There was nothing quite like the quiet hum of an endless highway slipping away beneath rolling tires. I welcomed it as one of my few friends. Even with the soothing whirr, my eyes flickered to the rearview mirror while my mind envisioned the ghost of the girl I left on the side of the road. It wasn't guilt that pulled my eyes to the mirror; it was the nagging feeling that I would see her again. The casual exhale of smoke let me know that she wasn't done with me yet.

I pushed her apparition aside as I veered off the highway. Three hundred miles slipped by too fast as I pulled into a Santa Fe Motel. No one ever asked many questions at outskirt hotels, and conversations were as scarce as rain in this part of the country, which suited me and expedited check-in. As the sun rose over New Mexico, I was settling onto the end of my shitty '70s-style motel room bed. Sleep wouldn't come for a few a while, so I pulled out a fading picture and studied it as I did in each new town. It never changed and was well committed to memory, but it was the only tangible item I allowed on my travels. The two sparkling blue eyes stared back at me as the hint of a laugh tickled his thin lips. It was all I needed. I tucked the photo back into my wallet and fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling until something that resembled sleep greeted me.

Boisterous voices startled me awake. In a split second between the grog of sleep and alert awake, my mind chose between life and death as my fingers wrapped around the gun beneath the pillow. But the voices were just passing by my door, nothing more. Still, I was up, finding I had passed out for most of the day based on the fading sun. I splashed water on my face and watched it swirl down the brown drain before lifting my eyes to the mirror. She was there in the waves of the gray shower curtain behind me. My mind was playing tricks on me again. I shook off the phantom and gave a healthy punch to the curtain for good measure. Then settled back onto the end of the bed, flicking on the news as I cleaned my gun. The top story was what drew me to the area.

"Delayed charges of three first-degree murder against George Kepler for the brutal deaths of the Smythe family set him free last week, and he has been on the run since. As mounting evidence was being compiled, a clerical error ultimately delayed the charges. While prosecutors still planned to pursue Kepler as their lead suspect, his release has ultimately aided his escape, as he has been missing since. If you have any information related to Kepler, you are urged to call the police immediately. Kepler is considered armed and dangerous," the newscasters' drone was used to delivering bad news. 

I snapped the barrel of my gun shut with a bit more force than needed and stood quickly, trying to relieve the mounting tension with senseless movement. When darkness blanketed the ground, I left. Birds of a feather flock together. Find a seedy bar and listen. The key was to find an actual seedy bar. Finding a real crease bar had grown increasingly complex as dive bars suddenly became a culture point. Twenty-somethings flocked to dimly lit, faux-grungy bars that sold thirteen-dollar beers and eighteen-dollar cocktails called things like Capri Sun Tropical Punch. These did not suit my needs. I needed a bottle-of-beer-and-a-shot-of-bourbon for seven dollars joint. That was where my boisterous hotel comrades would help. Sure enough, three men were loitering in a semi-circle just outside my door. 

I gave them a nod and muttered, "you all know where to get a cheap beer?"

If they hesitated, they might as well say no, but there is no hesitation.

"Rosie's, half a block up. You'll smell it before you see it," a tall, lanky guy promised between drags of his smoke. For a split second, the haunting woman slipped back to mind, but I splashed her away with a nod to the gentlemen as I passed.

Information doesn't find you if you look for it; you have to shut up and be patient. I was well-practiced at being alone, so silence came easy. I sipped a scotch slowly, breathing in the toxic fumes and letting the poison burn in a slow drip down my throat. There weren't many people in the cramped dank space, but there were enough, and one was a talker.

"Roy, when are you going to get a dartboard?" The question came from a twitchy emaciated man that's complexion was ravaged by poor choices to the point that its predominant hue was purple.

"Cody, if I put a fucking dartboard up, you would end up with a dart in your skull." The gruff bartender, Roy, grumbled, but there was an apparent soft spot for this Cody.

His words pulled me back to a rowdy country bar in upstate New York. The lowballs were uselessly thin, so I had to improvise. A dart fit the bill but required a bit more force than I would typically prefer to muster. My friends are not worth extra effort. Still, the shock sank in slowly, unlike the blunt tip of the dart into his hand's flesh, allowing me ample time to pull a simple trigger. The memory pulled the sickness within me to the front as a smile blinked across my face before I could wipe it away.

"Georgie, come on, tell him we need a dartboard." Cody's whine almost masked the lead... almost.

I froze; I couldn't react. Even the slightest glance could cause a stir. I thought it would take me days, maybe weeks, could it be that the notorious George Kepler was sitting feet from me? If he was, he was either the most brilliant monster I'd hunted or the dumbest. There was something to be said for hiding in plain sight, but this was fucking ridiculous. I took a sip of my drink and then made my move.

"Bathroom?" I shot in my low smooth voice. Roy thumbed me to the back door cluttered with tattered paper ads for shitty local bands.

I gave him a nod and paced to the bathroom. This was my chance to get a look at Georgie. There he was, sipping a beer and bickering with Cody, utterly unaware that he would be dead before sunrise. But he caught my gaze. I tried to brush it off with a curt nod, but this guy was a survivor.

His stool clattered across the floor as he bolted.

"I fucking hate it when they run," I muttered as I grasped Cody's throat like I was plucking a fly from the air.

Cody managed a "fuck," before I squeezed enough that words were not an option. I was sick of his voice anyway. He twitched around like a fish out of water but could not make any actual contact with me. 

I'd been in this movie before. My gun was in Roy's face before he could get to his own gun. "I will shoot you," I confirmed. Roy backed away with his hands in the air. I tossed Cody to the ground, his head hitting the wall with a dull thud. "And a dartboard is a stupid fucking idea."