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CAPTIVE

By Michael Garrett

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HE COULDN’T DIVERT his attention from the crusted blood on the passenger-side floorboard. Following his fall from grace he hadn’t thought to clean it before it dried. Each time he focused on the highway ahead, his vision soon wandered back to the thick, dark stain on the floor mat. If he were stopped by the cops, they would see it, run his out-of-state plates, and David Stetson wasn’t good at running away.

He’d made careless mistakes, like holding onto his cell phone too long. He’d been heading north, almost to Nashville, before remembering that he could be tracked by his cell phone. When he’d stopped for gas in Columbia, Tennessee he had wedged it between the loose tailgate of an unattended pickup at another pump. Hopefully, the truck would be headed in a different direction and lead the cops on a wild goose chase.

For added measure he’d turned west on I-40 toward Memphis, having no particular destination in mind. He simply needed to get far away as quickly as possible. It didn’t matter where he ended up; his life was over anyway. The jitters made it difficult to think. He couldn’t stop visualizing the crime scene back at the trailer in Alabama, not to mention what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

Good Christian boy. Where did that go? That’s how he’d always been known . . . until now.


IT FELT NICE to get away from the blizzard back home, but that was his only positive thought. By now, however, the Alabama weather had returned to normal anyway. David checked his wallet. Not much cash left—it was getting low. With the inability to use credit cards, he’d soon be forced to find temporary work before continuing.

Or, of course, I could rob a bank, he thought with a chuckle. Yeah, right. He was the most unlikely criminal in the universe. His mug shot would look ridiculous, like Buddy Holly without glasses on a bad day. If he actually did rob a bank, though, they could dub him the Sunday School Bandit. Quite appropriate.

If only that were the worst he could be accused of. It was hard to imagine himself a fugitive, but there was no denying it. Whis- pering prayers off and on, he took a deep breath and exhaled. David had let temptation get the best of him, guilty of a momentary lapse of judgment that had led him here, far from home,hungry, lonely, without a clear purpose in mind.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He just kept running.

And praying.

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