The Chase Begins
“You have ten seconds to return to this room or I’ll shoot,” a voice booms out behind us. Agent Nelson, naturally. I pull on Sonny sharply. A bullet whizzes by, it ricochets off their own car. So much for counting, must be a lost art. At least with the FBI. The last thing I hear, as we fly toward the end of the motel rooms, is Dale’s voice.
“Are you going to eat that?”
I maintain a tight hold on Sonny, pulling him along in our headlong flight. For once, he asks no stupid questions, nor does he try to question me as to what we’re doing. What exactly are we doing? That’s a legitimate question. Let’s have a recap, shall we?
Our story begins with the two estranged lovers (although you couldn’t have told that by Sonny, the way he waltzes in and out of my apartment like he owns the place). Just when it looks like we might be on the verge of making up, Sonny does something stupid—as usual—so I kick him out. While getting over that, I find out Sonny is missing, and his mom’s worried. I can’t ignore that, so I don’t—I know, I have a white knight complex. Of course it’s got nothing to do with the fact it’s Sonny. Right. So then I find myself embroiled in this whole Sonny-is-kidnapped thing and that’s where I meet Dale, who not only appears to be Sonny’s ex , but he’s busy putting new moves on my Sonny! We manage to escape from Carlo the kidnapper and his half-witted sidekick, only to find ourselves shackled with Dale, who must have a tapeworm, ‘cause he always wants to eat. That’s when the FBI shows up and suddenly we’ve got a whole new set of jailers, and I learn that Dale is Dale Camel of the Camels, owners of the Cameltoe Lounge. In a strange turn of events, Dale stops hitting on Sonny, and latches himself onto FBI Agent Nelson, and we end up stuck at the Bates Motel, playing Charades.
This is like a fucking soap opera. I just wish that I could change the channel, preferably to something saner.
I don’t expect our lead to last long, so we need to figure out something and figure it out damn quick, or we’ll be caught. Or I should say I need to figure it out, as I’m obviously the brains of this outfit. I’m determined that we will not end up back in the hands of the FBI, we are going to succeed in our great escape. Failure is not an option.
When I first conceived of this idea—granted it was rather spur-of-the-moment and off-the-cuff—I’d anticipated running out to the road and flagging down the first passerby we meet to help us. I didn’t take two things into account. One: we’re off the beaten track; the road’s a bit lacking in the passing vehicle department. So the odds of being picked up before we’re caught are not good. Two: we’re being shot at. Maybe I should have anticipated that, but seriously, we’re all on the same side, aren’t we? At least I always considered myself a loyal American. I didn’t really expect to end up on the wrong end of an FBI gun. We haven’t done anything!
I keep telling myself that, but that doesn’t count for a whole lot when you’re dodging bullets.
So the only way to go is around the motel. Why? Hell if I know, but it feels logical. So we race around behind the long row of dark units. I know this isn’t the solution; if we keep on like this, we’ll just end up running in circles, like a scene from a Keystone Cop comedy—did someone say cue the chase music?—but I don’t think I’m going to laugh.
Thinking quickly on my feet, I scope out the surrounding terrain. There’s a large hill behind the hotel. The incline doesn’t appear to be too terribly steep. A house sits on the top of a narrow road which winds up the slope from the motel. It could be the owner. Or it could be entirely unrelated. There are a number of bushes dotting the hill, so I take advantage of that fact to pull Sonny behind a large one. Basically to give myself time to think, and to listen for the sounds of pursuit.
“Can we go home now?” Sonny asks hopefully, curled up against my chest. I hold him to my heart, wishing I could tell him yes, we’re going home, Sonny. If I could, I’d take him back to my apartment and keep him there for a very long time.
“As soon as possible,” I promise him, stroking his dark hair. I kiss the top of his head softly. The way I see it our best option is to sneak up the hill and see what’s on the other side. And then run for it. Hopefully we’ll find some sort of civilization we can take advantage of—a kind soul with a cell phone we can borrow. Or a car we can catch a ride in. Anything that will lead to us getting the hell out of this place and away from our pursuers.
I won’t even worry about our destination; at the moment that seems to be of minor consideration.
I’m not hearing anything, so I cautiously peep through the branches of the shrub. No sign of the Three Stooges. Wonder where they’ve gone? I help Sonny to his feet and we zigzag our way up the hill, ducking behind a bush every so often for cover.
We reach the porch of the house. Might as well ask the owner to use his phone, right? I mean, we’re right here, after all.
Sonny points to a cardboard notice affixed to the glass: “Ring bell for service”. Beside it hangs a bell pull.
Before I can cry no, Sonny reaches for it and pulls.
to be continued
Don't forget to check out the rest of the Silver Flashers:
Lindsay Klug m/f
Heather Lin m/f
Lily Sawyer m/m
Ryssa Edwards m/m
Pender Mackie m/m
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