into that bottle a part of me urged me to pour more and more just to be sure it did its job. Closing my eyes, I shake my head from the thought. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re in this together now, and we won’t stop until we reach the end.

  Driving down the highway an hour later, a cop speeds up behind us.

  “We have a cop behind us,” I tell Warner, fear wavering in my voice. I knew they’d be on us soon.

  “I see him.”

  Warner keeps going seventy miles an hour, giving the van all it has. Sirens sound beside us as another cop pulls off a side road and gets behind us.

  “Oh my God, there’s another one!” I cry, looking behind us.

  “Fuck!” Warner huffs, looking in the rearview mirror.

  “What do we do?” I look to him for answers. I’m scared, and the only thing I can think of is to shoot at them.

  “We keep going until we can’t,” he states, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “Look who it is,” Warner growls. Glancing up, Ilsa and Cassius are driving in front of us.

  My brows furrow, my blood running cold. “Hit ‘em,” I demand. Warner steps on it, our bus getting right up behind them and kissing their bumper. Their van twists and they lose control and slide off into the grass.

  Laughing, I jump in my seat and look back to watch. Two cops stop to help them. Which they will find that they are runaways, or wanted. Karma is such a bitch.

  As much as I want to be excited about what just happened to Ilsa and Cassius, I’m scared to death right now that we will be next.

  Picking Huey up, I put him in my lap and kiss his head. I’m scared. I’m so scared. Closing my eyes, I try to concentrate on my breathing and not the sirens behind us that sound like they’re multiplying by the second. I could die today. We could die today.

  Warner turns the radio on, and they’re talking about us, warning everyone to get off the highway as we approach. This is bigger than I thought. We are bigger than I thought.

  Lifting my head from Huey, I look behind us, there’s got to be at least eight cops, a sheriff, and a few state troopers by now.

  “We’re almost to Colorado, surely they can’t follow us into another state,” Warner says, looking in the rearview mirror again. I wish I knew the answer to that.

  Passing into Colorado, there are cops waiting for us with a spike strip.

  “There’s your answer,” I mumble.

  “Fuck, hold on!” Warner tries to miss the strip, veering to the far left, but it’s no use. We hit the strip.

  “Oh my God!” I scream. Loud bangs shake the van as our tires pop, and Warner has to wrestle the wheel to keep us from flipping. The two popped tires slow us down, but we keep going.

  Tears spring down my cheeks, fear settling into the root of my chest and not going anywhere. We aren’t going to escape this, they are going to catch us and we’re going to be tried for multiple murders. No matter if they were on purpose or accident, we’re just kids. Nobody will believe anything we say.

  Passing under a bridge, there are people standing on it with colorful signs.

  “Do you see that?” I point.

  Leave them alone!

  Run for love!

  We Love You!

  “We have fans.” I half laugh, half cry. Warner peeks up through the windshield and chuckles. A gleam of hope that maybe we aren’t bad people, and are fighting for something more than what people on the TV are portraying

  The van starts to really wobble, sparks flying out the back from the raw rims. The smell of worn rubber is overwhelming, and I start to panic. The cops are really gaining on us, and there’s even a helicopter above somewhere. I hear it but can’t see it.

  “River, we’re going to have to run.”

  My head snaps in his direction. “What?”

  “We can’t outrun them in this van. We gotta try and run on foot,” Warner says in a tone of voice that is much calmer than I am at the moment.

  “We can’t run, they will catch us!” I can’t leave him. We have to stick together.

  “There!” He points to a large hill, that evolves into a mountain, and another mountain behind it. It’s all foliage, and it’d be easy to hide in. “We will split up and meet at the top somewhere,” he explains.

  I shake my head. I can’t do this. I’ll get caught. What if they shoot at us. “I can’t leave you.” My chest constricts. “I don’t know where we are.”

  He grabs my hand, squeezing it.

  “You got this, little Hippie. When I stop the van, just fucking run! Don’t wait for me, don’t look back!” he’s hollering now the sirens are so loud.

  Crying,
I nod, I don’t want to leave him. What if I never see him again. What if one of us gets caught.

  Leaning over I grab him by the face and kiss him. My tears mixing into our kiss. Our last kiss.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too,” he murmurs against my lips, and with that, he slams on the brakes.

  I jump to my feet, grabbing Huey and bolt from the van. I sprint up the hill, limbs cracking under my feet, my heart beating so loud I can barely hear the sirens on the road. I slip, falling face first into a bush. Huey whelps and runs away from me.

  “Huey!” I try and reach for him, but he’s too fast. Glancing behind me I see lights, but no Warner. “Keep running,” I remind myself. Getting up, my knees are bleeding from the rough foliage, but I continue to sprint. I run and duck, and swerve as I run for my life. My sandal breaks, and I’m left barefoot on one foot.

  Crying, I whisk through the trees and sticks. Mud and bugs. The bottom of my foot stings, but I gotta keep going. I hear a gun fire off in the distance and it fuels me forward.

  Crying and sobbing, I run and jog until I can’t take anymore. Falling to the ground, I heave and huff for air. My throat dry, and stomach cramping. My fingers dig into the ground tugging myself inside of a thick bush, pulling my knees up close to me. I shiver, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m cold, fear, or from the running.

  22

  River

  “They are so amazing! I love River and Warner, they represent something this world is missin’! Love, power, and optimism. They ran for love and paved a path to service everyone!”

  – A Girl on the bridge holding a sign.

  Hours pass, and I’m still sitting in the bush. I stay there for what seems like forever. The sound of dogs in the distance keep me awake as the sun sets, but I never see anyone. My abdominal clenches, informing me I need to pee, but I don’t dare climb out of my bush at the risk of being spotted. I try to hold it, because I know those dogs will smell it as soon as I go.

  Closing my eyes, I think of Warner, hoping he’s hiding in a bush somewhere too, that he’s alive.

  The sound of dogs barking gone in the distance. I bring my foot up to inspect it, but it’s too dark to really see. It’s hurt badly though. Something ruffles in a nearby bush and I freeze. It’s big, growling, and I begin to tremble. Is it a bear?

  It growls, scratching at the ground, and I’m so scared I pee. It just pours out of me, soaking my shorts.

  Shit.

  The animal lifts it’s head as if it hears something, turns and runs. Pulling my knees back up to my chest, I rest my head on my legs and cry myself to sleep.

  The sun rises the next day, and I wake up freezing. I’m wet from my own piss, and I’m so hungry my stomach sounds like that animal from last night. Climbing out of the bush, my foot smarts, reminding me of it being hurt. Lifting it up there’s a large thorn right in the middle. The skin is discolored, and it’s hard to walk.

  Using my nails, I try and pull at the dark thorn stuck inside my foot, and the pain vibrates to the bone.

  Biting my lip, I try and stifle my cries, and decide not to pull it out for now. Glancing around, all I see is trees, I have no idea where I am.

  “Warner?” I call out, but not loud as I don’t want anyone too far away to hear me. I get nothing back but silence. Sniffling, I run my hand under my nose. I wonder where Huey went?

  Stumbling, I continue up the mountain. Reaching for limbs and trees to guide me upwards. It seems to continue on forever, no peak in sight.

  I got me and Warner in this. How did I not think we wouldn’t get caught?

  Hours pass and sweat begins to trickle down my back as it gets hotter throughout the day. I haven’t seen any water, and I’m so hungry I can’t keep going much longer. I’m dehydrated, hurt, and just to the point of giving up.

  Falling to my knees, I lay on the ground. Tears slipping from my eye sockets as I think about Warner, how my heart aches and longs for him. Maybe we will both die out here.

  Two large green boots thud into my view on the ground, but I don’t look up. I don’t have the strength. If it’s a cop, just fucking take me already.

  Suddenly I’m picked up, the smell of pine strong.

  “Stay with me,” a man’s voice whispers as he picks me up. He’s not a cop, and it’s not Warner. Lifting my head, I see a white beard and glasses. A camouflaged jacket.

  “Who are you?” I croak.

  “Name’s Cricket, and don’t you worry, I got ya,” he informs, his mustache dancing as he talks. I don’t know if I should trust him, but it’s not like I can fight him off right now.

  I’m at his mercy.

  I’m hauled up some wooden steps, and into a house. He lays me down on a gray plush couch and runs off into another room.

  Looking around, I notice wooden walls everywhere, a fireplace with a chair in front of it, and large fishing poles hung on the other wall. It smells like wood in here, fresh.

  The man hustles back into the room and kneels next to me with a cup of water.

  “Drink up,” he offers. Taking the glass, I gulp it down. The water crisp and clean, I nearly choke drinking it. “I saw you on the TV, you and that boy—”

  “Warner? Have you seen him?” I can’t help but ask, maybe he’s already here.

  “No, just you so far.”

  I frown, handing him back the glass, and I take notice of my fingers smudged with mud and dirt.

  “You called the cops, didn’t ya?” I know any minute they will be here and this old man will collect his reward.

  “Cops? Hell no. I’m a fan!” He smiles, setting the glass on a nearby table.

  “Excuse me?”

  He sits on the rocking chair, his left hand twirling his beard.

  “You and Warner remind me of me and my late Lucille. We were wild and young, told we didn’t know what love was. We ran away and built this house way back in the day.” His face takes on a sudden sadness, and he looks down. “She died two years ago from a heart attack.” Looking at me with vibrant honeycomb eyes, a smile tugs at his lips. “If she was here, she’d have taken you in though, I know it. Hell, she’d have been out there looking for ya!”

  I attempt to smile, but can’t. I feel lost without Warner, scared he’s hurt or captured. It’s not right I’m in here on a couch with water when I don’t know where he or Huey are.

  “As far as I know, they haven’t caught your friend,” Cricket informs as if he’s read my mind. My eyes snap to his, and a little hope sprinkles in my chest.

  He grabs a remote, and points at a black screen above the fireplace. The news comes on.

  “Please be aware that both suspects are still on the run, we have done everything we can into finding these two criminals. If you have any information or see them call your local department!” a large fat man wearing a badge tells a group of people on TV.

  “Sir, what do you have to say to all those who are looking at these two kids like they’re heroes, standing up for love?” a reporter asks.

  “You don’t have to spill blood to be in love,” the Sheriff snaps before walking away.

  I scoff, playing with my torn shirt. If only he knew how hard it was to be in love and being young. He’s probably single, and angry.

  Cricket turns the TV off.

  “Um, do you know anyone named Pink?” Cricket’s face goes lax. “She has pink hair, a pink dog, I think a pink house?” Cricket shakes his head.

  “No, I don’t know any Pink, but I stay on this mountain for the most part,” he informs, standing up.

  “Oh,” I murmur.

  “You want to clean up? I can make you something to eat.” Giving Cricket an off look, I still can’t decide what to think of him. Should I trust him? He’s an old man living in a log cabin on a mountain by himself.

  “Yeah.” I nod but stay cautious. Standing on my feet, I limp following him down a long hallway, and into a small bathroom. It’s all wood, even the counter.

  “Tub
is there, and towels are here,” he points to a cabinet. “And this used to be my wife’s soap, some flower smelling shit.” He grabs a bottle of pink soap from the cabinet, looking it over before handing it to me.

  “Thanks,” I whisper. The feeling like I’m invading someone’s private space heavy on my shoulders.

  “Yep, So, I guess I’ll leave ya to it.” He gives a tight smile, shutting the door behind him.

  Plopping down on the toilet seat, I lean over and start the bath. The pressure on my foot from leaning over causes me to wince. The thorn. Pulling my foot up, I look it over again. My whole foot is purple. Damn.

  Opening a drawer, I look for tweezers or something to pull the thorn free. Razors, Q-tips, and I finally spot tweezers!

  Rubbing my thumb over the wound, I poke the head of the tweezer into the hole and grasp the thick thorn.

  “Shit,” I breathe heavily, knowing this is going to hurt. “One. Two—” I jerk the tweezers, and scream from the intense pain. Dropping the tweezers, I tuck my head to my foot and cry and wail through the pain. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s as if fire has impaled itself inside my foot.

  “River!” Cricket knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”

  Sitting up, I notice the thorn is halfway out, splitting my skin. I can’t pull it all the way out, it hurts. I want to abort.

  “I need help,” I cry, my cheeks red from all the tears rushing down at once. Quickly he opens the door and looks the scene over.

  “Oh dear.” He kneels, looking my foot over like a caring father. “It’s a big one.”

  “It hurts so bad,” I whimper.

  “Some of these have poison in them,” he informs, picking up the tweezers. “We got to get it out of there, or it will just get worse.” Holding his hand up, he looks me in the eye. “Hold onto my hand, and I’m going to pull it out. You ready?”

  Closing my eyes, I nod and grasp his wrinkled hand. It’s soft and warm.

  I feel him dig in after the thorn, and in one swift jerk, he removes it. My eyes widen, and a puff of air wheezes from my sore lungs.