Chapter 1

“I can not endure another night alone!” echoes across the world as desperate cries of pain, originating from within the sterile white walls of small apartments everywhere.

There is no greater curse that can befall a person, than a life lived in a state of constant loneliness. Each day spent in loneliness, sucks a little of the soul from a man or woman. Even after a few days, the effect of loneliness on a person is observed as a sloping of shoulders, a dulling of the eyes, and a lethargy of spirit. A year spent in constant loneliness creates a flat, lifeless person who exhibits only the barest of signs of living. A lifetime of loneliness produces a husk of a person; a walking corpse, that goes through the motions of being human, but without experiencing life.

Loneliness is a result of more than being unloved, or isolated. It is being invisible – of having an existence that goes completely unnoticed by others. It is shouting out in pain on a crowded street and having everyone walk past without even a glance. It is lying on death’s door without a single tear being shed by another. It is being a nothing.

Loneliness is a relatively modern phenomena. People work in little cubicles. They stand in crowded subways, with eyes staring off into the distance ignoring all who surround them. Living apart from family, they dwell in little apartments where neighbors pointedly look in the opposite direction.

With six billion people walking on the planet, it should be impossible to be lonely. Yet, it happens so frequently that it has become a common misery. One must wonder how that can be. All it takes to end loneliness is a word ... a gesture ... a touch ... any simple act of recognizing the existence of another. Yet day in and day out, people exist without even causal recognition by others. Too many people wilt and waste away, in an epidemic that is spread by neither germ nor virus.

Should one lonely person reaches out to another, suddenly there are two people who are no longer lonely. It is so simple, and yet, so exceptionally difficult for a lonely person to do.

The slap-slap-slap of running shoes hitting the pavement was muted by the almost oppressive quiet of the desert. A foot fell an inch in front of a scorpion crossing the highway and disappeared before insect had a chance to react with raised stinger. The young woman, pony tail swinging to and fro behind her, ran at a steady pace that ate miles at a near superhuman rate. She moved in an effortless manner – arms and legs swinging with an easy grace.

She ignored the occasional car or truck that passed her although almost all of them slowed when driving past. The sight of a young woman wearing jogging shorts and a tee-shirt running along a highway in the middle of nowhere was sufficient to draw the attention of even the most jaded and tired of drivers. More than one car slowed enough for the driver to offer a lift which was calmly refused by the young woman who never once showed a moment of concern about the isolated circumstances in which those offers were proffered.

The shrill sound of a cell phone disturbed the air, and the young woman touched an ear piece.

Without any trace of breathlessness, nor even breaking stride, she answered, “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m running to the store,” the young woman answered.

“You left yesterday morning.”

“I haven’t gotten there yet,” the young woman said with a giggle.

“What store are you going to?”

“Daniella’s Boutique.”

“The one on Rodeo Drive?”

“Yes,” the young woman answered. “I want to get a new dress.”

There was a low frustrated growl followed by, “That’s four hundred miles from home!”

“I’ll be there late tomorrow.”

She had figured that it would take her thirty hours to run there. Having left in the late morning the previous day with plans to rest the nights in hotels along the way, she predicted a late afternoon arrival. After a couple hours of shopping, she’d mail her purchases home, spend the night in a hotel, and start her return run the next morning.

“That’s four hundred miles!”

“I’m averaging a four and a half minute mile,” the young woman replied.

It was the kind of blistering pace that only world class marathon runners could maintain, and even they would only last for around two hours before collapsing at the finish line. At noon, she had already been running for six hours and expected to continue at that pace for another six hours. It was well within her limits. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Where exactly are you?”

“I’m about halfway there. I’m nearing the California state line.”

“What road are you on?”

“The highway.”

“Betsy, I’m sending a helicopter out to pick you up.”

“Why?” Betsy asked.

“It’s not safe for a young woman to run across the desert alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is the point. I can take care of myself!” Betsy declared.

Anyone who knew Betsy was well aware of the fact that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Reflexes fast enough to catch a rattlesnake in mid-strike, strong as any man, a lifetime of training in the martial arts, and training in the use of arms; these made her a very dangerous individual. Her willingness to use force ... although tempered somewhat, from her early life ... assured she would not stand quietly by, while being victimized, by anyone.

“You drive all of us mothers crazy.”

“Momma Linda, I run. That’s what I do,” Betsy said.

“I’ll arrange a chase car,” Linda said.

“Don’t bother with that.”

The two women argued over the phone for thirty minutes before Betsy conceded that she would call home every hour, and let them know where she had holed up for the night. She had covered seven miles during the conversation, and four cars had slowed down to check her out.

An hour later a patrol car eased up beside her, and rode along for a minute or so while the officer kept pointing to the side of the road. Frustrated that she didn’t stop, the officer drove ahead and pulled off the road, parking on the shoulder. He got out and leaned against the rear of his patrol car waiting for her.

When Betsy arrived, he shouted, “Stop.”

Betsy came to a stop although she did continue to jog in place. It wasn’t that she needed to cool down after her run. She didn’t like to stand still.

“What’s the matter?” Betsy asked.

“I need to see some identification,” the officer said.

“Why?”

“Just show me some identification,” the officer said.

Betsy reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her wallet. She opened it and held it out for him to inspect.

“Please take your identification out of the wallet,” the officer said.

“This is a huge waste of time,” Betsy complained while digging her identification card out.

She handed it over to the officer. He took a moment to examine the young woman and compare her to the image on the card. Individually, none of her features were all that remarkable, but the total result was a very attractive young woman. She was of medium height, but so muscular that she almost looked stocky. She was small breasted consistent with having almost no body fat. Her facial features were exotic as a result of Caucasian, Negro, and Asian ancestry. Her hair, jet black, despite being in a pony tail fell to the middle of her back. Her skin was not black, white, or yellow, but almost a golden tan.

Satisfied the identification matched the woman jogging in place in front of him, he went over to the front of the car and, reaching through the open window, pulled out the microphone for his radio. He called in the information on the license. After a short exchange with the dispatcher, he put the microphone back in the car. He walked back to Betsy and returned her identification card to her. She was still jogging in place.

The officer said, “Here’s your id, Ms. Carter.”

“Thank you,” Betsy said rolling her eyes.

“Don’t you know that it is dangerous for a young woman to be hitchhiking like this in the middle of nowhere? There are all kinds of perverts who would love to abduct a young woman who looks like you. You wouldn’t like the kinds of things one of them would do to you,” the officer said.

While he was talking, she had put the card in her wallet and then returned the wallet to her fanny pack. He wondered if she was even paying attention to what he was saying.

“I know. I’m not hitchhiking, though. I’m running.”

“So don’t you think it best if you avoided a situation like that?”

Snorting at the idea of avoiding a situation like that, Betsy asked, “Who cares if there’s one less pervert in the world?”

Amused at her assertion that the pervert would come out the loser, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Anyone that tries to grab me, will end up dead,” Betsy answered with the calm assurance of someone who was convinced the outcome was well understood.

The officer shook his head. He knew that too many young people assumed that they were invulnerable to harm until they encountered a situation that was too much for them to handle. Reality had a tendency to bite them in the ass with a venom that was often fatal. He and his brother officers were then called upon to clean up the mess.

“Ms. Carter, there are some very big and nasty men out there,” the officer said.

“I know. They’re the most fun to take down,” Betsy said with a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Still jogging in place, she shadow boxed for a few seconds. Her fists lashed out at blinding speed. Despite the speed of her movements, he wasn’t impressed.

Seeing the expression on his face, she added, “I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.”

“There’s always someone who is bigger and meaner than you are,” the officer said as if her were explain that a stove was hot to a young child.

“But there are only a few who are deadlier than I am, and I know all of them,” Betsy said with the assurance that she was stating a fact.

“Right.”

“It’s true.”

He knew that he wasn’t going to convince her that she was doing something foolish. In a movie, this was the kind of conversation that preceded something horrible happening to the young woman. He didn’t want to respond to a call sometime later to recover her body from some remote place in the desert.

Changing tactics, he said, “Look, Ms. Carter, why don’t I take you into town where you can get on a bus and go home?”

“No thank you.”

“If it’s a matter of money, I’ll buy your ticket,” the officer said.

He didn’t really want to spend that kind of money, but he’d rather see her safely on a bus than have his next encounter with her occur in the morgue. She was a very attractive young woman and that tended to attract sexual predators. Too often they ended their encounters by killing their victims.

“I’m not worried about money. I’m going shopping,” Betsy said.

“Where?”

“Rodeo Drive,” Betsy answered.

“You’re carrying enough money to go shopping on Rodeo Drive?” the officer said thinking that this young woman had no sense of danger.

The officer sighed. If it was true that she had money, then he wouldn’t be able to pick her up on vagrancy charges. He hadn’t seen her hitchhiking so he couldn’t arrest her for that. Although it was unwise to travel along a deserted stretch of highway such as this, there weren’t any actual laws against pedestrians along this stretch. Distance cyclists and cross-country runners often traveled along the highway since it was one of the few east-west roadways into California. Usually though, they traveled in packs, rather than alone like this.

“Are you kidding? I’ve got debit cards,” Betsy said.

He was about to say something when her cell phone rang.

“Hold on ... that’s my mother.”

She reached up and tapped a button on her earpiece. Betsy answered the call with a cheery hello while still jogging in place. He had no idea who she was talking with, but it was obvious by the changes in her body language that she wasn’t happy.

Betsy said, “I know I said I would call every hour, but I’m stuck here talking to a police officer.”

Chapter 2 »