The Hunt

        My hand rests lightly on the cool metal handle as I sift through the events that had brought me to this worn-down bar at this small and lonely mountain town. Faces that had once meant so much to me, now swim in the fog of my memory as ghosts, haunting, pushing me forward, sending me on an unending quest for revenge. Or maybe salvation? I don’t know that myself yet. And that’s why I need to continue, following each clue that I catch, hanging on each straw of hope for some sort of redemption. So, I could put these ghosts to rest, so that maybe, one day, I might rest as well.         At least that’s what I tell myself. There will be peace once you’re done. You will be free of guilt that follows you like your own shadow. But those are lies that I tell myself, because I know, that just as there’s no escaping your own shadow, there will also be no peace for my soul when I’m done. There is no redemption in revenge and the ghosts… The ghosts will haunt me till I join them.         As I open the old, heavily worn and once, I guess, red door of the roadside bar, muffled music becomes clear and the sound of “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet” fills my ears. Smell of liquor, sweat and cigarettes overpowers any trace of perfume left on my scarf that I unconsciously drew over my nose. As I scan the place, wary not to linger on one face for too long, I try to memorize as many details about the bar as I possibly can.          A bigger group sitting at a booth to my right, two men and a woman sitting at the end of the bar, three women in their late twenties or early thirties playing darts. Back entrance at the very end of the bar and the two bulky men at each side of the door arguing together about something. The bathroom is just to the left of the pool table that looks to be soaked in more booze than the men standing around it could drink.         That makes for three possible escape routes including the one I just came in through. That is if the bathroom has a window I can fit through.         I hope it won’t come to it, but you never know with these people. I’m certain that almost all of them could overpower me by sheer brute force, but my confidence is in that I could outrun and outsmart them. Not to be overly self-confident, but they don’t really look like the brightest bunch. Or the soberest, for that matter.            Unfortunately, as I start making my way towards the bar, I start drawing attention of the patrons of this fine establishment. Most only look sideways as I pass by, but two men by the pool table turn as I walk by and even as I pass them, I can still feel their eyes burning holes in my back. I try to hide the shiver running down my spine as I sit down on a bar stool.         “We don’t serve kids here,” the bartender snarls while barely sparing me a glance “so why don’t you run along, sweetheart.”           He is tall, at least 6’2, wide shoulders and big gut that’s almost spilling over his loosely hanging jeans held up only by my hopes and dreams of not seeing what’s underneath them. Combine that with the long graying beard and you could almost mistake him for the Santa Claus if it weren’t for his dark, hooded eyes that seem filled with disdain for his unusual new customer.         “I’m not here to drink.” I retort as I toss my sisters ID on the bar top and cringe as it lands in a pool of liquor of an unknown origin, which, thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice as he goes to pick it up. I could probably have gotten a fake, but my sister and I look eerily alike for being almost a decade apart. All I had to do is bleach my hair, which wasn’t so bad as I always envied her and mom for having the most beautiful, natural blonde hair as I was left with the same dull dark brown mane as dad. Besides, it made me feel closer to them again. On top of that I just had put a little mascara on and boom, I’m suddenly no longer Nora Sealgair, but Miranda, the twenty-six-year-old girl in the picture.           “Well, what are you here for then?” he asks while twirling the card between his fat fingers.         “I’m looking for Burner and I heard that you know where to find him,” I answer with a sweet, toothy smile as I extend my hand towards his to grab back my ID.         He snaps his hand back quicker than I expected he could and narrows his eyes, switching his scowl back and forth between me and the picture on the card. I start feeling sweat running down my back under my shirt as I shift uncomfortably in the chair even though I already know that he believes the document belonging to me. Still, his eyes unsettle me. Suspicion doesn’t surprise me, but the way he scans me, like he can read my mind makes me want to dig myself into the stained floor of the bar.           “What you need Burner for?” a low growl that thunders even though his words are barely more than a whisper “He doesn’t like being looked for.”         “I need information that I know he has and I’m willing to pay good money for it. I know the asking price.” I answer matching his insolent tone.         He scoffs. “What’s in it for me?”         With his interest, my confidence piques as well, “I don’t know, keeping your head, maybe?” I smile as I grab my ID back, making use of his shocked reaction to my cocky answer. “You wouldn’t want him finding out that he had missed out on a payday because you were being greedy?”         I am playing by what I had managed to find out about the guy so far. There’s not much Burner wouldn’t do if the price is right.           I stare him dead in the eyes and he stares back. With every second passing by, my courage is shrinking. I’m preparing to run or fight if need be. My hand clenching the blade hidden under my jacket. Every muscle in my body tightens as he leans over the bar, our faces now merely a foot away.          Finally, the barkeep laughs, “I like you!” he roars. “You have some guts, Miranda,” he says the name on the ID as he winks, “I will put out the word, that you’re looking for him. He will contact you himself. Won’t take too long, just don’t skip town. He doesn’t like people who waist his time.”           “Thank you,” I wink back at him. “This is something for your trouble.”         I pull out an envelope with five grand and place it on the bar. Even though I was playing the big bad wolf, he was actually one, and if I have to stay in this town for a couple more days waiting for Burner, I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder just in case he felt slighted.         “Well, aren’t you nice,” he whistles as he looks through the contents of the envelope. “Continue on like this and soon enough you’ll be making friends here.”         “Not to ruin our blooming friendship,” I smile, “but I hope this is the last time I will be seeing you.”         He laughs again, “Me too, sweetheart.” He continues with what could almost seem as a sad smile, “You don’t belong in this world.” He says as he turns away tucking the money into his back pocket.         No one is looking at me now as I’m making my way back towards the door that I had come in through. I guess that had gone better than I was expecting. Relief fills me as all the muscles in my body relax.         Fresh mountain air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath as soon as the door slams closed behind me. As I sit down in my dad's old '69 Camaro and fasten the seat belt, I notice a tall, well built man leaning against his motorcycle, smoking a cigarette. He is looking my way, but because of how dark it is, I’m not sure if he’s looking at me. As I’m pondering this, he flicks off his cigarette, gets on his bike and leaves. I turn on the ignition and slowly make my way towards the “Peary Mountain motel” which I will be calling home for the time being.