Epitaph

LAS VEGAS, 53 miles, the sign read.

Driving down the desert highway and as the cool night desert wind chilled her, her eyes flicked at the rear view mirror and she began to remember.

LAYING IN the dirt of their past world, Jason Cox had died that morning within the arms of her new life.

Shortly after he had taken his last breath, several Indian men had come. Showing great respect for their Shaman, trusting no white man, nor woman, they showed her reverence though, for they had known that he had loved her.

Still though, there was silence as they reverently took his body, wrapped it in an Indian blanket, secured him to one of his beloved horses. With still no words shared between those that loved him they rode off, his other stallions loping not far behind them.

Barely able to stand, feeling pain from her wounds, her heart, she had stood, and simply gazed off at the trail of dust the horses threw up behind them. Straining her eyes, wanting every last bit of him, she had watched as they had magically disappeared into the desert.

It was quiet and finally there was no more violence about.

As she gazed at the end of such matters, she understood time was precious and that there was still much to be done.

Finishing her work in the barn, she had loaded the Cadillac with everything she would need within her new life, except a simple photograph.

She wanted to remember him as she had loved him.

After finding Mava’s stash of money in one of the Lincoln Town Cars, retrieving her own bounty, she had walked to the Cadillac, parked near the corrals, took one last look around, entered into the car, slumping painfully into the front seat.

Earlier, she had found Sue, eyes stark, dead, and she had wept.

Sue had died for her too.

Placing her ball cap on, she swept her good eye towards the barn and the corrals. Tears fell down her cheeks as she took one last moment to remember.

After many moments of remembrance, she placed the car in gear, liked the feeling of the smoothness of the engine beneath her. Arvan had made her perfect.

She then drove from the complex, hit the road.

As she drove west she peeked once into her rear view mirror at a life she could barely remember being a part of at all.

Many miles past the Las Vegas sign, she turns her head, stares at Angel, who with bandaged head, lays on her puppy pillow, silent, nose wet, twitching, enjoying the feeling of the wind, safety, her partner being next to her as midnight begins to surround her.

Reaching out, Mandal, scarf on her neck, heavy bomber jacket pressed along her aching frame, reaches over and pets her, whispers. “You okay, girl?”

Angel, perhaps more grateful than any creature on earth to finally be safe and away from her worst doggie nightmares looks at her, whimpers as she licks her saviors hand.

Closing her eyes, Angel falls to dreams, safe now, like the driver of the car, perhaps for the first time.

Smiling, Mandal involuntarily grips the steering wheel, winces, moans, look’s at her bandaged two broken fingers.

She struggles on a pair of black leather gloves and winces in acute pain.

Leaning forward, she looks into her rear view mirror at her broken nose, cut eyebrow, bruised lips, and swollen eye. Groaning, she smirks, giggles, looks at Angel.

“We’ll get everything fixed in Vegas, right girl?”

“Pant, pant, pant.”

silence except for the sound of the purring engine, and wind whirling past her face.

Then off on the horizon, something draws her attention.

Her eyes lift at the beginning of a city glow stretched off against the stars set before her.

Pushing her bomber jacket closer to her neck, she shudders, for she feels as if she is entombed in her car, safe, compartmentalized. She moves for a cigarette, winces in pain, she has forgotten about the broken rib.

Digging out a smoke, she takes her Zippo out, stares at the Red Dragon insignia, remembers everything, as if the chrome lighter is an echo, returning every thing from ten years to the present to her.

Nodding her head, she flames it out, lights her smoke, inhales and, then ASSASSINATES the lighters flame.

As Las Vegas nears and millions of neon lights twinkle in the clear desert sky, she feels a renewal sweep into her body. That vanishes, as she thinks about Atlantic City, is it over, or is it just beginning, what will happen?

At the moment she neither-cares or can fathom any of it. The snake has had his head cut off and in her mind the chances that anyone could ever really piece any of it together were slim to none.

She had been wrong before, and she would be wrong again, though it would take some time for her to know that one can never really run from ones past.

Unable to know the future and with a glowing mystery materializing in front of her she drives on, not knowing that one day there would be more killing and more murders and more wonder and she would be apart of every moment of it.

In the morning it would be another day and the world’s future as it was known would change for ever, as would hers.