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Truth or Dare

By Brenda C. Poulos

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Prologue

Simon pulled nervously at a loose thread on his collar as he waited for the presentation to start. The thick black wig and long-sleeved shirt caused him to sweat profusely. He dared not remove them though. Everyone in Tempe, Arizona knew about the fire. Without the full beard and the rest of the disguise, someone might recognize him.
He hadn’t started it on purpose—it was an accident—but the scars on his body and arms stood out like a neon sign. If they called the cops, he’d get thrown back in the slammer to serve the rest of his sentence for stealing the ambulance—and accidentally killing a highway worker.
The judge had reminded him that parole is considered a “gift” by the board of corrections. Perhaps he should have given that some serious thought before running.
If the worker had been at church on that Sunday morning, like those other hypocrites, Simon might have gotten off with little more than a slap on the hand. It wasn’t like he’d meant for anyone to get hurt. He’d lost control of the ambulance and gone through the highway barricade.
Marcus, his accomplice, was under eighteen. But Simon, of legal age by that time, had received the “full brunt of the law.” However, as luck would have it, a sympathetic judge granted him early parole for good behavior. He just missed being home in time for the birth of his daughter, Mary.
Within a month, he and Sally rented a place of their own and secured full-time jobs. However, a screaming baby wasn’t part of his plan. She got on his nerves and his lack of patience caused constant arguments with Sally. They were both tired most of the time. There wasn’t enough money left over for them to have any fun. To top things off, there was the fire…
Simon’s temper had flared, and he’d overreacted. The flames… the screams… the painful stay in the hospital—followed by a beating from his dad that nearly killed him—were still the subject of many a nightmare.
It all added up to more than he could handle. So, when he found an opportunity to escape, he took it—and he’d been living with the consequences for almost three years.
When he noticed the flyer advertising that the guy he’d bullied most of his life would speak at the Tempe Public Library, he’d taken a risk and hopped on a bus in Flagstaff. He needed to satisfy his curiosity. What lies would Marcus tell? Would he name names?
He scanned the room for Sally, Mary, and his mother, Betty. He didn’t see them, but that wasn’t surprising. Sally was always late. Her punctuality was probably even worse now with someone else to get dressed and ready besides herself.
The lights went off and then on, cuing the audience that the presentation was about to begin. He relaxed as Sally—with Mary holding her hand—followed his mother toward the last available seats. Mary wasn’t a baby any longer. At nearly three and a half, she looked a lot like Sally. Golden curls…
His eyes fell on his mother. She’d aged. Was he responsible for the telltale lines around her once-sparkling eyes? Perhaps. But his father was also to blame.
The librarian’s incessant tapping of the microphone made it squeal. Dozens of people covered their ears with their hands.
Simon turned his attention to Marcus. He appeared more mature and confident than he’d ever seen him. What made the difference? Could it be the vindictive message he was about to deliver? Hate could fuel a fire. Simon knew that only too well.
The lights dimmed as a slide show started, complete with pictures from Marcus’s childhood—his grandparents… his mother. There were more recent ones, too—snapshots of his brothers… his father.
Tears stung Simon’s eyes when one of Marcus, Sally and Mary filled the screen. They were a family now. Not surprising. He’d thought they were seeing each other behind his back.
Simon’s throat constricted. The rest of the presentation was a blur. Instead of paying attention to what Marcus said, his mind retreated to the safety of the past—a time when he had been in control… he had been the one to give the orders.
In his early grade school days, Marcus and his mother moved into the house next door to Simon. It was weeks before he saw the kid. Once he did, he knew why Marcus stayed hidden inside. He had a hideous scar running from his lip upward to his nose. Speech problems and awkward behavior made him the perfect target on which Simon vented his own frustrations.
It wasn’t until much later that he found out the physical abnormalities were due to his mother’s alcoholism. Marcus’s own father abandoned him at birth. Learning that had validated Simon’s own assessment of him as a pathetic excuse for a human being—and his own cruel treatment of him over the years.
In his presentation, Marcus spared Simon the shame of revealing his name. Still, he wanted to jump to his feet and defend himself. He would have only looked foolish though. As Marcus told of one incident after another, Simon couldn’t deny that everything he reported was the truth.
Sixty minutes later, after Marcus thanked everyone for coming, Simon pushed into the aisle in front of the others and headed for the exit. His face felt hot and his stomach churned as negative comments about “the bully”—and speculations about just who he might have been—drifted through the crowd.
Down the street from the library, he removed the fake wig and threw it into a smelly garbage dumpster. He continued toward the bus terminal, glancing backward to see that no one had followed him—a habit he’d developed while on the run. Just paranoia, he hoped.
He ran the final two blocks, presented the ticket he’d purchased earlier that afternoon to the attendant, and boarded the bus with only a few dollars left in his pocket and a growl in his stomach. He walked to the back of the Greyhound and slid into the last empty seat.
The driver strode down the aisle, stopping to check tickets and talk to passengers. With each step that brought him nearer, Simon’s heartbeat escalated. Why doesn’t he drive the stupid bus already? Is he looking for someone?
As the guy approached, Simon yawned, leaned his head against the window and pretended to sleep. His ticket was in his hand. That’s all the bozo needed to see.
He’d found sleeping was a good way to pass the time and help him avoid getting sucked into a meaningless conversation with other passengers. Most people just cringed at his scars and backed off, anyhow. They avoided any kind of contact with him—physical or otherwise.
With no money or insurance, plastic surgery hadn’t been an option. When the angry raised patches of skin didn’t fade over time, he told himself to take his punishment like a man… suck it up… make the best of it.
He lived day-by-day. Sometimes he took jobs digging ditches and sweeping parking lots. They brought in just enough money to put another meal in his belly.
He was a wanted man. He’d broken the terms of his parole. Until he was ready to serve the rest of his sentence, there was no other life for him than this.




Part One








“As for God, his way is perfect: The LORD’s word is flawless; he shields all who take refuge in him.” (2 Samuel 22:31, NIV).















Chapter One

Simon brushed back his sweaty hair with trembling hands. He’d experienced the same dream every night for a year—ever since his trip to the valley for Marcus’s presentation at the library. Instead of his night terrors fading like he’d thought they would, they had only grown more intense.
The first one played out the way things had actually happened following the presentation, but in this latest version, a sheriff with a K-9 entered the bus. As they made their way down the aisle, the animal locked eyes with Simon, bared his teeth and leapt toward him in bone-chilling slow motion.
He left the cabin and walked toward the creek, bending down to splash its cold water onto his face and arms to awaken his senses and wash away the lasting effects of the nightmare. The small one-room cabin where he lived had no running water, no electricity, and an annoying hole in the roof. It was about as far from civilization as possible. Located at the end of a narrow dirt road, long overgrown with brush, it backed up to the Coconino National Forest.
Abandoned long before he’d stumbled upon it, there had been a large population of mice to run out, and a staggering number of spider webs to remove before he decided to hole up there.
The tall pines around the structure were so thick that most days it was impossible to see the sun—or even the clouds. Since the dirt road ended almost a mile from the cabin, folks merely turned around and followed it back out to the main highway. He was safe from prying eyes and beyond the long reach of the law—at least so far. In a strange way, this dark and dreary existence was comfortable.
The cabin boasted a sturdy cot and a door with a heavy iron bolt that afforded him some measure of security. Most nights he slept like a baby underneath the well-worn army blanket he’d stolen from someone’s porch rocker the first winter he’d spent there. Even though it was lonely at times, he’d trade isolation for anonymity any day of the week.
Best of all, there was a large cellar filled with a vast supply of homemade canned goods—perhaps harvested from the long-deserted garden on the east side of the house. He’d been able to stretch its contents by eating sparingly, but that had run out after only six months, making it necessary for him take day jobs or to scavenge. He was often fortunate enough to score big from the garbage cans behind the cabins on the outskirts of town.
That meant risking detection, but what else could he do?
He placed his Tempe High School ball cap—his only possession from his “old” life—on his head and started off down the road. He needed to keep up a good pace or he’d be caught by darkness on the return trip later in the afternoon. It had happened to him once before. Unable to find the cabin, he had slept under a pine tree—cold and terrified—until daylight.
A loud shot rang out a few hundred feet down the road. He hid behind a large tree stump—the one he often used as a marker to find his way to town and back. Now, it served as his refuge—from what, he didn’t know. He swallowed hard, willing his breathing to slow as he waited in the brush.
Muffled voices grew louder and clearer as a man and woman in identical
camouflaged vests and pants stopped to rest atop a nearby rock. “You at least nicked that squirrel, darlin’. You stay here. If I don’t find him, we’ll hunt down another one. With more practice, you’ll be a crack shot by the end of the day.”
A twig broke under the woman’s feet as she scuffed the dirt around, waiting for the man to return. She called out to him, “Alex, killing innocent animals isn’t on my list of fun things to do on vacation. Let’s get back in the jeep and head for Sedona. It has lots of shopping and restaurants. That’s more what I had in my mind when I suggested we come out west.”
The man appeared out of the thick brush. “I didn’t see the scoundrel. If you feel that way, the next time I plan a hunting trip, I’ll bring Adam. It’s more of a ‘guy thing,’ anyhow.” He walked toward her, grabbed her hand and half-dragged her over the fallen pine needles and back to the jeep. Its tires spun in the soft dirt.
Simon and Sally had gone to Sedona for a picnic one Saturday, themselves. If he had kept his mind on the beautiful scenery of the high country, instead of his girlfriend, he’d likely not be a father…a deserter...a bitter disappointment to all who knew him…

***

Simon’s stomach rumbled. He’d walked all of three miles with little to eat but a piece of jerky he’d saved from his last trip to Flagstaff. He considered it “emergency” food, stuffing it into his shirt pocket earlier in the morning. He took a bite, closed his eyes and savored its flavor.
When a row of cabins came into view, he stuck the last of the beef into his mouth and crept toward a bright, new metal garbage can. As the sun’s rays bounced off of it, his spirits lifted. What luck. He smiled, imagining what delicious morsels might be inside.
He paused when he saw his reflection in the lid. His long beard and matted hair repulsed him. A closer look revealed a thin face and bony shoulders. He hadn’t realized he’d lost so much weight. He licked his lips as he reached for the handle.
He slumped. Inside, there was only a nine-dollar price tag stuck to the bottom.
In a sudden surge of anger, he slammed the lid back down. Stupid! It wouldn’t be the first time his temper got him in trouble. He ducked behind a nearby shed, half-expecting someone to rush from their cabin to check on the loud noise. But, to his surprise, no one materialized.
He drew in a shaky breath, then crept from behind the small structure, taking cautious steps toward the second of four houses on the street. He rummaged through every trashcan, throwing whatever looked—and smelled—acceptable into an almost-clean plastic bag he’d found blowing around in a supermarket parking lot.
His thoughts turned to the last meal he’d eaten at home—his mother’s meatloaf. She was a good cook, and as long as he showed up at the table on time, he always ate his fill. If he was late, though, he stood a chance of missing the meal altogether—depending on his father’s mood.
Following the trail back to the cabin, his stomach grumbled once more. He withdrew an apple from the bag and took a big bite. Had someone tossed it out because of a few bruises?
At once, his smile faded.
He gagged, then spit out half of a juicy worm.

***

Simon reached the cabin at sunset. Exhausted after the long trek, he fell face-first onto the cot. He shivered, pulled the blanket over his shoulders and fell asleep to the sound of crickets chirping.
Hours later, he woke with a start, his body rigid in the murky darkness. He strained to hear what had been responsible for disturbing his rest. Always a deep sleeper, he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t slept straight through till morning. Even the nights spent in a cell hadn’t kept him from grabbing at least eight hours. But the last few months…
He dropped his head back on the pillow, deciding it was only the trees rustling in the wind. Wide awake, his thoughts turned to Tempe, his bright red Mustang, Sally’s hair blowing in the open air. He stared into the darkness until his eyelids grew heavy once more. He rolled onto his stomach, placing the pillow over his head to drown out the howling of a lone wolf in the distance.
A strange peace washed over him as one of his favorite dreams—one that didn’t end with a police presence—tugged at his senses. At once, he gave in to its magnetism.
Sally pulled the little red wagon—with Mary riding in it, chattering away to her dolly—toward the neighborhood park. Simon shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun bouncing off of their bright pink outfits.
Sally parked the wagon and lifted the child onto a swing. “Hold on tight, love.” Sally placed Mary’s hands against the linked chain before putting her palms on Mary’s back and pushing.
Mary squealed with delight. “Higher, Mommy, higher.”
Simon strained to see the expression on his daughter’s face, but the brightness of the sun in his eyes prevented it.
A hand clasped Simon’s bony shoulder, shaking harder and harder until…
His heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, a flashlight shining into his eyes. What in the—? He brought his hands up, cupping them over his brows.
Someone took hold of his shirt collar, lifting him to his feet, then dragging him out the door and dropping him onto the hard dirt of the clearing. “Well, what do we have here?”
“Looks like a squatter, Hank.” A second voice sucked in air between his teeth, then cleared his throat and spit.
“I’m afraid you’re right, Pete.” Hank twisted strands of his long white beard around his index finger as he stared at Simon, shivering in the early morning’s frigid air. “Grab a blanket, would ‘ya?”
In a few moments, Pete returned with the army blanket and tossed it to Simon. “You out here all by yerself, are ‘ya?” His bushy eyebrows looked spooky in the beam of the flashlight.
Simon nodded. His teeth chattered so loud he couldn’t speak. Still half asleep, his thoughts collided with each other. He tried to piece them together, but they made no sense. What was going on? What did these men want? And what did they intend to do with him?
“Get me the ax. It’s under the seat in the truck.” Hank motioned behind the cabin with his flashlight, then sat down across from Simon, waiting for Pete to return.
Simon gulped. “N—n—now, guys. Wh—wh—what are you th—th—thinking?”
Hank’s eyes narrowed as he fiddled with his beard. “Hum… I’m not sure as I rightly know. I’m gonna have to mull it around a bit. Pete’ll have somethin’ to say about this fix you’re in. Sure, he will.”
Simon bit his lip. “If this is your cabin, then I—I—I’ll get out right away. I—I didn’t mean to trespass. I thought it w—w—was abandoned. I meant no h—h—harm. I’ll just grab my jacket and walk toward town as soon as it gets light out. What do you say?”
“Well, that’s one idea, for sure.” Hank gave Simon a hard look. “Still, there may be other—better—possibilities...”
Pete emerged from the side of the cabin, ax in one hand and flashlight in the other. “I brought matches, too. It’s a while ‘til sunrise. Thought we might need a fire to warm us up a bit.” He dropped the ax at Hank’s feet, the blade sticking deep into the earth between his legs.
Pete’s flashlight popped. His angry face looked ghoulish as the light flickered several times, dimmed, and then went out. “We’re down to one source of light, now, Boss.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, nothing. That’s what.” Pete slid onto the ground near a stack of logs ready to be split and reclined on his elbows. His face slipped in and out of the shadows as Hank shined his flashlight all around the area. “What are ‘ya doin, Hank? Maybe you should turn that thing off, rather than run our one and only battery down.”
Hank struggled to his feet, lumbered over to Pete and stood over him. “Are you telling me what to do?”
Pete’s gulp was audible, his eyes transfixed on the ax in the older man’s hands. “No way, Hank. Thinkin’ out loud is all.”
“Well, next time, keep yer thoughts to yerself.” Hank swung the ax at the exact moment the light went out.
***
Without the slightest hesitation, Simon pulled the blanket around his shoulders and sprinted toward the creek. If he could find it in the darkness, he could cross at the place where a fallen tree spanned it, giving him a decent chance of getting away without drenching himself in the ice-cold water. The problem was, he’d never been beyond the stream. If they forced him to flee farther and farther into the forest, he’d face unknown territory and almost certain danger…
He winced as the side of his face scraped against the rough bark of a tree. Licking the blood from his lips, he ran until his lungs burned. He stopped to catch his breath, working his fingers back and forth to warm them. As voices in the distance grew louder, adrenaline coursed through him.
He sucked in a deep breath and set out again.
The sound of the rushing tributary filled him with hope and gave him the energy to press on. When at last his bare feet touched the icy water, he backed up a step and fell onto his knees. He crawled, waving his hands in front of him as he searched for the downed tree—his bridge to safety.
As he scrambled over rocks and dry vegetation, his knees began to bleed. Just as his stinging palms connected with the tree, something tugged on the hem of his pants. Its low growl quickened his heartbeat. For a moment, he wished he’d stayed in the clearing and taken his chances with Hank and Pete.
The images of a wolf, and then a bear, filled his inner vision. He covered his head with the army blanket and curled into a ball. He lay still on the cold, muddy bank as the animal sniffed and rocked him back and forth.
His chance to get away—maybe his last chance—came when the animal grunted and then scampered across the fallen leaves into the stillness of the forest. Simon breathed a ragged sigh of relief. Something spooked him. The guys must be close.
Inching forward, he forced his hands into the freezing water, wrapped them around the tree and shimmied on his stomach until he reached the other side of the creek. From there, he rolled into the bushes, heart pounding and teeth chattering… waiting…
He ran his fingers across his raw chest. They returned sticky and red with blood in the first light of day. He shivered. His only chance to survive was to stay one step ahead.
The splashing of water nearby made Simon’s hair stand on end. From the safety of the underbrush, he watched as two sets of heavy boots tromped out of the rivulet, pant legs soaked. He held his breath.
Unbelievable. He had been so sure that Hank had killed Pete. He became nauseous all over again at the thought of Hank wielding the ax just as the flashlight died. With pure adrenalin pumping through his veins, he had run—to save his own skin.
“The guy must be nearby.” A large hand snagged the army blanket from the creek bank and held it up. “He came this way. That’s for sure.”
“Barefoot, too. But I’ll be darned if he didn’t somehow get at least this far.” Hank scanned the creek bed. “Might be he came across on that tree,” he said, pointing at the huge pine that spanned the creek a hundred feet or so away —close to where Simon was hiding.
Simon shook his head. He hadn’t even realized he’d lost the blanket. It was like waving a red flag. It would be just a matter of minutes until they spotted him.
“Why are we wasting so much time on him? He’s small potatoes.” Pete’s stringy wet hair, twisted around his neck like seaweed, made him look like the monster from the deep lagoon.
“Because I did my time and he got off scot-free. That’s why. He needs to pay his dues.”
He hadn’t recognized it before, but that voice…could it be Colin’s? Now it all made sense. There wasn’t anyone that hated Simon more. He still blamed him for getting strung up on drug possession charges. He could kill me here and no one would know…
“You mean, after all this time, you’re just now getting around to telling me you know this guy?” Pete threw the muddy blanket at Hank.
“So, what?”
“When you take yourself a partner, you deserve to be informed if they’ve got a record. I can’t believe I’ve been working with you all this time without knowing the truth. What were you in for, anyway?” Pete’s hands balled into fists, his knuckles white.
Colin’s breath swirled between them, stirring the air in the bright light of dawn. “Let’s talk about this later. While we’re wastin’ time yakin’, he’s likely gettin’ away. We’ve nabbed two runners so far this month. One more will net us an even six hundred dollars.”
“Yeah, money’s good these days.” Pete’s teeth chattered as he unlaced his shoes and pulled out his stubby feet. “Can’t stand wet socks.”
“Wait a minute. I want to check somethin’ out.” Colin’s heavy footsteps brought him within inches of Simon. Before he could react, a pudgy hand reached into the brush and pulled him out by the nape of his neck.
“Ouch.” Simon squirmed, loosening Colin’s grasp. He flailed and kicked, but Pete came in for back up. Simon was helpless against both of them.
Pete gave Simon a knee to the stomach. “How’d you know he was under there, Hank?”
“Something glistened in the light—maybe the buttons on his shirt…”
Pete grabbed Simon away from Colin and drew him close to his face. “You
just made us another two hundred bucks—once we get you back to the valley, and under lock and key.”
“You guys are b—b—ounty hunters?” Simon blurted out.
“You got that right. And, I have you to thank for my new profession. I love the chase as much as the money—and this was a good chase.” Colin smirked, his dark eyes dancing with anticipation.
“Yeah, the information we got said you’ve been three years on the lam—and that was about a year ago. Hank thought it was ‘bout time we bring you in.” Pete spun Simon around, brought his wrists together, and snapped on a pair of handcuffs.
Simon struggled against the restraints. Back to jail? No way. “H—how’d you guys find me?”
“Remember that little trip to the Tempe Library? Well, we got a tip from a friend of mine—a bus driver—that he had a passenger that was actin’ suspicious-like. So, we had him go through some photos a few days later…and, BINGO, he nailed ‘ya.” The corner of Pete’s lip lifted in a snarl.
“We were up here twice last year, but just couldn’t seem to locate you. This is our first trip this season. Spotted you yesterday afternoon in Flagstaff and tracked you here. Good thing Pete can see in the dark.”
Simon furrowed his brow.
“Ah, just kiddin’.”
“Very f—f—unny, Colin.” Simon glared at his high school friend. “You always w—w—ere a kidder.”
“Well, I’m not kiddin’ now. It’s gonna give me great pleasure to see you behind bars—and I won’t visit you in the slammer, either, just like ‘ya never came to see me.” Colin placed his hands onto Simon’s back and gave him a rough push forward.

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