(Un)Fortunate Meetings

by Sam DeCuicies

The darkness of night had subsided and he could see the sun rising over the horizon. The road before him seemed to go on forever, a mountain in the distance looming over the small town he was approaching. Ansel tried again to fiddle with the radio, but he couldn't find a signal for any station. He sighed, forced to keep driving in silence. He spotted a gas station coming up along the road, and with a glance at the car's tank, Ansel figured he could use a stop. He pulled in next to one of the pumps, taking the keys out of the ignition and exiting the car. A man with a cowboy hat and a toothpick hanging out of his mouth nodded to him, and Ansel nodded back.
   
After hooking the car up to the pump, he opened up the trunk. Several duffel bags were currently hidden there, and Ansel glanced around to make sure no one was looking his way before unzipping one and retrieving away of twenty dollar bills. He placed them in the pocket of his jeans to take with him into the small convenience store next to the gas station.
   
The little bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the air conditioning greeting his hot skin. The dumb old car had no air conditioning whatsoever, meaning he had to drive with the windows down in order not to burst into flames from the heat. Maybe he should have gone north instead of west in his escape.
   
Ansel went straight to the refrigerators, placing two bottles of water in the little green basket he had picked up by the door. He threw some other things in, a bag of chips, some Twizzlers, and a pack of mint flavored gum. Down the aisle was someone else, a hood pulled up over their head and Ansel watched as the stranger shoved a candy bar into their pocket, glancing between the shelf and the employee at the cash register. Ansel sighed and walked up to them, taking the person's arm and seeing that it was a boy. His brown hair covered his forehead and fell almost to his eyes, and he fought back against Ansel's grip. Ansel only shook his head and reached into the boy's pocket, taking out the candy bar and placing it in his basket.
   
He went to the cash register and paid for his things, hearing the bell chime above the door as the boy left the store. Ansel thanked the employee as he took his things and left the store himself, rummaging through one of the plastic bags to find the candy bar. He saw the boy leaning against the wall, his hands hidden by the sleeves of his hoodie and clutching the strap of his messenger bag. Ansel cleared his throat to get his attention and handed the candy bar to him. He accepted it with a nod and tore open the wrapper, taking a bite from it.
   
"Why were you stealing a candy bar?" Ansel asked him, not entirely sure why he was so intrigued by this boy.
   
"I'm hungry," he replied, his mouth full of chocolate.
   
"Shouldn't you be stealing real food, then?" Ansel questioned, only earning a shrug from the boy.

"Why don't you have any money?" The boy shrugged again, causing Ansel to sigh. "Will you let me buy you something to eat, then? I saw the diner down the road on my way here."
   
The boy perked up at this, turning his head to face Ansel. He could properly see his face now, his round cheeks and well-defined jaw. Ansel motioned for the boy to follow him, and he went to the car.After taking out the pump and paying for the gas, Ansel was back behind the wheel, starting the ignition with the boy in the passenger seat beside him. The sun had fully risen now, no longer peeking out from below the horizon.
   
They drove down the road to the diner, sitting down at an open booth. Ansel frowned to himself, wondering how long it's been since this boy has had a proper meal. He could tell from the way he drowned in the hoodie that he was small, although, not much smaller than him. Ansel had always been a little shorter than most guys his age, but the boy was just around his height. Yet somehow he just seemed small. Ansel couldn't shake the surge of protectiveness that bloomed in his chest at the sight of him.
   
"So, do you have a name?" Ansel asked him, placing his coffee back on the saucer. The boy was picking at his fingernails, staring at them and refusing to make eye contact with Ansel.
   
"P-Peter," the boy stuttered, Ansel only just catching it.
   
"My name is Ansel," he replied. "How old are you, Peter?"
   
"Twenty-one," he mumbled.
   
"Oh, you're much older than I thought you were," Ansel commented. "I'm twenty-five. I totally thought you were a teenager."
   
"I get that a lot," the boy shrugged, turning away from him as the volume on a TV nearby was turned up. Ansel turned to it too, seeing a news channel on screen with the headline "Body Found in Motel, Notorious Serial Killer, the Motel Murderer, Strikes Again."
   
"This morning the body of Luke Johnsen was discovered in the bathtub of a motel room. Investigators told reporters that it does appear to be the work of the serial killer the Motel Murderer, miking this the killer's fifth victim. Police say they still have no leads as to the identity of the killer, nor as to where they may be headed next. If you live in a town neighboring those of the murders, police advise you to be cautious."
   
"They still don't know who that killer is?" Ansel commented, turning away from the TV and back to the boy. "That's just one town over, too. Maybe I should head away from this area."
   
"The boy was grinning, at what Ansel couldn't decipher. It seemed a strange reaction to a news report about a serial killer.
   
"Is there someplace I can take you after this?" he asked him. "I don't really want to leave you in the middle of nowhere."
   
"No, not really," the boy murmured, playing with his fingernails again.
   
Ansel didn't know where his next words came from, but he couldn't stop himself from saying them. "You could come with me."
   
The boy looked up at him, brown eyes meeting his own. Ansel ran a hand through his blonde hair, trying to think of what to say next. Had he really just invited this stranger to come with him in a stolen car packed full of stolen cash? He did, didn't he? What if he found out the car was stolen and called the police? He was trying to steal a candy bar when he met him, but stealing over two thousand dollars in cash was an entirely different story. There was a fine line between grand theft and petty theft; Ansel had researched the law enough to understand it.
   
"Okay," the boy said with a nod, his lips curling slightly in almost a smile. Ansel couldn't deny he thought it was cute. "So, Peter, what brought you to this area?" Ansel asked him between mouthfuls of his own food. "Like the middle of nowhere, I mean."
   
"Ran away," Peter responded curtly.
   
"What did you run away from?" Ansel asked him. Peter only shrugged. "Ah, I probably shouldn't have asked that, it's a bit personal."
 
"Where uh... where are you heading?" Peter questioned.
   
"Nowhere in particular," Ansel answered. "I kind of just started driving. I want to find somewhere to settle down at some point, but for now I'm just enjoying life on the road."
   
They finished their food and Ansel paid for the meal entirely in cash. Peter found it odd but he didn't want to question it. They got back into the car and Ansel drove off, heading away from the town where Peter had just left a body in a motel room. He glanced over at Ansel in the driver's seat, his eyes fixed on the road. Peter felt himself almost shiver in anticipation, his imagination already racing ahead of him. Ansel had fallen right into his trap, a perfect victim if he had ever seen one. He smirked as he watched the buildings grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. No one was going to find the Motel Murderer. He was sure of it.