CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brandon Harris jogged along Accokeek Creek in the Creekside Park in Stafford, whistling along to the tune of an old metalcore song that he privately admitted still sounded as cool to him as it did twenty years ago when he wore his hair long and moppy and every shirt he had was a size too big and had a picture of a band logo on it.
The shirt he wore now fit him much better and had an Under Armour logo.
His hair was cut short, and he was fit and muscular instead of skinny as a rail with knobby knees and elbows.
He actually knew how to talk to women, although since meeting Carly five years ago, he only talked to one woman.
In short, he had grown up, but if he wanted to listen to some teen angst music, he was gonna listen to some teen angst music.
He crossed a bridge over the creek and entered the portion of Creekside Park that abutted the Stafford Courthouse Dog Park.
He glanced over at the park with a dark frown that deepened as he realized that if he had been running this route two days ago and looked over his right shoulder, he would have seen that dog standing over the dead body of his owner.
If he had been running early morning instead of midday, he would have seen the murderer and maybe been able to stop him.
He laughed at that and looked ahead. “Yeah. Sure, Brandon. Because you’re the next great superhero. You’d probably just get shot and end up lying next to the other guy.”
He tried to focus on the humor of that thought, morbid though it was, but he couldn’t get the image of that poor dog out of his head.
That was the problem with this world. Everyone ignored violence because it was easier to ignore it than to stand up to it.
He couldn’t blame himself for not being there, but what if he was there?
Would he have really done something about it, or would he have been too scared?
He kept running, trying to focus on the song now playing. This one was about crying over the grave of a woman the singer had loved in high school, so he changed it to a different song, an old rock standard about partying hard and enjoying drugs. Good clean fun.
That brought a genuine laugh, and his mood improved.
The cops were after that guy. They had his face all over the news.
The FBI was helping, but most importantly, people were looking out for each other.
They were watching for people like that asshole, and when they found them, they were going to report them. It was going to be okay.
The route led back to the creek for the last mile.
Once Brandon reached the end, he would walk back, which would take an hour or so but would allow him a chance to enjoy the scenery and cool down slowly.
It was warm out, so there were birds singing in the trees and fish swimming in the creek.
He could focus on life, and then he could go home and talk to Carly.
Maybe he’d get lucky and convince her to join him in the shower.
The song ended, and Brandon heard a scream. His blood froze. He came to a dead stop, heart pounding from more than just the run.
That was fake. He was imagining things. He couldn’t have heard that.
He heard another scream, cut off by a gurgling noise, and his heart dropped to his feet.
He tore his headphones out and sprinted toward the sound, not entirely aware of what he was doing and with no clue what he planned to do when he reached whatever was going on, just knowing that he had to do something.
He crested a hill and looked into a shallow depression to see a woman on her back with her hand raised, tears streaming from her face. A man stood above her, pointing a gun at her through his coat pocket.
“Now!” the man hissed. “You want me to hurt you?”
Brandon’s blood boiled. He shouted, “Hey! Back off!”
And to his abject amazement, the man did exactly that. He flinched and stumbled backwards, staring at Brandon with wide, stupid eyes. Despite being at least six inches taller than Brandon and probably fifty pounds heavier, not to mention armed, he turned and ran away.
The woman cried out and wept, “Thank you. Thank you.”
Her voice sounded hoarse, and Brandon saw a red welt around her neck. The killer must have been strangling her.
Brandon stood in amazement for a long moment. Then his heart soared. He had done it! He had saved someone from the killer! He probably should have gone after the guy instead of letting him run away, but he had seen his face, at least. He could tell the cops exactly what the man looked like.
His chest puffed out, and he smiled at the woman he’d saved. “I’m going to call the police and tell them exactly what that prick looked like.”
The woman nodded and muttered another weak, “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. We’re going to get him. Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon.”