Journeys Begin

Annabelle worked her way through the woods, heading back to her foster parents’ house. She hoped she could use the short cuts she knew to beat the sheriff’s department there. She needed clothes, money, and food before she could go anywhere. She knew she wouldn’t make it twenty miles without some supplies.

Living in the middle of nowhere had its advantages. The cops were still nowhere to be seen, and her foster parents had both left for their jobs in Des Moines well before seven. The house would be empty; she would have it to herself one last time.

Annabelle didn’t care much for her foster mother and father, but she would miss her home and the woods around it. She loved the peace and tranquility she could find deep in the untamed field of trees behind her home. She knew she wouldn’t see that kind of peace for some time to come.

She started in the kitchen pantry. She pulled every can fruit and vegetable she could stand and stuffed them in to a left over Wal-Mart bag. She managed to gather a dozen cans, mostly corn. Not the healthiest choice, but it would keep her full. She threw a box of saltines in to another bag, before heading in to the kitchen proper. She retrieved a can opener from a drawer; no point in having a bunch of cans if you couldn’t open them. She grabbed the remaining bananas from the table and threw them on top of the crackers. Already with two full bags, she popped open the fridge only long enough to grab a six-pack of water from inside.

She headed upstairs to her bedroom next. When she reached her room, she shoved both bags in to the duffel bag she used when she traveled. She threw a couple shirts, a change of jeans, and her clean bras and underwear in to the bag, before peeling off her own rank-smelling, blood soaked clothing. She dumped the soiled clothing in to another plastic bag. She’d have to dispose of them later. She didn’t want to give the monsters who had killed Richie any help in framing her. She threw on her most comfortable jeans and a light blouse. She pulled a windbreaker over it. At least she was dressed to travel, she thought.

She zipped the bag shut and walked across the hall to her foster parents’ room. She pulled out the middle drawer. She pried the loose bottom panel up and free. She doubted her foster parents suspected she knew where they hid their money. She didn’t much care; she needed the funds to survive. She shoved the $400 in twenties in her pocket and headed downstairs toward the front stairs.

The rotating lights from outside stopped her in her tracks. She ran down the stairs and to the living room. She glanced through the main window while standing behind the heavy curtains as best as she could. She caught sight of the sheriff’s cruiser outside, and quickly pulled her head away from the window, hoping no one had seen her.

Someone knocked on the door.

Shit! They’d found her already.

*****

Sheriff Joseph Edward Tilby didn’t like the idea of a murder in Madison county. The tourism surrounding the now legendary covered bridges since the publication of that dang fool novel years back was the county’s main source of income, and murders were bad for business. He wasn’t as sure as his deputies that the Montalvo girl was the killer, but he knew they needed an arrest as soon as possible. He also knew the girl would probably go down for the crimes, whether she committed them or not. He didn’t like it, but he knew how these things worked nowadays. The good ol’ boys of Tudor wouldn’t let her get away, guilty or not.

He knocked on the door one more time, again with no response. He had a warrant, which he still found a bit strange, as most of the time you couldn’t even get a hold of the judge this early in the morning. It didn’t matter right now, Tilby reminded himself. He had the warrant, and occupied or not, he was going in to the house.

Tilby stepped back and looked at the door. It was a big, heavy looking door with an intricate pattern embedded in it. Most homeowners thought doors like these were sturdy, but he knew better. The inlays were almost always made of a thinner panel of wood. A panel of wood that caved in without too much force.

He was pushing sixty, but Tilby had the musculature of a man half his age, despite the slight bulge forming around his middle. He stepped back, brought his boot up, and slammed it in to the door with all his strength. It buckled under the impact, and he could feel the frame crack at the blow. He slammed his foot in to the door again and the inlay shattered at the impact. He reached through the hole and unlocked the door.

He unholstered his .38 before opening the door. He stepped in the entryway, keeping both hands on his gun as he moved through the building. No need to take chances. He surveyed the living room, followed by the bathroom, before continuing in to the kitchen. He didn’t like this scene at all; everything about this case felt wrong.

As he entered the kitchen, he brought up his weapon as he caught movement. He stared down the barrel of the gun at the screen door, flopping in the wind. The back door stood open. He stepped out and looked down the hill leading in to the woods.

Tilby cursed under his breath. Guilty or not, Annabelle Montalvo was gone in to those woods. She could be anywhere within miles by now.

He pulled his radio off his belt. He brought it to his mouth and flipped the switch to talk. “The girl’s gone, Jane,” he said to his dispatcher. “Let’s get every deputy we can together. We need to catch this girl before she gets out of the county.”

Jane gave him a ten four, and Tilby clipped the radio back to his belt. The second his hand moved away from his waist, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

The knife pressed in to his neck just below his Adam’s apple before he had even had a chance to react. Whoever this guy was, he thought, he’s damn fast.

“Move and you die, old man.” The voice was barely audible, just a whisper.

“Son,” Tilby said as a grin came to his face. “You just made the biggest damn mistake of your life.”

Tilby brought his elbow back in to his assailant’s gut. As his elbow made contact, he brought his other arm up to his shoulder. He grabbed the attacker’s hand and yanked the knife forward, away from his own neck. He brought his other hand up to hold the knife hand with both of his own. He locked the attacker’s arm over his own shoulder, and rolled the criminal up and over his shoulder and to the floor, making sure to avoid the knife as best as he could. Never releasing his hold and the man’s knife hand, Tilby twisted it around and behind his would-be assassin’s back. He felt the fool’s shoulder pop free of its socket as he wrenched back on it.

Tilby’s free hand went to his belt, where he pulled his handcuffs free and latched them around his attacker’s wrist.

He pulled his pistol free from its holster. He placed it up against the man’s ski mask covered temple. “Now then, I think you have some explaining to do.”

He pulled the ski mask off the mystery man. Tilby moved around the other man to get a look at his face. His attacker stared forward blankly. He made a strangled noise deep in his throat, and Tilby saw his eyes roll back in his head. Wit one final choke, the mystery man dropped forward to the floor, dead.

“Shit,” Tilby muttered. If this wasn’t a big enough problem already.

Tilby heard a faint noise from the living room. It sounded like a faint beeping.

“Shit bricks.” Tilby turned towards the back door, moving faster than even he thought he could.

He was half way down the hill when the house exploded. The shockwave sent him tumbling down the hill. It saved his life, as well, as seconds later a wall of flame blasted over him.

One thing Tilby knew for certain. This was far more than a simple lovers’ spat went wrong. Whoever was behind this had thought he was an easy mark, but he would show them just how mistaken they were.

*****

Freedom pulled the El Camino in to a bare field just outside Fairfield just after 3 a.m. He knew he needed to pick up a few hours of sleep, before he went any further. Even a couple hours would be more than he had managed in quite some time.

The rising sun woke him, and he spent the next few minutes trying to get the El Camino to start in the dewy morning air. After delivering a few choice expletives at the vehicle, it wheezed and came alive.

He drove the old beater back on to the county road and headed towards town.

He had a rendezvous with his favorite transcendental meditator. He just hoped Iniri wouldn’t kill him before she’d heard him out.