The name was there, plain in front of his face, but Axel blinked several times to assure himself he wasn’t just seeing things. Yet the signature didn’t disappear or waiver in the slightest: Tom Hanniger was written neatly in the motel’s guest logbook. Three months of playing armchair detective led him to this Podunk little county in the hopes of tracking down the psycho who terrorized Harmony; and only when Axel decided to call it a day did he find exactly what he’d been looking for.
Hours after he was admitted to the hospital, Deputy Martin haltingly told him that an EMT’s body had been found inside the mining suit, and his uniform could not be accounted for. Axel flew into a rage, wrenching the IV drip from his arm until a weeping Sarah and several orderlies forced him back into bed, sedating him heavily. He slept for days, and those days were plagued with nightmares of a miner’s mask glossed over in blood. The hospital released him weeks later.
The media storm that followed was relentless. They descended upon the town like locusts, interviewing everyone from the city fathers to Sunday school teachers. There was plenty of innuendo suggesting Tom had indeed escaped, but the Harmony police department staunchly reassured the local and state news, as well as the residents, that he’d never be heard from again. It was all Axel could do to keep from screaming the truth at the top of his lungs. Vilification had slipped between his fingers once. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
Sarah knew his obsession with ensuring Tom was dead and gone was far from over, but she couldn’t keep tabs on him 24/7. The bills were starting to pile up and she had to keep her family fed. With Axel on bed rest, she was pulling double-shifts at the grocery store and came home far too exhausted to do much else than toss a pizza in the oven and sit with Noah as they read a bedtime story together, often ending with Sarah propped up next to him fast asleep. Axel knew she was hurting just as much as he was, which only made him intensify his efforts to find Tom.
After nearly a month and a half, Axel was well enough to get out of bed and even leave the house, much to Sarah’s trepidation. But he could also sense her relief. Martin was named active sheriff while Axel demoted himself to desk work until he could resume the position again, meaning Sarah could start taking it easy now that they were both bringing in money. Axel relished the freedom he had at the department and was glued to his computer screen from morning until late at night, pulling Tom’s file from the institution where he spent seven years and adding his own notes to it. Tom had a pattern, it seemed, when it came to the kind of places he rested his head, and Axel fanned out his investigation from there.
Now here he was at the Chester, a motel with an equally questionable reputation as the Thunderbird. Paper-thin walls, hourly rates and a jacuzzi in every room. If he listened carefully, Axel could probably hear the mingled cries of a couple having sex several doors down. He signed his name in the logbook beneath Tom’s and paid in cash. The clerk slid a key across the counter without looking up from his decades-old Hustler and Axel pocketed it, stepping outside and staying alert for any sign of Tom Hanniger.
And there he was, sitting on a small wood and iron bench with his nose in an old paperback book.
It wasn’t particularly interesting, but he could only sit and stare at the wonder that was the courtyard for so long before his eyes started to cross and he got a headache. For a while there, Tom had taken to watching TV, or walking around town when nobody was about. But for early evening, there was a whole lot of nothing in the television program and he’d already been outside once today.
Beside him sat a half empty bottle of Jack, which he had been nursing for a few days. A silent spectator to the story he was working through. Some Western he had picked up somewhere along the way.
See, the thing about Westerns, is that they’re full of clear cut right and wrong. They’re full of sorrow, too, and a cowboy’s yearning to get back to the simple things in life.
He liked stories like these. They were simple, but true. And always had a happy ending of some sort.
Completely involved, he didn’t see Axel pull up in his ‘civilian’ car, or see the man enter the office. Sure, he’d heard the car’s tires crunching gravel, but people did come and go every so often.
Axel stood rooted to the spot. He’d recognize that broad frame anywhere, even in the faint, buzzing security light of a crummy motel. Instinctively, he reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans but stopped himself, eyes fixed on Tom in case he chose that moment to look up. It would be beyond stupid to not only shoot him when he so clearly had the advantage, but to shoot him when there were untold numbers of witnesses scattered about.
It was a struggle, but he left his gun alone and slipped his balled fists into his pockets, slowly but affably walking across the courtyard toward his target. If Tom decided to run, Axel wanted to make sure there was only so much distance between them.
They were a scant five feet apart now, and it still appeared that he was too engrossed in his novel to notice the presence of another person. Axel’s heart thrummed in his chest like a guitar string that had been pulled taut and then plucked over and over. This was the moment he’d been dreaming about since Martin told him there was no body in the tunnel aside from the EMT’s. He had Tom utterly cornered and nothing short of an act of God was going to screw this up.
Smiling a triumphant smile, Axel spoke up. “Hey, Tom, long time no see.”
Tom looked up with a start, a million and one things happening in the split second it too to lock eyes with Axel. His heart nearly stopped with the sudden amount of dread that fell upon his situation. How could he ever forget that voice? How could you ever replace the cocky way Axel carried himself, especially when he knew he had something good.
The novel Tom had been holding hit the ground, let go by numb fingers, and all he could think was no, no, no!
"Fuck.."
More of a whisper, really, as he quickly looked around for a way out. Naturally, of all the places to sit, he would choose the far corner - effectively boxing himself in. There was nowhere to go that didn't involve trying to get past Axel, and they both knew it.
Fuck, FUCK, this can't be happening-
He had been so careful. SO careful not to talk to anyone, or look directly into security cameras, how the fuck had Axel found him? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?
Bolt. Or, he tried to, at least. Tom jumped up, hurling the amber bottle of whiskey at Axel as hard as he could while scrambling up from his seat to make a run for the parking lot.
Even in his panic, Tom had damn good aim. The bottle beamed Axel hard in the shoulder, stunning him for a second and allowing Tom a decent head start.
“No!” he bellowed, taking off after him. Tom had roughly fifteen pounds of muscle on him, but Axel was a faster runner by far and caught up with him before he reached the office, shooting out a hand to grab him by the back of his coat. “Son of a bitch!”
When Axel hauled back nothing but an empty hooded sweatshirt, his blood boiled and he took off in pursuit of Tom once more, retrieving the gun from his jeans and waving it above his head. Any concerns he had earlier about witnesses were long gone. All he cared about now was sating the blind anger that propelled him forward.
But he didn't. In fact, it just made Tom run faster.
Swearing to himself, he made for the other side of the courtyard, willing his body to just get the fuck out of there as quickly as he could, but his steps faltered as he ran. He didn't want to get shot, but what was he supposed to do? There weren't any good options here.
Regrets began to pile up again, his breaths short and shallow as Tom slid to a stop at the corner of the courtyard - back pressed up against the side of the archway.
Hours after he was admitted to the hospital, Deputy Martin haltingly told him that an EMT’s body had been found inside the mining suit, and his uniform could not be accounted for. Axel flew into a rage, wrenching the IV drip from his arm until a weeping Sarah and several orderlies forced him back into bed, sedating him heavily. He slept for days, and those days were plagued with nightmares of a miner’s mask glossed over in blood. The hospital released him weeks later.
The media storm that followed was relentless. They descended upon the town like locusts, interviewing everyone from the city fathers to Sunday school teachers. There was plenty of innuendo suggesting Tom had indeed escaped, but the Harmony police department staunchly reassured the local and state news, as well as the residents, that he’d never be heard from again. It was all Axel could do to keep from screaming the truth at the top of his lungs. Vilification had slipped between his fingers once. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
Sarah knew his obsession with ensuring Tom was dead and gone was far from over, but she couldn’t keep tabs on him 24/7. The bills were starting to pile up and she had to keep her family fed. With Axel on bed rest, she was pulling double-shifts at the grocery store and came home far too exhausted to do much else than toss a pizza in the oven and sit with Noah as they read a bedtime story together, often ending with Sarah propped up next to him fast asleep. Axel knew she was hurting just as much as he was, which only made him intensify his efforts to find Tom.
After nearly a month and a half, Axel was well enough to get out of bed and even leave the house, much to Sarah’s trepidation. But he could also sense her relief. Martin was named active sheriff while Axel demoted himself to desk work until he could resume the position again, meaning Sarah could start taking it easy now that they were both bringing in money. Axel relished the freedom he had at the department and was glued to his computer screen from morning until late at night, pulling Tom’s file from the institution where he spent seven years and adding his own notes to it. Tom had a pattern, it seemed, when it came to the kind of places he rested his head, and Axel fanned out his investigation from there.
Now here he was at the Chester, a motel with an equally questionable reputation as the Thunderbird. Paper-thin walls, hourly rates and a jacuzzi in every room. If he listened carefully, Axel could probably hear the mingled cries of a couple having sex several doors down. He signed his name in the logbook beneath Tom’s and paid in cash. The clerk slid a key across the counter without looking up from his decades-old Hustler and Axel pocketed it, stepping outside and staying alert for any sign of Tom Hanniger.
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It wasn’t particularly interesting, but he could only sit and stare at the wonder that was the courtyard for so long before his eyes started to cross and he got a headache. For a while there, Tom had taken to watching TV, or walking around town when nobody was about. But for early evening, there was a whole lot of nothing in the television program and he’d already been outside once today.
Beside him sat a half empty bottle of Jack, which he had been nursing for a few days. A silent spectator to the story he was working through. Some Western he had picked up somewhere along the way.
See, the thing about Westerns, is that they’re full of clear cut right and wrong. They’re full of sorrow, too, and a cowboy’s yearning to get back to the simple things in life.
He liked stories like these. They were simple, but true. And always had a happy ending of some sort.
Completely involved, he didn’t see Axel pull up in his ‘civilian’ car, or see the man enter the office. Sure, he’d heard the car’s tires crunching gravel, but people did come and go every so often.
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It was a struggle, but he left his gun alone and slipped his balled fists into his pockets, slowly but affably walking across the courtyard toward his target. If Tom decided to run, Axel wanted to make sure there was only so much distance between them.
They were a scant five feet apart now, and it still appeared that he was too engrossed in his novel to notice the presence of another person. Axel’s heart thrummed in his chest like a guitar string that had been pulled taut and then plucked over and over. This was the moment he’d been dreaming about since Martin told him there was no body in the tunnel aside from the EMT’s. He had Tom utterly cornered and nothing short of an act of God was going to screw this up.
Smiling a triumphant smile, Axel spoke up. “Hey, Tom, long time no see.”
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The novel Tom had been holding hit the ground, let go by numb fingers, and all he could think was no, no, no!
"Fuck.."
More of a whisper, really, as he quickly looked around for a way out. Naturally, of all the places to sit, he would choose the far corner - effectively boxing himself in. There was nowhere to go that didn't involve trying to get past Axel, and they both knew it.
Fuck, FUCK, this can't be happening-
He had been so careful. SO careful not to talk to anyone, or look directly into security cameras, how the fuck had Axel found him? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?
Bolt. Or, he tried to, at least. Tom jumped up, hurling the amber bottle of whiskey at Axel as hard as he could while scrambling up from his seat to make a run for the parking lot.
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“No!” he bellowed, taking off after him. Tom had roughly fifteen pounds of muscle on him, but Axel was a faster runner by far and caught up with him before he reached the office, shooting out a hand to grab him by the back of his coat. “Son of a bitch!”
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He reeled back, clawing to unzip his hoodie and slip away again.
"No!" And as the zipper gave, that was exactly what Tom did.
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“Stop or I’ll put a bullet in your fucking knee!”
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Swearing to himself, he made for the other side of the courtyard, willing his body to just get the fuck out of there as quickly as he could, but his steps faltered as he ran. He didn't want to get shot, but what was he supposed to do? There weren't any good options here.
Regrets began to pile up again, his breaths short and shallow as Tom slid to a stop at the corner of the courtyard - back pressed up against the side of the archway.
"I don't want any trouble."
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