Page 1 of You Can Make Me
Prologue
Cooper
December
Buttonwillow Rest Area,
Buttonwillow, California
Interstate 5
You see it happen in the movies all the time.
The villain has his victim by the scruff of the neck, or the collar of a shirt, dragging their limp body, the poor soul moaning and pleading, but the viewer knows there will be no mercy this time.
The viewer also believes they will never be in such a predicament.
Unless the viewer is me. Because now I know better. If something horrible can happen, it will if it’s your time. Life is inherently fragile. Losing your life may be the last thing you think is going to happen when you leave the house, but you should never become complacent.Or cocky.
In my case, it was the last thing I thought would happen when I drove up the 5 to take pictures of a rest area for a story I was working on. Because of my incessant search for the truth, I was now faced with the reality that my entire life course would be irrevocably altered…if I survived at all.
As the sun went down, turning the sky a fiery orange color reminiscent of a forest blaze, I experienced the helpless sensation of being dragged by the collar of my dress shirt. I wondered how my Calvin Klein button-down managed not to tear. I was easily a hundred seventy pounds, no lightweight. Did shirt manufacturers contemplate such things when designing luxury apparel? Was the drag factor part of the quality control process?
My Berlutis were going to be toast, I knew that for sure, as my feet scraped across the gravel. They were my favorite shoes.
“It’s almost time. They’re almost here.”
The man had incapacitated me with a blow to the head, and dragged me through the rest area to the field beyond the restrooms. He seemed too slight to carry my weight, but based on the sounds he was making, he was not in his right mind. Was he on drugs? Mentally ill? It didn’t matter. He yanked me along, my head lolling back against his hand with every step, and he was a man on a mission.
“What’s…please.” I tried to make words come out, but the connection between my fuzzy brain and my mouth must have been severed when he cracked me over the back of the head.No messages would get to my limbs either.
“I’m gonna win. I’m gonna beat him. I’m gonna have my peace.”
His words were confusing, yet my sense of foreboding grew as my shoes left the gravel and began to glide over muddy grass.
The man let go of my collar, and my head thwacked the ground, knocking my teeth together. The taste of blood bloomedin my mouth, and I moaned. The scene was surreal, like something out of a horror movie, but the sound of cars flying by on the interstate made it seem strangely normal. Life continued on for others while it appeared to be ending for me.
All the Jiu Jitsu and Muay Thai in the world couldn’t save me now. I’d falsely assumed that the skills I’d learned would come to me like second nature when I needed them. I hadn’t counted on being surprised and knocked out cold. Full awareness was just out of reach and my limbs refused to comply with the messages my brain attempted to send.
The man walked around and stood next to my hips, smiling down at me. Even in the fading light, I could see his abnormally full mouth. So many teeth.
Just like the young musician had told me. Dee Dee Miller.
His description of the man he’d met at the carnival was spot on.
“I’d tell you this wasn’t gonna hurt, but I’d be lyin’,” he said as he pulled out a cleaver. It was a tool meant for hacking at a slab of beef, or maybe flaying open a fish.
The gleam of metal sparked a memory from long ago.
You seek answers meant for others
You trespass upon the fears of mothers
You tread upon the bonds of brothers
And it will be your undoing
You question the righteous
