Page 5 of In The Trenches (Owens Protective Services)

I heard footsteps come closer and struggled to open my eyes. Groaning, I saw Art hovering over me as another man approached, rolling up his sleeves. For a moment, I was worried who this man was, but if Art brought him over, he couldn’t be dangerous.

“This is my friend. He’s going to try and fix your shoulder.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. I knew this would hurt, but it couldn’t be worse than the pain I was already feeling. The man bent over me, taking my arm and pulling it away from my body. Then he lifted his foot, placing it in my armpit. Slowly, he started to rotate my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a breath at the pain. Art’s hand found mine and I held tight, drawing from his strength until the pain became too intense. My head pounded with every torque of my arm until I finally passed out.

When I woke up, it was dark and the man was gone. Art was standing by the window, gazing out into the night. “Did he fix it?” I asked, drawing his attention.

He didn’t answer the question. “Does your shoulder feel better?”

“It still hurts, but not as much.”

He nodded and turned back to the window. “Beth, who are you running from?” he asked after a moment.

I rested back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t tell you.”

“And I can’t let you walk out of here with no one to help you. Beth, you’re a fucking mess. Your eye is swelling shut, you have a gash on your head, not to mention the multiple bruises over your body and your dislocated shoulder.”

I pushed myself up with my good arm, wincing when my shoulder pulled. “Art, I appreciate the help, but you can’t get involved in this.”

“And you expect me to just walk away?” he asked, turning to fully face me. The muscles in his arms were pulled tight as he clenched his fists and fought back the anger.

“Yes, I do.”

“What if I want to help you?”

“Why would you do that?” I asked. I was nothing to him. We barely spoke.

He turned away, cursing to himself. “What do you expect me to do? I’m just supposed to send you to the bus station like this?” he spat. “You won’t last a day.”

“I’ve lasted this long,” I retorted. “Look, this isn’t your problem, and I’m not going to let you get involved. I just need a couple of days to heal and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Fine,” he bit out, storming toward the door. “I have to get to work. There’s food in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. He gave a brief nod and then walked out of the room. Moments later, I heard the door shut. Tossing back the covers, I hobbled out of bed and into the living room. His apartment was sparse, but clean. I locked the door and then searched for some food. Now that he mentioned it, I was starving. The nausea I felt last night was gone, leaving me with stomach pains. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything. So much of last night was fuzzy. But I could still remember that look of determination on Art’s face when he walked out of the diner last night and saw me surrounded in the alley.

I grabbed some lunch meat and made a sandwich. He had some chips on the counter, so I grabbed those too and went to sit in the living room. Paranoia swept through me as I thought of those men dead in the alley. I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, searching for the news. It was five minutes to ten, so the news cycle would be starting over in just a few minutes. I waited impatiently until finally the news anchor came on. Story after story played, but there was nothing about any dead bodies behind the diner. If I had a phone, I would call the diner and see if everything was okay. But since I didn’t hear anything from Art throughout the day, I assumed nobody found the bodies.

I needed to get away from here as soon as possible. I found an old laptop under a pile of papers on Art’s coffee table. Pulling it onto my lap, I checked bus routes and tried to find my next stop. Part of me thought I should get as far away as possible, but the thought of staying close and flying under the radar was tempting. After this last attack, wouldn’t they expect me to run far? If I stayed in California, I’d be hiding right under their noses. Decision made, I laid down on the couch and slept the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

“Are you sure you have everything?”Art asked as he took me to the bus station.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He nodded and pulled into the parking lot. I hesitated, looking around for anyone suspicious, but didn’t see anything.

“Thank you for your help. I know I can never repay you.”

“And you don’t have to,” he said, his eyes concerned as he looked around again. “What if…you could stay with me.”

To hear someone offer that kind of help was an unnatural feeling. I had long ago shut down the idea that anyone would be able or willing to put themselves at risk for me. My mom and I didn’t speak, not since I was a teenager. Her idea of taking care of her child was very different than mine, and as soon as I could, I left and never looked back. I had always been on my own, but the last two years had been more difficult than I expected.

At twenty-seven years old, this wasn’t exactly where I thought I would be in my life. I assumed I would meet someone and be married by now. Maybe I’d even be thinking of starting a family. Instead, those thoughts were now banished. It was clear that was never going to happen.

“I have to leave,” I said to Art. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I can’t stay with you.”

“At least let me buy your ticket. That way you won’t be seen by the cameras.”

---