Starlite Cafe for fuel and to get something to eat. It wasn’t one of my regular truck stops. I was starving, so we stopped. I think I was there once before, but it was years and years ago. I was ahead of schedule by forty-five minutes that day.
“I got out of the truck, walked around to the passenger side and was getting Alan’s wheelchair out of the special motorized compartment I had built behind the cab when I heard . . .”
. . . . a loud roar that shook the ground. She swung around to admire the cycles. She and Alan had ridden during their first two years in college. In fact, they’d belonged to a motorcycle club. It had always been Alan’s secret desire to own one of the 1930 Indians. She waved and smiled, knowing Alan was probably admiring the Indians from his perch in the cab. Some of her fondest memories were of the little back road trips they used to take during those first two years of college.
“Hey, Red,” someone called out.
Kathryn whipped around, her hand going to her heart. “You scared me there for a minute. How’s it going?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was wondering if you needed any help.”
“Thanks, but no. I do this all the time.”
“Is it for him?” the biker asked, pointing to Alan who was staring at them through the window.
She stared up at Alan and smiled. He looked so anxious. “I was admiring your motorcycles. Alan and I used to ride Indians. No other bike like them in the world.”
“You got that right, Red,” the biker said referring to Kathryn’s mane of auburn curls.
“So what’s wrong with him?” the biker asked bluntly.
“My husband has multiple sclerosis and Parkinson’s disease.”
“Damn shame. Must be hard on you, Red.”
A chill washed up her spine. “I manage,” she said curtly as she stepped away. She pulled the wheelchair closer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two men in cycle garb step out from behind the back of the truck. Her heart took on extra beats as she tried to figure a way to outrun the men if need be. Why in the damn hell had she parked so far away from the main parking area? Because there had been no other spots available when she’d pulled in. Now the lot was practically deserted.
“I really have to get moving. Nice talking to you,” she said, stepping closer to the cab door.
They came behind her, yanking her arms backward. The man she’d been talking to kicked the wheelchair away. She watched it skid across the parking lot. They ripped at her boots, at her clothes until she was naked, and then they dragged her across the shallow ditch at the end of the parking area and into the undergrowth.
She tried to scream, but they chopped at her throat as she fought them with every ounce of strength in her body until she couldn’t fight any longer. She closed her eyes and tried to put her mind and body in another place, a place that was warm and gentle, a place where Alan protected her. She felt them change position, felt them roll her over, felt their hands, smelled their bodies. She knew she was crying, whimpering as they raped and sodomized her over and over again. “If I ever find you, I’ll kill you . . .
“. . . . but I never went after them.” She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I have all this evidence and it doesn’t do me one little bit of good. All because of a stupid law. A damn stupid law that doesn’t care about me or about Alan,” Kathryn said bitterly.
“Are you up to some questions, Kathryn?” Nikki asked.
“Sure. Nothing could be worse than saying all that out loud.”
“Why didn’t your husband get on the CB or roll down the window and call for help? Why didn’t he blow the horn? Why didn’t you call for help?” Julia asked.
“I took the ignition key with me. The CB is powered. So are the windows and horn. I needed the key to open the compartment.”
“Maybe if he had opened his door . . .”
“No,” Kathryn interrupted. “It wouldn’t have helped.
“I got out of the truck, walked around to the passenger side and was getting Alan’s wheelchair out of the special motorized compartment I had built behind the cab when I heard . . .”
. . . . a loud roar that shook the ground. She swung around to admire the cycles. She and Alan had ridden during their first two years in college. In fact, they’d belonged to a motorcycle club. It had always been Alan’s secret desire to own one of the 1930 Indians. She waved and smiled, knowing Alan was probably admiring the Indians from his perch in the cab. Some of her fondest memories were of the little back road trips they used to take during those first two years of college.
“Hey, Red,” someone called out.
Kathryn whipped around, her hand going to her heart. “You scared me there for a minute. How’s it going?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was wondering if you needed any help.”
“Thanks, but no. I do this all the time.”
“Is it for him?” the biker asked, pointing to Alan who was staring at them through the window.
She stared up at Alan and smiled. He looked so anxious. “I was admiring your motorcycles. Alan and I used to ride Indians. No other bike like them in the world.”
“You got that right, Red,” the biker said referring to Kathryn’s mane of auburn curls.
“So what’s wrong with him?” the biker asked bluntly.
“My husband has multiple sclerosis and Parkinson’s disease.”
“Damn shame. Must be hard on you, Red.”
A chill washed up her spine. “I manage,” she said curtly as she stepped away. She pulled the wheelchair closer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two men in cycle garb step out from behind the back of the truck. Her heart took on extra beats as she tried to figure a way to outrun the men if need be. Why in the damn hell had she parked so far away from the main parking area? Because there had been no other spots available when she’d pulled in. Now the lot was practically deserted.
“I really have to get moving. Nice talking to you,” she said, stepping closer to the cab door.
They came behind her, yanking her arms backward. The man she’d been talking to kicked the wheelchair away. She watched it skid across the parking lot. They ripped at her boots, at her clothes until she was naked, and then they dragged her across the shallow ditch at the end of the parking area and into the undergrowth.
She tried to scream, but they chopped at her throat as she fought them with every ounce of strength in her body until she couldn’t fight any longer. She closed her eyes and tried to put her mind and body in another place, a place that was warm and gentle, a place where Alan protected her. She felt them change position, felt them roll her over, felt their hands, smelled their bodies. She knew she was crying, whimpering as they raped and sodomized her over and over again. “If I ever find you, I’ll kill you . . .
“. . . . but I never went after them.” She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I have all this evidence and it doesn’t do me one little bit of good. All because of a stupid law. A damn stupid law that doesn’t care about me or about Alan,” Kathryn said bitterly.
“Are you up to some questions, Kathryn?” Nikki asked.
“Sure. Nothing could be worse than saying all that out loud.”
“Why didn’t your husband get on the CB or roll down the window and call for help? Why didn’t he blow the horn? Why didn’t you call for help?” Julia asked.
“I took the ignition key with me. The CB is powered. So are the windows and horn. I needed the key to open the compartment.”
“Maybe if he had opened his door . . .”
“No,” Kathryn interrupted. “It wouldn’t have helped.
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