Running Game(175)

“I know how anxious you get… The depression. All those panic attacks? You’ve been so high strung since you came back, dear.”

“I don’t like the way these things make me feel, mom. They make me a zombie.”

“I don’t want any back talk. We have company tonight and you’re going to be on your best behavior. You take two of those or you can get out,” she said, pointing toward the door.





31





Trent





The address wasn’t in Riverton – it was hours and hours away, another quiet spot called Point’s Hallow.

My cell signal was shit out here. When I finally arrived at the village, I accidentally crossed a small bridge and passed the entire place up, expecting to find it just beyond the next bend. It was only after fifteen minutes of nothingness, driving through trees and wilderness, that I realized I’d probably missed the place altogether.

Turning around in the fading light of day, I backtracked to the bridge. Standing guard at this side, apparently marking the edge of Point’s Hallow, was a seafood restaurant. With nothing else in sight, it commanded the eye from its perch, raised on stilts over the river. Painted along the side was the name: Jack’s.

Some landmark, I thought to myself.

Back across the bridge, I investigated. None of the roads were marked, making my job tougher than it needed to be. The population couldn’t have been any more than maybe eighty or a hundred people, judging by the sparse houses. Almost nobody was around, and I didn’t want to start banging on doorknobs…

The single person I saw wandering about, a woman in smeared overalls with ratty hair, looked at me suspiciously as I pulled up and flicked up my helmet visor.

“Is this Point’s Hallow?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“I’m looking for a girl. Name of Angel.”

“Angel?” She laughed, exposing a few missing teeth. This place was seriously in the sticks. “You must be a friend of hers!” She was suddenly suspicious again, eying me strangely. “Are you a friend of hers?”

“I am,” I confirmed confidently.

The woman peered at me a moment longer, and then nodded. “Good. Yeah, she’s here. Got back into town a few days ago. You know where to find her?”

“Willow Grove Drive,” I told her.

“Yep! That’s it, her and her parents…you know how to find it?, don’t’cha?”

“I’m from out of town,” I bluntly explained.

“Right,” she cackled, sizing me up on the motorcycle. “Might’ve noticed by now, they ain’t no street signs… No fancy gee pee usss for us folks in Point’s Hallow, we don’t need ‘em… anyway, here’s what you do…”

She rattled off directions, involving a handful of turns that apparently centered on particular trees and piles of scrap. “You got that?”

“I do. You’re really helping me out here.”

“Great. Tell ‘er that ‘Tricia said ‘hi!’”

“You’ve got it, ma’am,” I nodded.

She positively swooned as I kicked back into gear and drove towards the house.

Her parents.

Old Greg had said she was in danger. He’d spent a few minutes telling me what a piece of shit Angel’s stepfather Roger was before hurrying me down the road.

But maybe he wasn’t the only piece of shit in this town.

I paused, letting the engine rumble as it idled between my thighs.

My thoughts reflected back to what Old Greg had said. Sure, I’d known a lot of that myself, but it was easy for me to justify how I treated people. When someone else explained it, someone who barely knew me…it sent a shiver up my spine.

You take what you think belongs to you.

You don’t accept ‘no.’

You CAN’T accept ‘no.’

I shook my head.

This wasn’t my decision. It was hers.

I shuddered.

No. Extenuating circumstances.

My asshole of a manager sent her away. He filled her head with complete bullshit. She never would have left it I was there. I needed to let her know how I felt.

And if she didn’t want to come with me, I’d leave her… Once I knew she was safe and sound back at Old Greg’s bar, away from the danger.

With a heavy heart, I continued on my way. Tricia’s directions had been a little on the bizarre side, but she led me the right way. After a couple of turns, I spotted the silent tire swing, dangling from a tree in the front yard.

I remembered Old Greg’s words from before, when he’d given me the address: If you pass the tree with the old tire swing, you’ve gone too far.

A dirt road was to my side, heading into the trees. I turned onto it, driving as quietly as possible through the shadows until I saw it.