General Fiction posted March 31, 2024

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love soothes

A Sunday Kind Of Love

by jim vecchio

I know I’m done for. At least she was mine. At least I’ve known true love.

I must think, think back, before all the lights go out…

Somehow I made it from Hartford to Shelbourne Falls.

Lost my way.  I don’t know if they’re still following me. Don’t know if I’m in New Hampshire now or Vermont. Got to get on a smaller road. Getting so tired. Got to rest someplace, somewhere they won’t find me.

Seems like a comfy country town. Maybe I can finally lose myself in small town America.

The turns are nasty, especially since I can hardly keep my eyes open.

Another turn.

There she was, a stately brunette, car off the shoulder, smoldering. I whizzed past her.

I heard her shout out, crying for help, and cursing me for passing.

I don’t know what made me do it. I’m in enough trouble now. Don’t need to borrow any more.

Yet, I turned back, and opened the car door to her.

She slung her black handbag over her shoulder and hopped in.

We exchanged cordialities. Her name was Molly. I told her I was Phil. Phil Sanders. Seemed like a handy name.

We drove down the winding country road, passing a sign that said, “WELCOME TO CAUSEWAY”.

“A good name for this place,” she said. “Always gets flooded up in a rainstorm.”

“Where to?” I asked.

“Wherever you’re heading is fine. I have no definite plans at the moment.”


“I’m not loose, if that’s what you mean. I’m heading out from one life and heading into another. You?”

“I guess you could say the same about me. You know how it is. Sometimes, you just got to go!”

We stopped at a small luncheonette. I treated her to burgers and a coke.

A newspaper box displayed the headline “SEARCH FOR ESCAPED KILLER”.

Luckily, it did not catch her eyes.

We got back in the car, exchanging some small talk.

“Look,” I said. “This is not a proposition or anything, but I’m dog tired. Mind if we hit the first motel we come to?”

“There’s one about five miles ahead. I could use a few winks, myself,” she said. “Separate?”


The road seemed to go on with no relief.

“Mind if I turn on the radio?” she asked. “Some music might do both of us some good!”

I nodded.

She turned the dial till she found what she wanted.

“An oldies station,” she said.

The song playing was “Brandy” byLooking Glass.

We both sang to the lyrics. Brandy, you’re a fine girl, what a good wife you would make…

We were about four miles into the journey when the music was interrupted by a bulletin.

“Police continue to search for Alan Thorson, after finding the body of Allison O’Hara, his fiancée, in her apartment. Mr. Thorson is considered to be in this area, and armed and dangerous. He is five foot eight inches, with  black hair, approximately 180 pounds, driving a blue Chevy Nova. Should you…”

I switched off the radio.

I pulled a pistol from my pocket and aimed it at her.

“I won’t use it if I don’t have to,” I told her.

I drove into the lot of the Lucky Clover Inn.

As we got out of the car, I slipped my gun hand into her cloak and held her tightly.

“We’re lovers,” I said. “This gun will be on you if you try anything funny. I’m afraid that “separate” business is over.”

As far as the clerk was concerned, we were honeymooners. I got the key to Room 7 and pushed her inside as I entered and bolted the door.

As soon as I slammed the door shut, reality hit me.

“Look, Molly, I…I’m sorry. It’s just that…Well, I’ve been through a lot…”

“Haven’t we all?” she said pertly.

“Molly, I…I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. If I don’t die one way, I’ll die another,” I said, placing the gun in open reach upon a chest of drawers.

I stretched out on an easy chair, throwing my jacket on the floor.

“I…had no right …to…” Before I could complete the sentence, I was out faster than a boxer with a glass jaw.

My last sight was the sun dancing on the butt of my gun.

I was out for hours, but it felt like days. I could see darkness through the flimsy curtains.

She was lying on the bed, eyes open, as if she were waiting for me to return to life.

“Welcome back to the world,” she said.

The gun was still in place. I was puzzled. “You…didn’t…?”

She gave me a rather grim look and said, “The way you cavemanned me, I was tempted to. And I’d have had every right!”

“And what stopped you?”

“Well, you weren’t going anywhere for a while, so I took the opportunity to snoop around.”


“Yes, I rifled…excuse the term…looked through your jacket pocket, and found it.”

“You read it?”

I guess I got a little angry. “That note was my private business. You had no right…”

“Look who’s talking. The man with the gun!”

I bowed my head, ashamed of my actions.

She continued, “Anyone who can write a note like that just couldn’t be a murderer. And I’ve got something to confess, too. I’m also running!”


“Let’s just say, I was into something bad. I should’ve run out a long time ago. Except for the gun, you were the first man who ever was so nice to me.”

She repeated, “Except for the gun.”

“Molly,” I said, “This is the story. You read the note. You know my heart. She called me over to her place. She sounded urgent…”

“And when you broke down the door, you found her body?”

“Yeah, I know how phony it sounds. But, that’s the truth!”

“Well, Mister Thorson, my story also sounds phony, but it’s true. All you need to know is, I didn’t take any money. You’ve got to believe that.”

“Molly, if you’ll stick your neck out to believe me, I promise to believe you. Now, let’s both get a little more shut-eye and figure out a plan tomorrow.”

The morning sun shone brightly in our room as I paged through a brochure from the night stand.

“How are you at kayaking and fishing?” I asked.

“Sounds adventuresome. What are you planning?”

“Assuming we don’t run into any interference, I figure we can make it in easy time to Dorset, near Bennington. A great destination for visitors, hikers, and runaway fugitives.”

I turned in the keys and we left.

We passed by some of Nature’s Finest, but I was in no mood for sightseeing. The car told me it was thirsty for gas.

We stopped at a tiny gas station that still had its original pumps. Only the tax and price told me what year it was.

As I was filling up, I noticed the old man looking at me sideways. It was then I saw the newspaper he was reading. As if the Fates had united us, her photo was on one side of the front page, mine on the other.

I reached for the gun in my pocket, then told myself, “I’m not that kind of person!”

Instead, I tore out my billfold and paid him in cold cash.

Now, I was expecting trouble, and I found it.

One lonely policeman in a small- town roadblock.

I jammed on the accelerator and rammed the front of his car, then sped off down the road.

“Well, Molly, they’ll know we’re here now, but we can still lose them among the tourists in Dorset.”

I ditched the car in Emerald Lake. I took a blanket from the trunk.

“We, my dear, are going to forget our troubles for a while and have ourselves a picnic!”

We stretched out near the tranquil lake and, at least for a moment, forgot it all and just enjoyed one another’s company.

She allowed me to tenderly place my arm around her.

“Alan,” she softly said, “Why couldn’t I have met you before…?”

“Hush, Molly,” I said, “I was ready to give up on womankind, before I met you.”

“But you kept the note.”

“Mostly to remind me of the fool I’ve been. I should’ve stayed there. I should’ve called the Police. For all I know, she was as big a dupe as I was. Now, now no one will believe me.”

“Alan, I believe you,” she whispered.

We stretched, holding hands, waving to the kayakers, not having to look over our shoulders.

“Molly, may I kiss you?”

“Why not? Already, we’ve been through more than most couples in a lifetime!”

As we held each other close, more kayakers drifted by and greeted us with a wolf whistle.

“They don’t know what they’re missing!” I said.

For a short while, we were the only two people in the world.

“Molly, I’m no good at words, but we found each other on a fast lane and we’ll have to continue on a fast lane.”

“At least we’ve found each other.”

“In this world, people have all week-Monday through the week-end, to leisurely plot out their lives. We don’t have that luxury. We need to make every moment count, every moment special.”

Her lips met mine once more. She said, "We don’t have all that time. We’ll skip to Sunday.  We’ll have a Sunday kind of love.”

That was the special bond we shared.

Till I saw the Park Ranger giving us the once over.

“We better split,” I said. “Our car will be a deadly giveaway but we’ve got to chance it.”

We strolled nonchalantly to the car, gently got in, and sped like a vicious tornado.

It was a small country road, but it, too, was blocked by police. This time they smartened up. There were two of them.

“Brace yourself,” I said, “This one’s for all the marbles!”

I gave the car the workout of its career.

It looked like we had made it, when one of the cops fired his pistol haphazardly in our direction.

Molly’s head slumped.

I waited till I was sure I had lost them. Molly had bought it. A bullet clean through, exiting her heart.

Tears flowing freely, I spoke to her, as if somehow she could hear me.

“I’m sorry, Molly.”

I gently laid her in the grass.

I don’t know what kept me going after that. There was nothing for me now. I even wanted to die, but at the same time, didn’t want it to come easy. I wanted to fight before it was over, maybe even avenge Molly’s death.

I lost track of the time. All I know is somehow, I had made it to The Bennington Monument.

Three hundred and six feet of obelisk, stretching upward, Vermont’s tourist stretch to the sky.

Once more, I attempted to lose myself among a flock of tourists.

I rode with them in the elevator to the Observatory, two hundred feet high, where I could observe some of the states I was wanted in.

I did not know it, but I had been tailed by two cops who parked their car, blocking my vehicle from escape.

They took the next elevator trip up. I caught a glimpse of them and turned my back, pretending to gape at the sights.

They recognized me.

One of them said, “Give it up, Thorson. It’s over.”

Like a maniac, I banged on the observatory window, as if I could shatter the glass.

I tried to push my way to the elevator. The tourists all shrieked and gawked, running out of my path.

A gun fired, creasing my forehead.

The two threw themselves on me and dragged me into the elevator. My own private elevator ride. Chaperoned.

“I’m innocent!” I screamed. “Innocent!”

“Sure you are,” said one as the elevator door closed. “We’ll show you what the law does to those who abuse our women!”

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