The Porsche 911 shot up the on ramp to the interstate like one of those rocket sleds on rails. The stock broker was doing ninety miles per hour by the time he reached the top of the ramp. He backed off a little, “No sense in starting the day with a speeding ticket,” he thought to himself.

  Then he said out loud with a mischievous laugh, “To hell with the speed limit,” and punched the accelerator. The speedometer on the 911 was hitting one hundred and twenty miles per hour before you could blink an eye. The problem was that the Porsche didn't feel like he was blasting down the highway at over a hundred miles an hour, it felt more like seventy five or eighty miles an hour in a regular car. Even though it had been a long time since he had been in a regular car.

  There was hardly anyone else on the interstate at this hour and he felt pretty damn good, in fact he felt invincible. He thought about that Will Smith movie, I am legend, and found himself fantasizing about being one of the last people alive on earth. He saw himself with a different car for each day of the week, hell, and each day of the month. The thought of doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted without penalty or consequence made him damn near euphoric. No rules, no speed limits, no traffic, and damn sure no cops.

  The stock broker was deep into his last man on earth fantasy when he came around a curve in the highway and saw something so overwhelming that it didn't seem possible. It might have been because he had just been thinking about a movie or the fact that he was traveling at over one hundred miles per hour but the vision in front of him didn't seem real. When his mind finally grasp that the twenty or thirty cars with their brake lights on, the two dozen cop cars, and the eighteen wheeler laying on its side were very real it was too late. Out of pure reflex his hand shot to the gear shifter and his right foot dynamited the brake petal.

  Something was wrong, his foot and the brake petal were pressed as far as they would go to the floor and nothing had happened. No ABS brakes pumping hard to slow the 911 back to a legal speed, no screaming tires grabbing at the highway for traction, and worst of all, no series reduction in speed. The look in his eyes was more than shock or surprise, it was pure terror. But despite being gripped with almost complete panic, he did the only thing his mind and reflexes would let him do. He jerked the wheel hard to the left and away from the bedlam directly in front of him.

  Something inside him would not allow him to just plow into the chaotic scene no matter what the consequences. It was the same reflex that made a fighter pilot stay with his plane and turn it away from a housing subdivision when he could just as easily bale out and save himself.

  The slick blue Porsche snapped hard to the left without the slightest hesitation and both the stock broker and the car were headed straight for the dull gray guardrail. As the car swerved to the left away from the rolled over tractor trailer the stock broker saw another fly in the ointment. The stretch of guardrail that he was closing in on at a heart pounding one hundred and fifteen miles per hour was already pretty well mangled. It appeared that the shredded metal in front of him had either been a result of or the cause of the tractor trailer currently laying across the interstate. In a split second the stock broker determined that he had done everything he could do to avoid the inevitable and the only thing he could do now was just hang on and see what happened.

  There was a heightened sense of awareness to sitting at an accident sight and waiting for your turn to squeeze from the normal five lanes of traffic into the single lane that the cops seemed to always set up at every crash sight. People looked in their rear view mirrors more than they needed to, and for good reason. Who wants to be sitting helpless in traffic and get rear-ended by some damn fool driving one-hundred and twenty miles an hour in a shiny blue Porsche 911? So that commuters sitting at the crash-sight that morning in the early morning light that were looking in their rear view mirrors got one hell of a show.

  What the people sitting at a dead stop had just witnessed happened in the blink of an eye. The first thing they saw was a pair of low headlights shooting around the bend in the road. They could tell even in the early morning light that the car behind the headlights was coming at them faster than anyone should be going, even on a deserted road. What struck them as odd was that the car did not appear to be making any attempt to brake or even slow down, at one point it simply turned and headed for a gap in the guardrail. That is when most of the people watching recognized the low smooth lines of the Porsche. They watched in slow motion horror as a jagged piece of the guardrail caught the front left corner of the blue car and flipped it into the air like a catapult. The car was rolling over in the air like a side of beef on a BBQ spit, and then it was gone, the car simply disappeared from sight.

  The people at the back of the traffic jam jumped out of their cars and ran to the edge of the guardrail where they had last seen the blue sports car. The people closest to the edge of the guardrail that got there first could still see what was left of the Porsche rolling over and over sideways across the northbound lanes of I-5. There were no cars in the northbound lanes and the car finally came to rest on its wheels in the ditch on the other side of the interstate.

  What the onlookers standing at the guardrail watching the horrendous wreck didn't notice was the silver BMW come around the curve and pull over to the guardrail less than thirty seconds after the Porsche launched into the air. The man in the tailored Brooks Brothers suit got out of his BMW and mingled with the crowd. He didn't say a word, he just listened intently. What he overheard ran somewhere between, “Damn fool,” and “The guy driving that car is a hero, he could have run right into the back of me but he choose to veer away from the traffic jam.”

  After listening for a minute or two and being completely satisfied that the group of onlookers had as many different versions of what they had seen as there were people that had witnessed the accident he turned and walked away. He climbed back into the silver BMW and fired up the engine, they would not even remember that he had been there.

  Gerard cut across the five lanes of the highway behind the thirty or so abandon cars with their driver side doors open and their engines still running. The flying Porsche had attracted the attention of almost all of the people waiting to get around the rolled over eighteen wheeler. The people that hadn't actually seen the flying Porsche noticed other people running from their cars and had followed them to see what they were running to look at. This was more than he had hoped for, at best he thought that the brakes on the stock-brokers car would fail as he came down the off ramp at James Street. Clarence thought that the Porsche would hit or sideswipe another car or at best hit a tree or a bridge abutment, doing a half gainer off a twenty foot embankment was a God Damn work of art.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Later that day Kristin heard on her office radio that a Porsche 911 had left the interstate at a high rate of speed and rolled over several times before coming to rest on the opposite side of the Interstate. He stomach did a slow roll as she remembered that her date from Friday night drove a Porsche 911 and he had not been at the Gym this morning.

  Kristin thought back to earlier in the day, she had actually been looking forward to seeing him this morning, she had found herself a little disappointed when he hadn't shown up. She switched on her office T.V. and found a local station playing back the footage of this morning’s double accident. The on the scene reporter was interviewing a nice young woman who was on the verge of tears telling the reporter than the man driving the car was a hero for avoiding crashing into her car with her baby in the back seat. When the camera panned left over the woman's shoulder and zoomed in on the twisted sports car on the other side of the Interstate she came out of her chair. The paramedics were just putting the man they extricated from the car on a stretcher and strapping him down, they did not pull the cover up over his head. Kristin could not see the man’s face and the hospital had not released his name yet but the stark happenstance was just a little too unnerving.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the hospital where the reporter said that the unidentified man had been taken. The hospital receptionist heard the fear and concern in Kristin's voice when she asked if she could get an update on her friend that had been brought in this morning. The fact that Kristin gave the name of the man that was still in surgery to the receptionist convinced the pleasant woman that Kristin was entitled to at least the confirmation that it was in fact the guy she had gone out with last Friday night.

  Kristin sat back down in her chair and wondered if what had happened this morning was truly and accident. She suspected that her soon to be ex-husband was probably having her followed. She knew that Clarence was capable of violence. She just couldn't believe that Clarence was responsible for such a horrible chain of events. Events that had landed someone she had gone out with only once in an emergency room fighting for his life. Her doubts were shattered thirty minutes later when a rather expensive bouquet of flowers arrived at her office. Marcy signed for the flowers and brought them up to her office. As Marcy turned to leave Kristin dug the small white envelope out of the middle of the flowers, opened the card and read the short note. The next thing Marcy heard was the tearing of paper and a single word command,

  “Dumpster.” Marcy didn't say a word, she retrieved the flowers off the desk and headed back down the stairs and straight to the outdoor dumpster. The people in the building that had watched the flowers being delivered to Kristin's office and then come back down the stairs thirty seconds later did not wonder what was happening. They had all witnessed this phenomenon at least twice before. They didn't know what had been written on the note but they knew who it was from.

  Kristin sat back down at her desk and shuttered as a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach eased its way up her spine and became a stabbing pain in her temples. The pain spilled out of her eyes in the form of cold tears. The realization that by simply going out on a single date someone they might lose their life or be permanently injured made her feel more trapped than she had ever felt before.

  There was nothing on the card that even came close to evidence or proof that Clarence was responsible for what happened this morning. The short note on the shredded card now lying at the bottom of the garbage can might even be interpreted as thoughtful and sympathetic to most anyone that read it. The Card had simply said,

  “Sorry to hear about your friend.”

  C.

  Kristin knew what it meant and worst of all she knew who had sent it.

  Over the next few weeks Kristin did her best to keep track of how her one time date was progressing in his recovery. She found out that he had a shattered right leg, a broken left arm, a ruptured spleen, a punctured lung, and a two or three hundred stitches from the left side of his head down across his entire body. She was not sure if he would ever fully recover and she couldn't take a chance on going to see him. The message had been delivered loud and clear, stay away from other men. O.J. Simpson had nothing on her soon to be ex-husband.

  She also discovered that the stock firm the injured man worked for had set up a fund to help with his recovery. Kristin donated a generous amount to the fund, anonymously.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The light disappeared from the upstairs window and Gerard snapped to attention like a buck private coming face to face with a four star general. He stood up and stretched his cold muscles then he walked as quietly across the gravel to the lush green lawn that encircled the house. Gerard followed close to the fence line of the corral so he would not be left out in the middle of the yard without any protection, he could slip through the fence and into the smelly horse corral if he needed to. As he passed by the two horses standing stiffly inside the corral one of the horses pawed at the dirt and gave a braying noise that sounded part nervous and part warning. He stopped for a second to see if any lights came on in the house, none came on.

  When he reached the back of the house he saw something that made him smile with delight. The corner of the log house had been constructed so that the logs that met at the corners overlapped and extended out form the corner a good eight inches. The old fashion design created a permanent ladder straight up to the second floor balcony. If everything went as smooth as this he would be out of this God awful state by sunrise.

  Gerard slowly eased his way up the corner of the house and over the balcony railing. He pressed his back against the cool logs and listened for any sign that he had been heard coming up and over the wooden railing. He forced his heart rate down and slowed his breathing back to near normal. When he was positive that he had not been detected he slid the silenced twenty caliber pistol out of his shoulder holster and let it hang loosely at his side.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Sam crawled forward on the floor and slid out from under Kristin's head like she was trying not to disturb her, Kristin sat bolt upright as her throat tightened. Sam rose slowly into what only could be considered an attack position and crossed the wooden floor soundlessly until she had her wet nose pressed against the sliding glass door that led out onto the balcony. Kristin watched intently, she could see that her protector’s entire body was shaking with anticipation. Kristin was absolutely sure that whoever was outside the house was now on the balcony. The only thing between her and a nameless danger was a pane of glass and a forty pound golden retriever that she was sure had never faced anything more threatening than a cotton tail rabbit. Kristin was sweating from every pore in her body and she was light-headed from taking shallow quick breaths, she reminded herself to take a couple slow deep breaths and the vertigo subsided a little. She suddenly realized that she was sitting in the middle of the floor between the only two ways in and out of the bedroom, not to mention the beam of moonlight that was shining down from the skylight like the fifty thousand watt spotlight.

  Kristin spotted the safest place in the room, in the corner where the outside wall and the bathroom wall connected. She didn't even bother to stand up, she scampered across the floor like a cat after a mouse and melted down into the corner like a piece of the furniture. When she reached her hiding place she saw Sam give her a sideways look that lasted less than a second as if to say, “You’re safe there.” From where she crouched clutching the pistol Jack had given her she had an unobstructed view of the door to the bedroom and although she couldn't see out onto the balcony she would be able to tell if anyone was trying to get into the room. There was no way of either of them knowing that for some strange reason, both her and Jack were standing in almost the exact same place in both bedrooms.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Jack heard the soft creak of the balcony rail and knew that his uninvited guest was now on the balcony. He thought back over the last thirty minutes since he had first seen Sam alert him to something out of the ordinary. In the flash of moment he went over everything he had done in the last half an hour. Had he done anything that would have tipped off someone that he knew that they were not alone? Jack was starting to have second thoughts about his plan. Maybe he didn't really need to know the reason why someone was trying to kill or capture one or both of them. Maybe he should have just grabbed a double barrel shotgun out of his gun safe and started shooting. Too late for that now, the gun safe was downstairs in his study and the only weapon on the second floor at this moment was thirty feet down the hall in the gentle fingers of a woman who had only had one shooting lesson.

  Jack's chest tightened as he heard a slight jiggle of the outside handle on the patio door. He asked himself,

  “Should I have left the door unlocked and let the rat into the trap?” Jack's breath caught in his throat when a shadow crossed in front of the glass door. Whoever was out there had moved from one side of the glass door to the other side. A million questions flashed through his mind all at once starting with, what was the intruder doing? Was he seeing if anyone was really in the room? Was he angling for a way to smash the glass with the least amount of effort? Was he waiting for the lights to come back on?

  Jack very slowly leaned his head forward less than two inches to see if he could see the intruder. He could not see anyone but he knew that he was out there. He hadn't seen a shadow cross back to the other side of the door, where was he? Jack looked down at the floor of the balcony to see a shadow moving away from the patio door. Then he knew where the intruder was going.

  He bolted for the bedroom door in a blind panic but his foot caught on the leg of the nightstand and he crashed headlong into the oak dressing bench at the end of the bed. The impact of his head striking the heavy wooden box rattled his teeth and temporarily disoriented him. He fought to get to his feet knowing that he didn't have a second to waste. All he could focus on was one question,

  “Did I lock the Patio door in the guest bedroom?” When he reached the door to the hallway he fumbled with the lock and swung the door open to fast, the door struck the side of his head trying to leave the room before the door was fully open. In his dazed condition he thought to himself with mild amusement, “I'm going to kill myself before anyone else has a chance too.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Kristin heard the commotion down the hall and her heart rate shot back up over one hundred beats per minute. She looked at the bedroom door then she looked down at Sam who's gaze was still fixed on the patio door like the was frozen in place. Kristin was trying to decide what to do when she heard the click of the patio door latch and she watched as Sam slowly backed closer to where Kristin was crouched in the corner. She could hear the sounds of the crickets outside getting louder and she could feel the cool night air rush in as the door slowly slid open. Whoever was coming in through the patio door was doing so without any fear. Why would they be afraid? Thanks to the brilliant moonlight illuminating the room it didn't appear from the outside that there was anyone in the room.

 

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