The Heartless Prey

9. The Mark

***

Rick Santana splashed rubbing alcohol onto the festering wound in his midsection while in a Chevron bathroom. He groaned as he toughed it out and rubbed the alcohol deep into his cut. He'd been running a fever since yesterday. He could feel his abdomen throbbing. But he wasn't going to go out this way. Not from the wound inflicted by a dead man.

He had gotten into Flagstaff this morning, and he intended on continuing to head south. The cops knew who he was by now. And as of this morning there was no way there wasn't a manhunt after him. Colorado probably wasn't a good option to go to considering that was where his highest body count was. South to Arizona was his choice now. The only decision he had to make now was where to go from here.

He didn't want to go west. He'd rather be thrown in the brig or die before he'd spend his days in hippieville California. That wasn't an option. Perhaps east. He could resettle in Florida. That's where Ted Bundy ran off to right? And it all worked out until Teddy Bundy got sloppy. Rick wasn't going to ever be sloppy again.

Or there was Mexico. He was almost fluent in Spanish after taking high school and college classes in it. He'd be able to pick up the language in no time. He had enough money stashed away within the cushions of the back seat of the Mustang to last him plenty enough time in Mexico while he got things established. Yes, this was the move. Every instinct told him this would be the way to go.

The cops would be looking for his Mustang, but if he could lift another car the border patrol going south was quite lenient. Usually no questions asked, from what he'd heard.

Rick groaned as he threw some more alcohol onto his belly and worked it deep into his wound. What he would do for some painkillers right now, or better yet some antibiotics. An opioid wouldn't be so bad right now either, maybe some hydrocodone to take the edge off. He quickly shut that last option out of his head. Mother wouldn't have approved of that.

Rick looked at himself in the mirror. His entire left side of his face was purple. It matched the black and violet bruise on his hip. The most unsettling infliction from that old bastard was that which was on Rick's left eye. His entire eye was pooled with blood, with the exception of the upper right corner where there was still some bloodshot white visible. It was hideous. He had a couple of double takes from the gas station clerk while he asked to put $60 on pump number five, paying in cash of course.

And then there was the weirdest injury. The one on his neck. The pulsing and burning hand print. It felt like the worst sunburn he had ever had, but unlike a sunburn, it came in phases. It seemed that every time he thought about Laura it would begin to act up. It didn't fester like a burn, if anything it already looked like a scar. But it was active. Whenever Laura popped into his mind - ZAP. He felt like a damn dog with a shock collar.

And then were the voices. He began to hear them about an hour ago. That was probably the main reason he stopped in at the Chevron at this moment. Violent, angry voices. They didn't sound like they were directed at him. The voices seemed more like he was the neighbor in an apartment building with thin walls between the units. The intensity was like when the couple next door gets into a heated argument. The voices in his head cursed at someone in particular. While the words and tone of the voices were intense and aggressive, the actual volume in his head was quite low. Low enough to where the voices were muffled and he couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what they were saying. It was like trying to remember the lyrics from a song you'd only heard once or twice before, but you try your best to pinpoint at least one phrase from the song so you could search it up.

But there was one word that came up so often and with so much heated passion behind it, he didn't have a problem understanding. Witch.

Rick splashed some cool water on his face so he could hurry up and get a move on. When he looked back into the droplet covered mirror, he saw her behind him. Blonde and full of youth, just like when he was still a boy. But only now she didn't give him a feeling of courage or security. Instead she gave him chills down his spine coupled with anxiety. Instead the sight of her behind him in the mirror incited fear.