her compact mirror. The area surrounding her mouth is clean and her lipstick isn't even smudged. Impressive .
The frightened young woman is huddled against the front tire of her car. She watches Amber approach. Her mascara is clumped and her eyeliner is running down her cheeks.
Amber crouches before the girl. “Here, let me see.” She puts a hand under the younger woman's trembling chin and starts to wipe around her eyes with a cleansing pad.
“Thank you ... for what you did,” the girl says. Her voice is timid and wavering. “I won't tell anyone I saw you.”
Amber finishes up and closes her purse. “Tell them the truth. Just give me fifteen minutes after you leave before calling the cops - don't take your car. You've had too much to drink.”
“Okay,” the girl says.
“Don't look over there when you get up. Not if you want to sleep. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Both women stand. The younger of the two is slightly unsteady on her legs. Amber helps her stabilize.
The girl thanks Amber again, then dips her head and hurries for the exit.
Amber watches her go. The girl doesn't look back.
“ What will you do now ?”
Amber turns to see Michael standing over the dead man's body. “What I always do. Disappear.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“Why would you want to do that? You appear to have a life.”
Michael approaches her. “Not really. I'm a bit of a nomad, truth be told.”
Amber shakes her head. “You don't even know me. We only met about an hour ago.”
“That's what makes it all the more exciting.”
Amber looks hesitant.
“C'mon, go with the flow. Maybe it's fate.”
“I don't believe in fate.”
“But it was another woman I followed into the club, kept my eye on her the whole time. I thought you were her until I got up close.”
“Disappointed?”
“Nope.”
As nice as Michael seems – especially on the eye – Amber wonders if she really needs the baggage.
Perhaps that's exactly what she needs .
She turns from him.
... And then she senses it.
Michael watches Amber walk towards a silver Ford Focus. "Is everything okay?"
He decides to follow.
Amber approaches the front of the car. A pair of feet are poking out past the fender. “Seems I wasn't the only one spilling blood here tonight.”
Michael peers past Amber's shoulder. “So this one has nothing to do with you then?”
“I'm not a psychopath,” she replies.
“Relax. It was a joke.”
Amber negotiates her way past Michael and looks in the direction of the parking garage exit. “Can't you sense it?”
Michael looks nonplussed. “Sense what?”
“God, you really are out of practice. It's the same feeling I had tonight with the man who attacked the girl.”
“And?”
“Well, whoever did this - to this other man.” Amber folds her arms. “They're going to do it again if they're not stopped.”
THREE
July, 1994; Texas, USA
It was the dying moments of twilight.
Tufts of cotton-candy cloud drifted aimlessly across a magnificent burnt orange hue that was slowly being replaced by a deep indigo spread. Below the horizon, the World was quickly becoming enveloped by a ubiquitous blanket of shadow.
The silver Buick Skylark coasted along Interstate 10 at a leisurely pace. Shrinking from view in the rear view mirror was the town of Van Horn. Lying ahead: a flux of endless possibility.
Alyssa blew cigarette smoke out the window and gazed at the mountains to the north-east. They were now nothing more than indistinct dark shapes against an ever-changing backdrop. She noticed a little ash had fallen onto the bust of her black cotton tank top. She swept it off, then turned on the radio, hoping to find some decent music. Twisting the dial back and forth revealed religious babble, a discussion about World Cup soccer, and country music. Country music didn't count. Undeterred in her quest for the ideal sound, she flipped open the glove box and went rummaging for an audio cassette. An old album by The
The frightened young woman is huddled against the front tire of her car. She watches Amber approach. Her mascara is clumped and her eyeliner is running down her cheeks.
Amber crouches before the girl. “Here, let me see.” She puts a hand under the younger woman's trembling chin and starts to wipe around her eyes with a cleansing pad.
“Thank you ... for what you did,” the girl says. Her voice is timid and wavering. “I won't tell anyone I saw you.”
Amber finishes up and closes her purse. “Tell them the truth. Just give me fifteen minutes after you leave before calling the cops - don't take your car. You've had too much to drink.”
“Okay,” the girl says.
“Don't look over there when you get up. Not if you want to sleep. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Both women stand. The younger of the two is slightly unsteady on her legs. Amber helps her stabilize.
The girl thanks Amber again, then dips her head and hurries for the exit.
Amber watches her go. The girl doesn't look back.
“ What will you do now ?”
Amber turns to see Michael standing over the dead man's body. “What I always do. Disappear.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“Why would you want to do that? You appear to have a life.”
Michael approaches her. “Not really. I'm a bit of a nomad, truth be told.”
Amber shakes her head. “You don't even know me. We only met about an hour ago.”
“That's what makes it all the more exciting.”
Amber looks hesitant.
“C'mon, go with the flow. Maybe it's fate.”
“I don't believe in fate.”
“But it was another woman I followed into the club, kept my eye on her the whole time. I thought you were her until I got up close.”
“Disappointed?”
“Nope.”
As nice as Michael seems – especially on the eye – Amber wonders if she really needs the baggage.
Perhaps that's exactly what she needs .
She turns from him.
... And then she senses it.
Michael watches Amber walk towards a silver Ford Focus. "Is everything okay?"
He decides to follow.
Amber approaches the front of the car. A pair of feet are poking out past the fender. “Seems I wasn't the only one spilling blood here tonight.”
Michael peers past Amber's shoulder. “So this one has nothing to do with you then?”
“I'm not a psychopath,” she replies.
“Relax. It was a joke.”
Amber negotiates her way past Michael and looks in the direction of the parking garage exit. “Can't you sense it?”
Michael looks nonplussed. “Sense what?”
“God, you really are out of practice. It's the same feeling I had tonight with the man who attacked the girl.”
“And?”
“Well, whoever did this - to this other man.” Amber folds her arms. “They're going to do it again if they're not stopped.”
THREE
July, 1994; Texas, USA
It was the dying moments of twilight.
Tufts of cotton-candy cloud drifted aimlessly across a magnificent burnt orange hue that was slowly being replaced by a deep indigo spread. Below the horizon, the World was quickly becoming enveloped by a ubiquitous blanket of shadow.
The silver Buick Skylark coasted along Interstate 10 at a leisurely pace. Shrinking from view in the rear view mirror was the town of Van Horn. Lying ahead: a flux of endless possibility.
Alyssa blew cigarette smoke out the window and gazed at the mountains to the north-east. They were now nothing more than indistinct dark shapes against an ever-changing backdrop. She noticed a little ash had fallen onto the bust of her black cotton tank top. She swept it off, then turned on the radio, hoping to find some decent music. Twisting the dial back and forth revealed religious babble, a discussion about World Cup soccer, and country music. Country music didn't count. Undeterred in her quest for the ideal sound, she flipped open the glove box and went rummaging for an audio cassette. An old album by The
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