by C. M. Lally
I repeat these affirmations over and over until I am powerful and strong. I am ready to conquer today, but first I need a shower.
When I come out of the bathroom, Myla is sitting on the couch flipping through the channels and ignoring the video replay or any broadcasts coming from outside. She winces when she sips the instant coffee she must have made. “Not good, huh?”
“Hell no, but it’s all I’ve got until room service gets here.”
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Room Service.”
“And there you have it. I’ll get dressed in your room.”
“Stay in there until I say it’s clear.”
I nod my head and grab my bag closing the door behind me. As I pass the window, a helicopter buzzes around outside. I know it’s not for the Sunday morning traffic report. All of a sudden, I know how my sister feels with the paparazzi. Feeling hunted and trapped is miserable.
This is the crap my mother always warned us about. Why was it always Monty that I pictured being harassed like this? I’m a nobody sports medicine physician. Well, I’m not a nobody anymore.
As I pull my leggings on, my phone beeps with a text. It’s Dale.
D: I’m in room 526. I have disguises. Be here in thirty, and ready to leave.
Me: okay
There’s a light tap on the bedroom door before Myla pushes the door ajar. “You can come out now.”
“Thank you.” I pull a t-shirt on and stuff everything back into my bag. One last look around the room shows me I have all of my stuff, but Myla still has a lot of packing to do.
“Hey, there wasn’t much to choose from, so I just ordered bagels. We’ll get something when we are finally out of here. Okay?” She hands me a cup of coffee, but it isn’t made the bulletproof way. My heart squeezes tight in my chest at the first thought of Braxton.
“Dale is here. We have to pack up and be in his room in thirty minutes.”
“How the hell did Dale get here?” Myla whips her head around to me in shock. “Nevermind. Marlena Knight is in full protection mode. She’s circling the wagons to make sure the stench doesn’t cling to anyone named Knight.”
She walks to her bedroom and throws her suitcase onto the bed and lays it open. She sweeps through the room haphazardly throwing articles of clothing into it. Within a few minutes, she has circled the entire suite, bathroom included and is zipping it all up into one messy bag of luggage.
“I’m ready,” she announces, sitting down again to finish her bagel and sip the last of the coffee in her mug. I look at her, and the situation that we’re in floods my heart with regret. She’s bailed me out of more situations than I care to admit. “This too shall pass,” she reminds me.
My phone beeps with a text. It’s from Braxton.
B: Are you all right? Answer the phone.
My finger hovers over the reply button, but I hesitate. Tears fill my eyes at the thought of leaving. I can’t stay. Not anymore. My stunt of running away from home has come full circle.
“Is that Braxton?” Myla has always had this sixth sense when I’m hurting. She takes my phone from me and responds.
M: It’s Myla. She’s still sleeping. She’s fine.
B: Thank God. You’re surrounded. I’ll figure something out.
“You’re a knight in shining armor is a great man. It’s too bad we’re about to run.” She hands me back my phone. Her sad doe eyes reflect my heart.
I have to ride out the storm until it’s over. “Let’s go.” The thought of all my stuff back in the trailer squeezes at my mangled heart, but that’s a worry for another day.
Myla opens the door first and peeps outside. The hallway is clear. I put on Braxton’s ball cap pulling the bill low again, and we head to the elevator.
It takes just a few minutes to get to Dale’s room, and I knock.
He opens it with a flourish, motioning us in quickly with his hands. “I didn’t expect you for an hour.”
“You said thirty minutes in your text,” I snap at him.
“I’m used to playing this game with actors and actresses that have no sense of time. Sorry. I keep forgetting you're not in the biz.”
“This is not a game. My career is on the line, and I didn’t do anything wrong. This whole thing is ridiculous.”
“Famous last words,” he laughs. Arrogant ass. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but his phone rings. He walks across the room to talk, pacing back and forth. “...Room 526. Yes. You’ve got her for a half hour, and then we’re leaving.” He ends the call and turns back to me.
“Excuse me, but who was that?” I walk over to him while Myla sits on the edge of the bed. Some wigs, hats, and sunglasses are scattered around the bed, and she starts rifling through them, picking up each wig and finger-combing the hair.
“We can’t leave the state until you give the police your statement. It’s standard procedure,” he tries to assure me, but the eye-roll that follows his words is not comforting. He’s very dismissive. I don’t like him and never have.
Someone knocks on the door, causing me to jump. Myla scoops up the disguises and tosses them under the pillows. I give her one of my ‘Really’ looks with my raised eyebrow.
“What?” No one needs to know what you’re going to look like walking out of here,” she explains.
Dale opens the door, and two men walk in; I assume they are policemen. The knots in my stomach keep pulling tighter the longer I stay in this room.
Brief introductions are made as Detective Ron Blair and Detective Paul Morrison. We spend about thirty minutes going over the details of the few interactions I had with Wes in the time leading up to and the day of the accident. I answer all of the questions that I can without violating the doctor-patient privilege. Dale stopped the conversation when we got close to speculations that he wasn’t comfortable with.
“My first inclination is to believe this is an accident,” Det. Morrison states.
“Or a very elaborate suicide mission with painkillers, alcohol, and the imminent danger of the sport. It all adds up to ‘crazy’ to me,” Det. Blair shakes his head in amazement. “We have your attorney’s contact number in case we have any additional questions.”
“Yes, Dr. Knight. You are free to leave the state,” Det. Morrison says. With that good news, I expel a huge sigh of relief.
“If I can get out of here with all of the news media outside.”
“Ignore them. I’m sure they want the feel-good story out of it for ratings,” Det. Blair hints.
“There is no feel-good story here. A man died. Period,” I exclaim in anger. I know it’s not his fault. He was trying to ease my anxiety. Myla comes over and shakes their hands in a goodbye gesture for me, as I step out onto the balcony. Dale escorts them out, making sure they have his card. This whole thing is beyond senseless.
I look out at the street below, and my heart breaks for a man who had no one. He just wanted to ride bulls in a sport that he loved.
There’s no way I can continue with the circuit. My heart isn’t in it. I’ll take a break. Find another job. Maybe in another town where no one knows my name or has seen that damn video. Someplace that doesn’t have any cell phone towers or the internet.
The balcony door opens, and Myla sits across from me. “He’s ready to go and, unfortunately, they don’t have an underground parking lot. We have to get you ready to leave the hotel, as well, so you can walk out into this mess unrecognized.”
“I know.” A tear falls and splashes onto my leggings.
“Hey, I know what you’re thinking.”
“I bet you don’t. There’s some crazy stuff going on in there right now.”
“I’ve not been your best friend since pre-K, and haven’t learned a thing or two about that mind of yours. It’s a steel trap for sure. Once things get set in your mind, you leave them there.”
She’s right. I am stubborn, but that’s just my inner redhead exerting its position on the matter.
“I know you want to run and hide somewhere fa
r, far away where the internet doesn’t exist. Well, I’ve got news for you. It’s everywhere.” She throws her arms wide open to symbolize the universe. “Even Tibetan Monks use social media. You did nothing wrong. This is no different than people getting pulled off planes and family military reunions; you were simply the subject of a heart-breaking video. Give it twenty seconds, and another adorable cat video will be uploaded and get more views and likes than your video.” She laughs and nudges my knees with her hand.
I stand and stretch my legs, taking one last look over the balcony wall at the street below. I wish they’d all go away.
I should have put him on the injured list.
I should have spoken more sternly to him about the alcohol.
I should have reported him to Bill as soon as he came up to me near the chutes.
I hope they all forgive me for killing their friend someday.
“Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Chapter 22 – Braxton
IT TOOK ME A FEW HOURS to get everything in play, but the plan that we’ve all put together is a good one. I must say, I’m impressed with the way our road family pulled together on this.
Hannah and Artie have backed their camper into the west alley sealing it off while Colossus is blocking the east alley. Mandy, Hazel, and Virgil are waiting at the side entrance near the exercise room. Everyone is on group text and waiting for the signal from me.
I enter the hotel lobby and ask the lady at the front desk for the manager on duty. It takes about ten minutes, but he finally arrives. He’s a tall, lanky man who can’t be older than twenty. He must be fresh out of hospitality school— so fresh; I don’t think the ink has dried on his diploma yet.
His hair is a mess; like it’s been finger-combed a dozen times in the last hour. “I’m Michael Yates, the Manager. How may I help you?”
“I’m Braxton Ryder, one of the bull rider’s with the PBR.” He shakes my extended hand when offered. “Have you seen or heard about the accident we had last night?”
“Who hasn’t? It’s the cause of all my stress today.” He holds out an arm pointing to the news vans outside, clogging up the front walk. “I can’t get them to leave.”
“Maybe I can help you with that. The doctor on that infamous video is a guest here. Now we need to sneak her out and away from here, but we need your help. Will you help us?”
“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but the doctor isn’t here anymore. Her lawyer took her away this morning, along with her friend.”
“What? What time did they leave?” Anger boils inside me. I’ve been planning this all fucking day. Why didn’t Myla call me? I should have called back when she was awake, but I was in planning mode then, and it all moved quickly until now.
“They left just after the mid-shift began, so a little after 11:00 am when the detectives left.”
“Detectives?” The anger inside me is about to spill out. “Fucking lawyers,” I mumble under my breath as I walk toward the front doors. I pull out my phone to send a text.
Me: She’s gone. It’s over.
A/H: What? How?
Mandy: Let’s meet back at camp. We’ll meet you at your truck.
I come around the corner to see everyone waiting in my truck for me. I’m still fuming mad. Maybe I should have taken my time coming back here or cruised the block one more time. My anger and the need to get away from the craziness on the street propelled me forward to my truck.
I hop into the cab, and there’s nothing but silence. No one knows what to say, but that’s okay because I don’t have any words. I’m stunned and surprised at this turn of events.
She didn’t give me time to fix it.
That’s because she didn’t trust me.
She’s back to letting everyone else run her life for her.
She took the easy way out, and I’m more than just angry. I’m disappointed, and for some reason, that hurts more.
Mandy catches my eye in the rearview mirror. She knows— although I’m showing no outward sign of how I feel. The pitiful look on her face reflects my heart. Sad and shattered.
Of all the people in my life whom I thought would hurt me, she was never one of them.
I let her in. I was willing to wait to make her mine.
I was building something strong and everlasting with her.
Friends before lovers and then soul mates; isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?
I told her all of my secrets, even the buried ones that nearly killed me to dredge up.
I told her my hopes and dreams.
She was my sunrise and my sunset.
I park Colossus in front of my camper and offer to help Hazel out of the truck. I run around to the passenger side and make sure she is steady as she slides down out of the front seat and into Mandy’s waiting arms.
“I don’t know what to say other than thank you all for offering to help today. I’m gonna move on to Terra Haute solo.” All three ladies give me tight hugs, and Virgil smacks my back, man-to-man. Artie nods his approval.
“I’ll have supper ready when you get there. You be sure and come over,” Hazel insists, shaking her index finger at me.
“Oh, there’s no way I’m missing a Hazel meal. You can count on me.” She beams a smile at me as she steps up into her trailer.
Mandy makes a phoning gesture to me in case I need to talk. “I’ll call if I need you.” She nods and hops up into her truck. I wave to Artie and Hannah as they move on out.
It looks like our rescue mission failed.
For as much as I’d like to blame the attorney, Noa is a grown adult. She can make her own decisions, and she has. Hopefully, a few days off will help her to recover from the stress and strain of the accident. I’m sure we’ll talk when she comes back, but I don’t know how much I’ll have to say at that point.
The king pin slides into the fifth wheel easily connecting Colossus and the camper, as it always does. I look around the almost empty parking lot and see Bill walking around Wes’s trailer with a flashlight. What’s he doing?
“Bill, do you need help?” He’s bending at the knees down on the ground and contorting his body to look under the camper.
“Jesus, Braxton. You scared me. I thought everyone was gone already.”
“I was just about to pull out when I saw you bending low with the flashlight. Do you need me to get up under there?”
“If you could. I’d like to know what he was doing under there. My knees don’t want to cooperate today, of all days.”
“Alright.” I bend low and take the flashlight from him. Thank God Wes has a short wheelbase with one bedroom. I flip over onto my back and scoot underneath it, clearing cobwebs and removing dried leaves as I go further under the trailer.
There’s no way he was under here. The cobwebs are too thick and dirty. He’d have had to have cleared them to see anything. I’m underneath the kitchen and bathroom plumbing now, and the door hatch is covered in a massive web of bugs, dried mud, and road salt.
I shine the flashlight from corner to corner and see some green spray paint that looks odd. I roll over several times to get to it and see it’s just numbers and arrows pointing to a latch. Five feet by four feet. I pull down on the handle and see it’s a small trap door into Wes’s trailer. Why the fuck does he have that?
I get out from under the trailer and shake the dirt off me.
“Well, what was he working on?”
“Bill, I have absolutely no idea. The cobwebs are a foot deep and thick as Halloween under there. I don’t think he’s been under there in years, but he does have a trap door built in.”
“He’s got a what? A trap door? What in tarnation does he have that for?”
“I have no idea. I don’t have one in my trailer. It looks like it’s self-installed.”
“Let’s go take a look.” He pulls the trailer keys out of his pocket and we go inside.
I walk over and measure by steps out from the window about where it should be and kick t
he floor. Nothing happens. I walk around stomping the floor in a two-foot radius and finally, it gives way.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Bill stands over the trap door quiet as a church mouse thinking. He looks up at the window and all around the room trying to figure it out. It’s not near anything, and he doesn’t have it covered up like it was a mistake or something he changed his mind about.
He looks up at me, rubbing the creases and wrinkles on his forehead. “I’m just as confused as you are. You’re sure you don’t have a trap door and don’t know about it?”
I shrug my shoulders and pull my keys out of my pocket. “We can look, but I don’t think so.”
We enter my camper, and I measure out the same rough spacing and start kicking around on the floor. Nothing. Bill starts helping, but we don’t find anything.
“Let’s go check mine.” I lock up, and we cross the lot to the business trailer and step inside Bill’s trailer. This layout is different since part of the kitchen is used as the office.
We measure out the same rough distance, but can’t quite get around the desk.
“I think it should be under the desk drawers,” I say while Bill starts pushing the desk away from its current position. “It only needs to move about a foot to the right. Pick it up, Bill.”
We both pick it up and set it back down after a few steps. I start kicking the linoleum and down swings the trap door, making a big thud as it smacks the bottom of the floor.
“What the hell. That thieving sack of shit.” Bill looks at me with narrowed eyes. “That’s where we keep the deposit.”
“Looks like we caught our thief.” I reach down and pull the door back up.
“But where’s the money?” Bill sits in a chair, his voice is tired and worn down. Heavy bags cause the skin under his eyes to sag as he rubs them. “It wasn’t in his trailer. We were all over it the other day.”
