PowerLess_Anti-Hero Game

by Chelsea Camaron

  My head fell into my hands as I looked down at the blue diamond patterned carpet. I was more than screwed. I was fucked and had to figure out some way to get unfucked.

  Who knew if Jolin would even be able to find me now that I left Philly. One could hope, but thinking that way could also get me killed.

  The bag Royal gave me had a wad of cash in it and along with what I pulled out of the bank that would help me. The problem with most hotels now was they had to take a credit card, and mine was currently cut to pieces in the dumpster behind Kroger.

  More hurdles that needed to be figured out. Running all of this through my head made me dog tired. Even though I had a semi-safe place last night, sleep evaded me because of the anxiety coursing through me and I couldn’t settle.

  Now, I felt it through my bones. The exhaustion, stress, fear, worry, uncertainty—all of it twisting itself around me and threatening to squeeze the life out of me.

  “Now what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ on a train?”

  My head shot up, freaked way the hell out. Seeing where the voice came from, I let out a deep breath. An older man with gray hair and wrinkles around his laughing, flirting eyes stared down at me with a wide smile. His teeth were perfect and judging from his age, probably dentures. He had on a black golf cap that reminded me of my grampa, who used to wear them all the time.

  His tweed blazer, navy trousers, and polished shoes told of his times. The cane in his hands went between his legs as he clasped his wrinkly hands together in front of him on his lap.

  There were several seats in this part of the train that were occupied, and I should probably be freaking out that he chose to sit next to me, but it didn’t come. He brought on a sense of ease which shocked the shit out of me.

  “Hey,” I said, leaning back in my chair, my duffle between my feet on the floor.

  “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, and my first thought was you already did. But that was smartassy, and I didn’t need to take my mood out on an old guy who was probably like Gramma in some ways. If someone treated her like that, I’d be pissed.

  “Nope.” My lips popped on the ‘p’ sound, and I tried to give a small smile. It was forced and the way his eyes crinkled at the sides, he knew it, but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m goin’ to visit my grandkids in Cheyenne. Their parents don’t bring them to me, so I go to them.”

  That’s terrible. Who wouldn’t bring their kids to see their dad. That puzzled me. Maybe since I grew up with my grandparents, they held different meaning. It would be like me not going to see my parents, and I’d give anything if they were alive to go and see. Your perspective changed quite a bit with acts of the past.

  This guy here, he’s up there in age. His time would be short, and I was happy for him that he was going to see his grandbabies giving them memories to hold on to for life.

  “They’ll love seeing you.”

  His smile grew wider. “Oh they love their ol’ Pop. I talk to ’em a coupla times a week through the video thing on the computer. It took me a few goes, but I got the hang of it eventually. They didn’t have that stuff in my time. We actually had to mail letters or go hundreds of miles to tell someone a message. Kids these days don’t know what that’s like. Everything at the tip of their fingers.”

  My body relaxed from the tension I didn’t know it was keeping as I listened to the man speak about this three grandkids, Charles, Lucy, and Trace.

  Yes, my mind should’ve been on my situation, but hearing him talk about the kids was a break. A break from the craziness my life was taking me. A break I desperately needed because my situation wasn’t changing no matter how much I dwelled on what went wrong.

  His life appeared normal. Something I had no idea if I would ever see again. As I listened, Gary, that was his name, told me about the wife he had been married to for fifty-seven years until she died—his kids, grandkids, and the assisted living place he lived at.

  The man had a more active social life than I ever had in my entire life. Bingo, bunko, poker and everything in between filled his days. Holidays and summer breaks, he traveled by train to visit his kids and see his grandchildren. He didn’t drive anymore because from time to time he got mixed up. I remembered when Gramma was early in her disease and it was simple mix-ups. I hoped for Gary’s sake he could continue these trips safely without missing his stop.

  He didn’t ask me a single time about my life or about me.

  Some would probably find this rude, but not me. I found relief in his conversations about everything and everyone but me. Since there was no way to tell him about the fucked up situation my life had become; it was a blessing.

  Hours he spent talking, and the fatigue never grabbed hold of me. It kept me alert and watchful. For what I had no idea, but his words were interesting and soothing. I appreciated that.

  “Welp, my stop is gonna be up soon. Need to go to my cabin and get a rest in before that happens. Thanks for talking with me,” he said, using his cane to get up, and I found myself reaching over to help him get steady on his feet.

  After a few moments and lots of pops and creaks from his poor bones, he looked down at me and the smile was there, but it was different. Almost like when I’d get in trouble and Grampa would have to talk to me about it, but he really wasn’t mad about it.

  I braced.

  “Life, it doesn’t always give us the money balls,” he began, and I widened my eyes not following. “Baseball. Life is like baseball. We get more hard knocks than the grand slams. Life throws us curveballs. Life throws us groundballs, fast balls, and breaking balls. Life wants us to strike out. You have two choices. Take the brush back and step away from the batter’s box in fear, or step up to the plate, wait for your pitch, and knock it out of the park. You got it in you to make the right choice.”

  He turned and then left me.

  I sat there for long hours, after the train stopped several times letting people on and off, thinking about what Gary and Royal said.

  Survivor.

  Royal said this was my way to survive. Gary said I had it in me to make the right choice. Was running the right choice? Or should I return home to step in and face whatever was thrown at me?

  I closed my eyes and thought about the pain in Royal’s voice. No, moving on was the only choice I had. Now, the curve ball had been thrown and it was my play.

  And my play was to live my life to the fullest.

  I survived my parents’ death, my grampa’s, Gramma losing what was left of her mind… Now, I would survive without Royal. I could make a new life for myself because I was a damn survivor.

  Too bad the hair on the back of my neck kept standing on end, telling me it wouldn’t be that easy. Wish I had a damn razor to cut it off because I would make it happen.

  The stop for Clearview, Colorado came over the speaker, jolting me from my few minute cat nap alerting the stop I’d planned on getting off. I gathered my things, and ten minutes later the train was stopping at the station.

  Getting off with my ball cap and sunglasses on, it felt good to stretch my legs and breathe in the clean, crisp air. People were scattered all around, but no one that I recognized.

  Invisible.

  That’s what I would be from now on. Just live my life as best as I could.

  Little did I know, those hairs on the back of my neck were there for me to listen to, not brush off.

  6

  Dane

  Three Weeks Later

  The open road calmed my frustration. Me, my ride, and nothing but quiet for miles. I needed the time out before I told the Zook family where the fuck they could go. My patience with them was waning, had been for a while now.

  I wanted nothing more than to wrap my hands around Jolin’s throat and squeeze the life out of him, watching his eyes flash in fear as he took his last breath.

  He wasted my time.

  I didn’t waste time, energy, or resources. Ever.

  He put me in this fucked up mess.

 
He wanted to believe I was his bitch boy and I wasn’t, but that was how he treated me. I wasn’t here on his marker or his dime, but his uncle’s all because even his uncle knew Jolin locked up was a liability. His stupidity and arrogance made him bad for business, and his Uncle knew that better than anyone. The only thing saving his sorry ass was the blood in his veins and his last name. If I stayed a moment later, those two things wouldn’t mean a damn thing to me.

  Aspen Everly Kimmel was gone. Vapor.

  Not a single sign of her in the entire area could be found. Since the night chasing her from the neighbors, she hadn’t returned. She was as good as ghost. Her co-workers, while not close with her, were concerned saying she wasn’t the type to not call in. With five years at the spa, her abrupt abandonment took both management and her clients by surprise.

  It sort of shocked me. She had a good thing going for her here. But I also knew she was smart. Anyone around Jolin Zook with half a brain knew the man was dangerous. She had enough wits about her to know to get away while she could. While this obviously made my job more of a challenge, given that the woman seemed to be truly innocent, I had to give her credit for at least knowing what to do when faced with a monster the likes of him.

  Freeman Zook knew his nephew well. When I made the call to request an additional man for the job, Freeman didn’t hesitate. Then again, that was more about trusting me and what I needed for the job than questioning his nephew. Freeman wasn’t stupid. Whatever I needed to handle Aspen while protecting all of our asses he would provide. The extra man I requested wasn’t an assassin like me, but rather a tracker.

  Therefore, his aide allowed me to cover both women equally. While I was babysitting Royal Tyng with my thumb up my ass, I had a man who stayed on the hunt. In order for the marker to be paid up, I had to be the one to deliver the kill shot. I wouldn’t let anyone else take that from me. The plan paid off.

  My associate, Lincoln “Link” Jacoby, who was a skilled tracker reached out with a location. Sure, by the time I brought him in, she had a twelve-hour lead on him, but it wasn’t long before he closed in. Even though she gave no sign or indication of where she would go, Link was that good at his job.

  I should’ve had him with me that night when she was spotted. It was a mistake I wouldn’t repeat. I shouldn’t have waited for her not to report to work for the second day. She stayed hidden all day until using the cover of night to go to her home with Royal. I didn’t anticipate her leaving and thought she would be at work the next day. She wasn’t, and I soon realized Aspen Everly was going to put up a fight. She was quick on her feet and keeping her wits about her in a very tough situation.

  I underestimated her.

  It wouldn’t happen again. Even though I admired her tenacity, she was making my job more complicated with every mile she had between me and her.

  I was ready to be done with the Zook clan. She was all that stood between me and being able to tell them to fuck off once and for all. Part of me wanted to kill them all, but that would be bad for business. And in the end my reputation, my code, I owed Freeman Zook, and I wouldn’t cross him. He gave me my way out from Amos and the opportunity to learn the skills I had now. I wouldn’t forget where I came from, nor would he let me.

  While I didn’t agree with the call from Jolin to be Royal’s watchdog without a true stand-down from Freeman, I was stuck. Link was my extra eyes so I could determine where I really needed to be.

  The call yesterday from Link followed by a message from Freeman gave me the order to leave Pennsylvania in my rearview and Royal Tyng. Freeman wanted Aspen out of the picture within the next week. He had given her more than enough time to return on her own. His message was clear—my target and focus needed to remain on Aspen, not his nephew’s sex toy. Freeman Zook wasn’t a patient man. While Jolin kept spouting on and on that Aspen would return, Freeman wasn’t buying it. Having Link on her, Freeman’s instinct was right.

  Aspen wasn’t coming back even for Royal.

  With every passing day watching this woman who was truly afraid of her own shadow, I grew more frustrated with Jolin. Royal Tyng posed not a single threat to anyone but herself. Honestly, her trust for men like him would be what got her killed whether from Jolin in the future or some other fucker. The more Jolin wanted reports on her rather than Aspen, the more I wanted to silence him. At this point, I would rather put the bullet in him than my actual target.

  The miles passed on as I made my way to Clearview, Colorado.

  Aspen Kimmel was proving to be a very resourceful woman. She had successfully found a job, gotten a place, and started a new life under an alias. All of this in three weeks.

  The chick was even smart enough to dye her hair and cut it. According to Link, she even wore colored contacts, blue instead of her green.

  Someone did their homework on leaving an identity behind.

  She was clever.

  She was smart.

  Unfortunately for her, she was up against me and my team.

  Link was a master at watching while remaining unseen. Every move Aspen made, he had reported. Her schedule was now at my fingertips.

  Pulling into the hotel, I parked and scanned the area looking for anything amiss. Checking in under my alias for work, the middle-aged woman at the front desk handed me the envelope Link left for me and I went to my room. He was off to his next job once I confirmed I would be in town in a matter of hours. Never being seen together, anyone trying to tie the two of us to our business would be a challenge.

  Inside the envelope was the address to the room Aspen was renting and all the information Link pulled on her life here. Using one of those Air BNB apps to find a room in a short-term rental, she kept herself off the radar and a roof over her head. Most of those per night or weekly room rental people preferred to be paid in cash. Again, another well thought-out answer to her problem. Walking to her job and taking a job that paid cash only was yet another smart move.

  I had to give the woman credit.

  Nothing we found linked her past to pottery, but that’s what she currently did. She managed to find a job at a local craft store making bowls, pitchers, and the like. It paid her great and was something at a time when she truly had nothing. She got paid in cash for the pottery she made and sold. It was a job she was very successful at in such a short period of time.

  I admired that the woman wasn’t afraid to work. She didn’t hole up somewhere and wallow in how fucked up her situation was. And her situation was truly fucked up. She found a way to survive, she put in the work to get by.

  After finishing reading the information given to me, I tucked the envelope into my luggage and took a shower. She stayed on my mind. The woman was resilient, strong, smart, and I found all of those qualities attractive.

  The more I found myself thinking about her in that frame of mind, the more I knew I needed to finish this job. It had been a long two days on the road, and I needed rest because obviously my head wasn’t screwed on straight. I had plans for the morning scouting this new area.

  Finding the right opportunity and location without spooking her would be critical to my job.

  I finished brushing my teeth and had just leaned against the headboard to relax when my phone pinged with a message.

  Freeman Zook: Bring her to me breathing

  Well, if that didn’t just change everything.

  7

  Aspen

  The clay feathered through my fingers giving my hands a massage. It moved and molded as the wheel spun forming beauty.

  Pottery.

  Who’d have thought this would be my gig. The last time I put my hands on clay was in high school when we had to make a pitcher for our final grade.

  Mine caved in. Since it was my teacher’s fault for running into it, she passed me. Truth was, it probably would have caved anyway, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. As a teen, I was just focused on getting it done. It was a class, the only thing I cared about was getting it over and moving on in life.


  Knowing what I knew now for bowls and their uses, I understood why it was necessary to have even walls and not too thin on the bottom. Back then I didn’t think about a serving dish, or the purpose of the pieces we were required to make. I was given an assignment and I did it, period.

  Like Calculus, I didn’t expect to ever use the class again. It was an elective. I simply chose it for what I thought to be an easy grade. Yet, everything Ms. Fowl taught me came back. Just like riding a bike I was making pottery, but only better this time. It wasn’t that I hated the class, I enjoyed it, but I never thought it was a job opportunity of any kind. Except, here I was now.

  Practice made perfect, and with every piece I was getting more skilled. Never in my life would I have expected to have my hands building something that people loved to put on their tables and use for food.

  They did, though. Lots of people here in Colorado loved them and in only a few weeks, the pots, bowls, and other pieces were flying off the shelves.

  Cora, the lady who owned the shop, allowed me to come in whenever I wanted and create. I don’t think she realized that meant I would be here every day anytime the door was open, but she hadn’t sent me home yet. I wasn’t afraid of hard work. Doing something I enjoyed made it even better. I had bills to pay and money to save up in the event I needed to leave, so this was important at a level she couldn’t understand. Anything I sold was money in my pocket minus a small percentage to Cora for the shop and supplies. It was a perfect trade off. Customers didn’t even baulk at only paying me cash. Once a woman asked me to hold one of my larger pots while she ran to the ATM for the cash.

  It worked out great, and I couldn’t have planned this any better if I tried.

  Cora was a sweet woman, meeting each other by accident and becoming good friends. Friends. A thing I never thought I’d be able to have again. She was older than me by about ten years. She never had kids of her own, only this shop. She had never been married, saying she wasn’t willing to settle and the right one hadn’t come along yet. Her mind was full of color and curves like the many vases she created. She said too many men found life in black and white of gender roles and expectations. She flew by the seat of her pants, completely spontaneous except for her business. She was a girl boss and proud of it. Everything about her comforted me. I enjoyed our talks, working together, and building as much of a friendship as we could. Because I had to hold back. This relationship, while special to me, was something I had to guard. She couldn’t know of my past or why I came here. She was cool with that and never pushed me.