All Eyes on Me

Chapter 7

He never expected it to be so easy.

He honestly expected to come into contact with some kind of obstacle. Some kind of sneaky, underhanded, surprising, thing that would veer him dangerously off course.

But, no. Much to his delight, there was none. Yet. Yet, being the operative word, Trent Walker reminded himself. He'd been literally on the run for 8 hours now, 2 of which were spent trying to navigate the ridiculous brush that was the forest between Clarksville and Chattanooga. He was supposed to get on a private plane to LA, but his plans had changed.

When he managed to get to a phone, he dialed up his first point of contact: Trina, one of his loyalest women. She'd been the one to track Trent's package – the one sent off earlier for the LAPD to open. The one with the note he'd written for Maci while he was on the inside.

Maci.

She was the most perfect poison – she was the very thing he obsessed over, and yet she was also the cause of his undoing. But oh what a way to go, he devilishly thought. Those photos he'd been made aware of didn't do her justice. When one of his other outside help sent him a photo, he was reminded of how real she was to him only months before.

No matter, the photo – specifically the lines and planes of her body – got him through more than a few lonely nights in lockup.

He resumed focus of the present moment, inhaling the smoky air. It was evening now, he could tell by how the trees stilled as the wind halted. He picked up his pace, desperate to make it to his new location.

Instead of going to Los Angeles, which he now knew would've been a wasted trip, he was going to stay in Tennessee. The tricky part was going to be figuring out where. He needed to find out where Maci was first in relation to where he was going to set up shop. He hadn't heard anything further on that end, so he mercilessly marched on, flurries of how he'd get revenge on Maci taking over his mind.

She would pay, that he knew for sure. But, he had begun to consider as this plan of his took shape – was there a fate worse than death? He didn't want to kill her, no, the opposite in fact. He wanted her very much alive to witness the killing of someone else...if it came down to it, of course.

Imagining a knife twisting in Detective Calligan's back, or a bullet slowly sucking the life from him made the rougher terrain Trent was hiking a breeze. He squeezed his fists, trying not to get ahead of himself and use the gun attached to his hijacked prison guard uniform. He'd stolen it off one of the transport guys he attacked. The mossy shade of green, so lackluster it bordered on khaki, actually served as excellent camouflage, so Trent was far from broken up over how he came to wear it.

As night fell, he'd finally reached the city limits, where there was more than a single pay phone or outhouse outside the mountain ranges. He'd never been gladder to see buildings and flashing lights in his life.

He mozied his way up to a random bar, borrowing a phone and a cigarette from a dense blonde. He dialed up Trina once more, who sent for a car to pick him up.

"You made good time," she observed as the clock just struck midnight.

"Trust me, I'll do better later," he said knowingly, smirking to himself. Much better....much better would come later. It wouldn't be the only thing to come however. Not if he had anything to say about it.

No.

She was the one that got off easy. She was the one that got away. She was the one that he never finished. She was the one he had to have. He wouldn't stop until he got her, and, until he enacted his vengeful scheme in order to do so.