Ketch Me if You Can

Chapter 10

It was a four-hour drive from the bunker to Wichita. We'd stopped once to get snacks and gas, and even though there was a rule against it in my brothers' car, Elly got to pick the music while I drove. She was pretty good at it and the entire drive ended up being pretty pleasant. We eventually found a decent motel in a neighboring town to crash at. Elly immediately flopped down onto one of the beds after I opened the door. I smiled, placing my pack on the other bed and going to turn the tv on and flick through the local news stations, looking for anything new on our monster.

I felt my phone buzz again in my pocket. This would be the fifth time Ketch had called since we left. I sighed, taking the phone out of my pocket and turning it off before slipping it under one of the pillows on the bed I'd chosen. I didn't blame him for trying, not one bit. It was just bad timing on his part and my fault for not being ready to confront those feelings yet. It had been rude of me to just drive off. But I had to think about the citation as a whole too. He could be lying. I wasn't sure why he would lie about something like this, but it would make more sense than he loved me. Who could love a hunter like me anyway? We didn't need love. Anyone who admitted to it ended up dead. That was how it always worked.

I turned off the tv, nothing of importance was coming up in the late-night newscasts and I was hungry anyway. I looked at Elly, she seemed to be sleeping softly. I got to my feet and dug through my bag for a pen and pad of paper. I quietly scribbled down a note about going out and left it on the side table next to her bed. I snatched up the spare room key and left the motel room. The cool night air felt good against my face and in my lungs. It reminded me of the autumns I would make leaf piles with my dad. We'd pile all the leaves in the backyard up into one tall tower, then take turns jumping into it. It was a time when I didn't have to fear anything. We were both safe.

I shook my head, shoving my hands into my pockets and walking into town. It wasn't a long walk, but the chill in the air made it a brisk one. By the time I'd found the small bar, I was glad I'd remembered to grab my sweatshirt. The bar was across the street from a nice diner, and the smells of homecooked food wafted across. I could've gone there, sat down and had a good meal, taken something for Elly when she woke up. But that wasn't what I wanted right now.

I pushed into the bar and welcomed the smell of cigarettes, old blood, old wood, and alcohol. It was dimly lit, and surprisingly empty for this time of night. It was an oddly comforting thing. I walked up to the counter and flagged down the barkeeper. I didn't need to look around to feel the eyes on my back, and it only took a guess to know I was the only woman in the bar. Or at least the only one who wasn't trying to worm her way into free drinks and a drunks pants.

"Whiskey, no rocks," I said once the bartender came up to me.

"You sure? Wouldn't you like something fruiter?" There was a sneer on his face as he asked.

"As sure as I can be," I said.

He placed a rocks glass in front of me and filled it with honey-colored liquid. I picked it up and downed it in one shot, never breaking eyes contact with the man. When I put the empty glass back down on the bar I made an effort of licking my lips before asking for another. I downed it as quickly as the last and glanced around the bar. There was something else I needed to do. Needed some fun. There was a small group of men around the pool table. Looked like they had just started a new game. I turned back to the bar to ask for another round but found my glass already filled again. I nodded at the bartender and stood, walking towards the group of men.

When I was close enough ot them, I grabbed a pool stick out of one of their hands and twirled it in my fingers, smiling at the guy I'd stolen it from. His eyes never left mine, but his friends protested as I interrupted their game. With a bit of flare, I set my glass on one corner of the table, took the stick, lined it up, and shot the six-ball clean into the right corner pocket. The protesting stopped.