Manhunt (3 page)

Nikki turned to Michael after they got on the highway. “Sophie says I should trust you, and I’m trying to do that, really I am, but I need some answers. Are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

Michael didn’t even hesitate before answering. “No.”

Chapter 4

One simple word.

One syllable.

Two letters which had a profound impact on Nikki. Confused-but-trusting went straight out the window, replaced by scared-to-death. She realized she had no clue what type of person Michael was. For all she knew, he could be the one who put her in the hospital to begin with, or worse, a serial killer. No, she told herself. She might not remember, but she did know him. There was sufficient evidence of that at Christian’s house. But who was he to her? She glanced down at her left hand, then covertly peeked over at Michael’s. No rings. 

“No, Nicole, we’re not married.”

Okay, maybe not so covertly. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

“Are we… together?” Nikki wrung her hands, not sure what she was hoping the answer would be.

“We are in the same car, are we not? I believe by definition that makes us together, wouldn’t you agree?”

His avoidance was beginning to irk her. “No, smartass. I mean, are we together together?”

His smirk removed any doubt he knew what she meant the first time. “Not anymore.”

He refused to expound, and Nikki was left sitting in the car mulling over that statement. It did nothing to alleviate her anxiety over the situation. Her mind ran through one crazy scenario after another, each more frightening than the last. Most of the pictures on the wall at Sophie’s showed a much younger version of the two. Perhaps they were together then, but had had a bad break-up. Maybe he had beaten her up in the jealous rage of a jilted ex-boyfriend and decided to coerce her into leaving with him so he could kidnap her once he found out she’d lost her memory. Perhaps…

“UGH!”

She groaned in spite of herself. Michael chuckled.

“Let it go, Nikki. You’re just going to give yourself a headache.” He turned on the radio and flipped stations until he found a classic rock channel to hum along to, which only served to irritate her more. Without asking, she changed the channel, the discordant static sound grating her ears until she found something appealing.

Michael rolled his eyes. “You and your damn oldies.”

Nikki ignored him and focused on the music as “Come Go with Me” played, squealing with excitement when she realized she remembered all the words. They left the radio on for hours until the news program began.

“Police are on the scene in Hershey, where...”

Michael slammed the palm of his hand against the power button, silencing it. He veered off the highway and careened into a Walmart parking lot.

“Come on,” he growled at her. “You’re not staying here.”

Nikki reluctantly followed him. She passed a frazzled looking woman with a baby strapped to her chest who was struggling to push her cart up the sloped parking lot with one hand while holding onto a toddler with the other, and wondered if she should stop and tell her she needed help. Before she had a chance to act on that impulse, however, Michael did something surprising. He walked up to the lady and asked permission to push her cart to her car for her. The mother thanked him profusely and pointed the way. When she got to her car, he nodded good-bye and turned to leave. The woman offered him money. He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head and walked away.

He grabbed Nikki’s hand and dragged her inside without a word. He got a cart and headed first for the beauty department. He didn’t seem to pay much mind to what he was getting. A brush, a package of ponytail holders, toothpaste, men’s and women’s deodorant, shampoo, body wash: all flew into the cart as he rounded the aisles. The same thing happened in the first aid section as he gathered up various products, painkillers and a pair of surgical scissors which terrified Nikki. He only paused when he got to the aisle with the hair dye. He looked at her with sad eyes, lifting his hand to run the back of his knuckles down the length of her hair before turning back, choosing a brown dye and tossing the box in the cart.

“Pick one.”

“What? No! I don’t want to color my hair.”

“Pick one, Nicole, or I’ll have to pick one for you,” he said in a firm voice. Then, much softer, much more like a broken boy, he continued. “Please, don’t make me do that.”

Just as she had with Christian, Nikki felt a momentary desire to hug and comfort him, but the urge left as quickly as it came. He was going to force her to alter her appearance and she didn’t understand why, nor did she think he would tell her. She glanced at the boxes in front of her, forced to make a split second decision. She was in a dark mood and in a dark situation, so somehow the jet black seemed appropriate. Michael flinched when she threw the container in the cart, then pushed on in the direction of the groceries.

He stocked up on cereal, breakfast bars, juice boxes, peanut butter… Basically anything which didn’t need to be refrigerated or cooked, and had some semblance of nutrition. He went to the clothing section and bought them each a couple pair of jeans and t-shirts, a pack of underwear and something to sleep in. He also got Nikki some socks and a pair of tennis shoes. Not once did he ask her what brand she used or what size she wore. Not that she would have been able to tell him, necessarily, but he seemed to already know. Either that, or he just didn’t care.

The total came to $352.37 and Michael’s face turned a little green as he counted out the money from the roll Christian had given him. Nikki trailed behind him as he headed back to the car and loaded up the back seat. An awkward silence filled the car as they drove to a nearby gas station. Nikki breathed a little easier when he got out to fill the tank and went inside to pay. He returned with two steaming cardboard cups.

“I got you a hot chocolate with whipped cream.”

The two dollar consolation gift failed to impress her. She returned to gazing out the window.

“Come on, Nikki, take the damn cup. I know it’s your favorite. You would think someone who lived in Hershey, Pennsylvania her entire life would be sick to death of chocolate, but not you. You’re addicted to the stuff. Always said chocolate smelled like home to you.”

It may have been irrational, but the fact that he knew all that irritated her, especially when he was so eager to share this information, but not the information she truly needed at the moment. She chose to ignore him.

“Nicole….”

She twisted to face him with a scowl. “You’re not talking to me, so I’m not talking to you!” She turned back to the window and huffed. She realized she sounded juvenile, but how else was she supposed to handle this crazy situation?

“Well, at least some things haven’t changed. You’re as hard-headed and stubborn as ever.” He put the drink in the cup holder and pulled out. The sign above the ramp to the highway indicated they were heading south.

Nikki couldn’t resist the call of the chocolate for long, and sheepishly picked it up. She saw the corner of Michael’s lips turn up a little, but he said nothing. She sipped her hot chocolate for a few moments, contemplating an alternate way to get some answers. If he was open to sharing mundane trivia, maybe she could use that to her advantage as an icebreaker which would hopefully allow her to gain more insight about this situation. It was worth a shot.

“Michael, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything you like, Nikki. I’m not promising I’ll answer you, but you are more than welcome to ask.”

Vague, but in truth a more positive response than the one she expected.

“What’s my favorite color?”

Michael glanced over at her, his eyebrows furrowed in a humored confusion. “THAT’S what you want to know?”

“Well, it’s a start.”

Michael chuckled at her. “I suppose it is. Your favorite color is brown, like chocolate.”

“What’s my favorite food?”

“Bacon cheeseburgers, or at least it used to be.” Michael frowned, but Nikki couldn’t begin to understand why. Maybe he was a vegetarian.

“What’s my least favorite?”

“Seafood. You watched a documentary about shrimp once and decided they were too cute to kill. After that, you wouldn’t go near seafood.”

“What’s my middle name?”

“Anne, with an ‘e.’ God forbid someone forget the e.”

And so they continued for the next several hours, Nikki was careful to keep the conversation lighthearted, not wanting him to shut down again. After a while, she stopped being surprised that he knew the answer to every single question right off the top of his head. The thought occurred to her he could be making up his responses as he went along, but she didn’t think so. He sounded quite sincere, almost reverent. She kept hoping one of his answers might spark some memory, but none of them did.

When nightfall came and Nikki started complaining about the pain, Michael pulled off at the first exit which showed any signs of civilization. The car slowed as they passed a Holiday Inn and again when they drove by an Embassy Suites, but he kept going, finally pulling into a small motel; one long building with 10 doors and an office at the end. The dumpster next to the building was overflowing, piles of black trash bags surrounding it. Nikki swallowed thickly and nodded her head when Michael told her to stay in the car while he went in and paid.

Two rather brazen hookers stood on the street corner across from the motel, yelling at him as he approached the office, offering him their services in vulgar detail. Nikki watched through the window as Michael ignored them and went inside, where he paid the overweight man with the greasy comb-over behind the counter.

“Thirty bucks for this hellhole!” he snarled when he got back in the car carrying a keychain attached to a large piece of wood with a faded number two hand-painted on one side. “A bargain, the man said, considering the room goes for ten dollars per hour. Jesus.” Michael parked the car at the opposite end of the motel from the office and turned to Nikki. “I promise we’ll find a better solution tomorrow, even if it means taking turns sleeping in the back seat at a rest stop, okay?”

Nikki couldn’t imagine this would be worse than sleeping in an old car on the side of the road. She changed her mind when he helped her from the car and opened the door to the room. It was a stereotypically rundown roadside motel room. A roach scurried behind a cheap landscape print which was crooked and had a large crack in the glass. Multiple stains speckled the thin commercial carpet, worn bare in several spots near the door and around the bed. A used condom hung off the edge of the garbage can, and what at first glance appeared to be a dead frog laid on the ground nearby. She wasn’t about to pick it up for closer inspection. Both the television and the bed had quarter slots attached to them. The sink, toilet, and tub drain were all yellow from age and iron. And, of course, it smelled as bad as it looked.

“You shower first while I unload the car, then I’ll redress your bandages,” Michael instructed. Nikki nodded, and Michael closed the door behind him. She began slowly stripping in front of the mirror, truly looking at herself for the first time. Nikki touched each scrape, each blackened bruise, each swollen red abrasion. She set her jaw, straightened her back and met her reflection in the eye.

She did not cry.

She had some trouble unwrapping the tape from around her ribs, and considered asking Michael to cut it off. But, no, she was too self-conscious, even though the thought of his hands on her skin sent a little thrill through her. He had said they weren’t together, but had been at one point. Nikki had no idea about the specifics of their relationship. Had she slept with him? Had she slept with anyone? Those were questions she was sure he wouldn’t answer, even if she weren’t too embarrassed to ask. She forced them to the back of her mind as she stepped into the tub, wishing they had bought some flip flops so she wouldn’t have to touch the tub with her feet, and scrubbed her torso, unable to bend enough to clean her legs.

Her modesty was short-lived, however, when a huge spider lowered itself from the ceiling in front of her face. Nikki screamed bloody murder and Michael came barging in, panicked.

“Nikki! Are you all right?”

The spider had made its way to the bottom of the tub, forcing Nikki to cower in the corner, trapped by the eight-legged beast. She pointed at the wretched creature with a shaky hand. Michael lifted his leg into the tub and stomped on it, making an exceptionally satisfying squishy sound. His clothes already soaked, he kicked his shoes off and climbed in the shower, taking a shaking Nikki in his arms, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and holding her to him while rubbing his hand up and down her back comfortingly.