Rhonda, some time the previous fall – day twelve, just past dawn
The sun is just beginning its journey across the dull gray winter sky, and although it has yet to make its appearance above the rolling hills of Delaware County, its presence is evidenced by the cool yellowish glow crowning their tops. There’s a dry, pasty feel to the inside of Rhonda’s mouth, and a dull ache in the back of her head. She wonders where am I? And, for a brief moment, the girl is truly clueless. But then, a sound, not unlike a buzz saw, coming from the direction of the nearby chair, and emanating from Bryce Wilson’s open mouth, brings a faint recollection of the night before.
Quietly, so as not to disturb the slumbering disc jockey, Rhonda reaches over and retrieves her knapsack from where it lies alongside the couch. She crosses carefully past Bryce’s sleeping form, and gently lifts her jacket from the hook on the wall, where she had hung it the night before. If she’s lucky, she can get out of this place without being discovered. Bryce’s steady snoring offers her some reassurance, and she decides to take a chance. Tiptoeing past his inert body, she moves to where his jacket hangs against the wall. With practiced dexterity, she quickly rifles the pockets, extracting a wad of crumpled bills from the one on the right. She stuffs the money into the pocket of her jeans, thinking, it serves him right, before slipping through the side door of the studio and out into the frigid, early morning air. God, it’s cold. For a second, she considers taking his car, but decides that that would be too dangerous, and would almost certainly result in her return to Binghamton and her mother—and, worse yet, Howie. Instead, she begins trotting across the gravel parking area toward the road.
The lights of a car coming up over the mountain catch her attention, and she sprints for the highway. What a break it would be if she could catch a ride right away. Who knows, maybe she can get to the city today? Rhonda reaches the road just as the car crests the hill, and immediately sticks out her thumb. Oh shit, she thinks. It looks like a police car. That’s just great! Maybe if she just turns and walks away it’ll continue on without noticing her; after all, she reasons, it’s pretty dark. She turns away, and starts to drift slowly away from the road. But, the car doesn’t pass on by; it stops. The only sound now is the noise from the heavy-duty police generator, and the soft, mechanical beating of the engine. Crap.
A blinding light sweeps through the darkness, its beam stopping when it encounters the girl’s face. Like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, Rhonda is paralyzed by its brightness, and freezes in her tracks. Then, a voice rings out in the darkness. “Hey, kid. It’s okay. Do you want a ride?” It’s a man’s voice, but he sounds friendly enough; he doesn’t sound like a cop. What choice does she have? Really?
“Yeah, sure,” she replies.
“Great. Come on,” says the voice. “Hop in. It’s too damn cold to be walking out there. Besides, you might get hit.”
Rhonda walks slowly over to the passenger side of the police car, and cautiously opens the door. “Hell,” says the man. “I almost hit you myself. Come on, get in.”
“Thanks, mister,” says Rhonda. “For a minute, I thought you were a cop.”
“I am,” he says. The driver is a big man, and he extends a hand toward the girl, saying, “The name’s Red.” Instinctively, Rhonda grabs for the door handle, opening it part way, before Red reaches out and quickly pulls her back. “Relax,” he says. “I’m not a cop anymore. Actually, I used to be Chief of Police. But now, I just play at it. Close that door, and we’ll get you someplace where it’s warm. My house is just over the mountain. We’ll be there in no time at all.”
There’s a faint odor of alcohol on the man’s breath, and a voice inside Rhonda’s brain is shouting a warning. What have I gotten myself into? But it’s so cold, she thinks, and she’s so tired of running. Maybe it’ll be okay. She reaches out, grabs the door handle, and pulls the heavy door shut. Immediately, the car lurches forward at breakneck speed, and the warning inside Rhonda’s brain grows louder. But then, as Red eases off the gas pedal, and the cruiser’s speed levels off, Rhonda dismisses the warning, and decides it’s safe after all. Red looks over with a smile and says, “My wife can fix you up some hot cocoa; maybe get that chill out of your bones. Sound good?” Rhonda nods in agreement. God, could I use some hot cocoa.
Five minutes later, the car lumbers off the main road and onto a gravel one carved between the trees, and disappearing up a steep hill toward a cabin that is silhouetted against the gradually lightening sky.
Claire hears the sound of tires crunching on the gravel, and looks at the dimly lit alarm clock next to the bed. It reads just past six. It seems to her that each time Red goes out now, he comes in later still. Claire prays he hasn’t brought home another one. As it turned out, the girl with the pierced tongue had been pretty smart after all, and had been able to get Red drunk enough to pass out, before fleeing for her life.
Before Claire can get dressed, she hears the front door slam, and Red’s booming voice shouting. “Hurry up, Claire. Put some water on the boil. We’ve got company.”