High Moon

One

I swirled my drink in my hand, contemplating another. Vodka on the rocks, just how I liked it. I shifted my weight on the worn out bar stool and knocked back the rest of my drink. I listened to the faint classic rock sounds coming from the stereo in the far corner and the buzzing conversations of the other patrons in the bar. Like all bars, there was a mirror behind the liquor shelf. I glanced up, swirling the ice in the now empty glass, taking in the reflection before me. Dark brown hair hung to her breasts in waves. Slightly tanned skin showed from the opening of her leather jacket that hung unzipped. That jacket hid the toned muscle and scars from her past. Her face was stoic, void of any emotion other than emptiness. She was quick to shake that off. Brushing the hair out of her face, she looked up again. Now, into the dark green eyes. Many had told her how beautiful and bright they were. What they didn't know is that they no longer shown with the innocence of life. Her eyes told her story and it was a story of happiness that ended in murder. This stranger in the reflection was becoming more and more familiar to me. I still hadn't gotten used to who I had become. With a heavy sigh, I shook these thoughts and reached for my cigarettes. As I felt the first drag hit the back of my throat, the bartender placed another drink in front of me.

"I didn't order this..." I called out.

"No baby, I did", a strangers voice drunkenly slurred in my ear. Another heavy sigh left my lips and I took another drag off my cigarette hoping it would cover the stench of this stranger's breath. He had a musky, sweaty smell to him.

"Why don't you come over and join me and my boys, a looker like you shouldn't be by herself." I could see him leaning on the bar and facing me out of the corner of my eye. I took another drag of my cigarette, willing him to leave. Seeing him, not moving, in my peripheral meant my wish wasn't granted. I placed my now half-finished cigarette between my lips and made a move to grab my bag and leave. As I turned my back towards him, I felt a large, sweaty hand grab my forearm. "I told you to come and join us." His voice held a small threat to it. I normally would have laughed but all I could feel was anger.

"Let. Go. Of. My. Arm," I ground out. Controlling myself lately had become harder. I could feel my eyes flashing. She was waiting to be released.

"Or what baby, you going to pull my hair?" He laughed, dismissing my command, and pulled me almost into his chest. It was then that I finally looked at the stranger who was making my pleasant night into an aggravating one. This man had curly, brown hair that hung almost to his shoulders. It looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. He was taller than I was, by a good many inches. His shirt stunk and clung to his gut due to sweat or alcohol, I didn't know which. From the smell, I would think both. As I took another look at his face, he gave a smile which showed his yellowed and rotting teeth.

"Come on baby, come over and let us show you what real men can do." He pressed, and made a move to touch my hip. That was my boiling point. I looked up into this strangers eyes and saw shock as I broke the grip he had on my right arm and twisted it behind his back. This caused him to bend and slam his face into the bar. I placed my left arm on the back of his neck, pressing him down into the bar top, my right arm still holding his behind his back.

"I don't believe there is such a thing as a real man" I whispered. I could smell the blood when I bent to speak to him. It left a puddle on the bar top. I hadn't noticed that silence filled the bar except for the classic rock still playing in the corner. The patrons stood and stared at the sight before them. I small, five foot five inch, 125 pound girl holding a 230 pound six foot two grown man on the bar with ease. No one moved, just stared and listened to the groans of the bleeding stranger.

I removed my hands from him, allowing him to now cradle his broken nose and busted lip. He stared at me with anger and surprise on his face. Blood was leaking through his fingers. I turned and placed a twenty on the bar and apologized to the bartender for the scene. Once I grabbed my bag and helmet I made my way to the door. Silence still followed me as I walked, I could feel their eyes burning into my back. As soon as the door shut behind me I heard the sounds of conversation start.

I knew I couldn't stay here any longer. I through my bag onto my back and placed my helmet on my head. I straddled my bike. A Harley Davidson FXR with a full moon and a howling wolf airbrushed on the tank. With no looks back, I took off into the night to continue my hunt.

After riding for a few hours I decided it was best to pull off and get some sleep. Pulling into the motel, I parked my bike and took off my helmet. Releasing a heavy breath, I locked the handle bars and walked towards the main building. It wasn't much, just one of those hotels you would find near a truck stop. Paint was flaking off the walls and was discolored, the smell of cigarette smoke waffed through the air as I passed occupied rooms. The door chimed as I walked into the office. A young boy looked as though he wasn't having an eventful night. His head rested on his fist, falling slightly to the side as he fought off sleep. Hearing the chime he perked up and glanced over me.

"Hey, can I help you?'' he questioned in a groggy voice.

"Yes, I need a room."

We went through the standard banter everyone goes through while checking into a hotel. After paying him for my one night stay, I received my key and headed out. A shower was sounding amazing. Once I entered my room, the smell of cheap air freshener and old cigarette smoke filled my nose. It was a small room. Queen sized bed in the center of the left wall, a small, old T.V. sitting on top of the dresser with a shabby desk on the right wall. Flipping the dead bolt on the door, I dropped my bag onto the bed and began getting undressed. Shrugging off my leather jacket, I could feel the tension in my shoulders from riding. Once I had completely stripped down, I started the shower. While waiting for the water to heat up, I observed myself in the mirror. My slightly tanned skin gleamed with sweat from the humidity outside. My hair was wind-blown and my eyes looked tiered. Looking down, my eyes found the three inch long scar that traced the top of my hip bone. That stab was meant to kill me.

I ran my fingers over the scar and remembered the promise I'd made to return the favor. After a moment, I grabbed my clothes and took them with me into the shower. They needed washing, and sadly this was the method I found easiest to do.

My muscles felt relaxed after the hot shower. I had hung my clothes on the towel rack to dry and laid in the bed. Pulling my bag towards me, I pulled out my journal. I flipped to the page that contained my reason for existence. A sketch of the man who caused my world to crumble. I had yet to find out his name, but his face couldn't be mistaken. Short brown, spiked hair. Wrinkles surrounded his eyes and mouth as his lips held a grim smile. He was a muscular, white male. I assumed he was at least in his mid-forties. I had traveled across five states now. I began in North Carolina and had traveled through the surrounding states until I found a lead in Tennessee. I was told that he had been seen, but that he stays somewhere in Georgia. Sadly that was all they knew. No name, no specific location, just the state. I'd take it. It was the first bit of info I had received in a long time.

I had traveled into North Carolina again and was planning on making my way down through the mountains. I heard the mountains were an enjoyable ride for motorcyclists. Closing the journal and placing it back in my bag, I retrieved my Beretta .40 from my bag and placed it on my night stand and prepared for sleep.

The bright sun seeped through the thin curtain and caused the room to glow an orange color. I groggily opened my eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. Stretching my arms and legs, I got out of bed and went through my morning routine. Brushing my teeth, pulling my still damp hair into a pony tail and dried my still damp clothes with the hair dryer. Once I was dressed I gathered my things and headed for the door with my gun strapped to my hip. Checking out, the woman made a glance to my hip, but made no comment.

Firing up my bike I rode out with a new determination and headed for the mountains.

I rode up and down the hills, loving the sharp turns and the feel of the wind in my face. I had always loved the mountains. The smell of the trees, the feel of the crisp air in the fall. It was a truly peaceful place. 'Maybe I'll move here once I'm finished. . . '.