one hundred miles: chapter twelve

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In the afternoon of the third day, there came a knock at the door. This was the first time this had happened. HellsAngel was in the bathroom, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I peeked out the windows and saw a car I didn’t recognize. I hesitated for a few moments, then decided that it must be one of HellsAngel’s friends, at that surely I could answer the door, just this once. It’s not like I would go outside or anything.

It was Tricksy. It was so good to see him again! He was acting oddly, shifting from foot to foot, and not offering me a hug or anything. I leaned against the door frame and talked for a minute, about how excited I was, how I was looking forward to getting out of town.

“Come see my car. See, I got a new car? Come see it.” He was acting really weird. This time I hesitated longer. No, I said, I really shouldn’t.

He pleaded with me. “Come see it…it can’t hurt to step outside for just a minute, come on.”

Finally I agreed. We walked across the street to his car, and he made a show out of pointing out all the cool things about it, all the while acting so nervous he had me jumping out of my skin.

“Don’t you want to sit in it? Come on, get in. Check it out!” I was not sure this was smart. In fact, he was creeping me the hell out. I decided it was time to go back inside. Where the hell was HellsAngel, anyway?

“Get in, 2N, get in now. Getingetingetin!” The urgency in his voice freaked me out. I started back towards the house, and he started yelling louder, “No! Please! Just get in the car!

Suddenly, from around the corner, a black Toyota pickup screamed up the street and slammed to a stop, and out jumped PK and his brother PoorBastard.

I yelled at the top of my lungs and broke for the house. PoorBastard caught me halfway across the street and we wrestled into someone’s yard. I remember a big Native American woman coming out of her porch and yelling that she was going to call the police, and another old man with wispy white hair in his shorts and a wife beater shouting that he had a gun, and by God, he would shoot! He would!

I was absolutely terrified.

I had no idea how to fight him off. I had no idea what I was doing. All I could do was shriek for help, and jab where I could with my elbows and knees, twist, turn, run, get tackled, over and over. My mind was blank. At one point, I had each arm braced on the frame of the door. I threw my head back and caught PK square in the teeth. He staggered back a step, and I ran. He tackled me and we went down. I had no idea what to do, or what was going to happen to me, I just knew that if I got in that car, I would never never never get away, ever. So I just kept fighting.

Sometime during all this, I noticed that Tricksy had driven away.

It was when I was braced with one arm on each side of the door, refusing to get in, and screaming for HellsAngel, that he finally came running out of the house. At the same time, a young shaven-headed guy named Rudy with huge tattooed arms came loping across the street to join HellsAngel. PK had wrestled me up from the ground and had my arms pinned to my sides and was panting in my ear, telling me over and over that he loved me, that he just wanted to talk, that I should feel bad for what I was making him do, over and over and over, helovedmehelovedmehelovedme…I was just screaming, a wordless, drawn out howl.

Finally, when PK saw that PoorBastard was confronting the two men by himself (and about to get the shit kicked out of him, most likely), PK cursed at me, shoved me to the ground, went and grabbed his brother and they took off, squealing the tires the whole way. I scrambled up off my knees and bolted in the house.

I ran up three floors, into a closet, under some clothes, and shut the door. I stayed there until the police arrived. They had to talk me out of the closet, and I wouldn’t come out until they promised me that he was gone.

Next: chapter thirteen.

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