Something Different

By S. A. Freeman

Something Different was what Darla Jean Chapman had been looking for ever since she broke up with her longtime boyfriend Rod. In hopes of finding a Mr. Wonderful she had tried everything from a class in auto mechanics to an expensive week at a resort hotel whee successful men were known to congregate for business and pleasure. All she had to do was flirt and the magic would happen. But that just wasn't her, so here she was a week later on her way home. She made what she thought would be a quick stop for lunch at a little town off the interstate and that's when it happened. Oh, it was surely something different, for first she was knocked down on the street then accused of abetting a bank robber, jailed then kidnapped and taken to a remote cabin in the woods. All this with a marine-type guy who initially thought she was part of the gang. But together they escaped and then, well, everything else happened, except for setting herself on fire! It was certainly something different, and so was he.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. A. Freeman
• Release date: Jan 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781467592222

S. A. Freeman

S.A. Freeman began writing in the sixth grade and from time to time entertained her classmates with broad adventures in fiction. Later, holding a B.A. in journalism, she turned her interest to researching and writing history. She is the author of many articles and several books about the history of her region. With this book she has returned to her first love, fiction.

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Something Different

By S. A. Freeman

Copyright © 2014 by S. A Freeman

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-1-4675-9222-2

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting this author’s work.

Something Different

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

Haaa! Haaa! She snickered into her suitcase. She folded the last of her new vacation wardrobe into it and muttered, Too bad, guys. You’ll never see me again! Not in your lifetime!"

Her week was up, and though she could have stayed for another night at half-price, there was no incentive to do so. No one had noticed her. No one had flirted with her. No one.

Course, I didn’t flirt either. Kept pretty much to myself. She noted. This resort was supposed to be the place to meet great guys, with all the glory of a cruise plus horseback riding. It was the wrong move for her. Oh, she was brave enough in a group, but alone? Na uh.

I probably wouldn’t have come if my friends hadn’t thought I’d chicken out! Even Rod. Especially Rod. She had something to prove to her ex-boyfriend, and so she came.

She checked herself in the full-length mirror. Her light auburn hair complimented her new green slack suit with the short sleeved jacket and long white cami bra underneath... the one with the shelf for her bosom that gave her more cleavage than nature had. See what you missed, she would say to any man who might happen to be in the lobby when she checked out. Eat your hearts out, she would say. Well, she really wouldn’t, of course. So, she packed up her newly purchased - and what she judged to be dazzling - outfits and loaded her car.

Checking out, Miss, ah Chapman? The desk manager had to look at her bill to remember her name. Boy, she thought. She surely had made an impression on this place! He was a nondescript sort, sandy-colored hair, medium height, medium weight, gray eyes and probably wearing contacts. He seemed pleasant enough, just disinterested.

She nodded, smiled, handed him her charge card and signed on the dotted line.

We do hope your stay was pleasant? He said absently. It was what he said to everyone, but with varying degrees of feeling. She was maybe a two on a scale of 1 to 10. She earned a number that high because she hadn’t caused a riot or made a drunken scene or started a fire in her room.

Oh, yes. Most pleasant. I got lots of rest, she said with a touch of sarcasm. Trouble was, she had not wanted rest. She wanted to get laid! Well, that was a bit crude. What she really wanted was to meet a handsome, wonderful man, have a fairy tale romance, make passionate love and return home with him on her arm. Or at least a promise of future contact. Was the week worth it? All that rest she got instead? Not at these prices. So out she went.

Jean glanced around the huge mauve-hued lobby one last time. On her way in she had thought that one of those conversational settings would be a great place to sit. Men would see her and walk over to say hello. Soon she would be surrounded, sort of like Scarlet in Gone With the Wind. She had actually tried it once, and only got a nod from a female. That was it. So, without saying a word to any of the men she passed, she walked out, climbed into her car, settled back in her bucket seat and zoomed off toward home.

She should have known she wasn’t the type to go off by herself and hunt down men. That wasn’t Darla Jean Chapman. So, what had this rather expensive week taught her about herself? Maybe she better give this some thought.

For one thing, ever since she broke it off with Rod she had been trying new things, different things. An auto mechanics course, ballroom dancing, an art and music appreciation class, a gym membership, and even trolling bars with her friends. While she was healthier, smarter, and able to change her own oil, she was bored, bored. She wanted love in her life.

Jean had a college education and once had intended to get a masters’ degree then teach at a university and go on to get her doctorate. But after college she had bills, and when this job for a deed recorder at the county court house opened up she took it. Now she suffered from inertia. Her motivation was gone. Her parents had been disappointed, but they had accepted it.

She had been at this job for five years. It was stale, just like her whole life was stale. Jean blinked back tears. Uh oh. This won’t do, she told herself. She must not drive and cry. That would be like text messaging while driving except in this case the driver can’t see the road through her tears. It was sort of the same thing.

It’s life assessment time, she told the steering wheel. Mostly people at work thought she was a bit smart-mouthed. She knew that. That was because she was trying to be funny, the life of the party, maybe. Or maybe not. She also was assertive, she knew that too. But that was because she was trying to be businesslike. And she was not hard-hearted and aggressive like some of her friends claimed. True, she was outspoken, which made her appear a bit bold. And she sometimes spoke before she thought. No, she changed that to often spoke before she thought, and yes, she knew that was a terrible failing. Well, let’s be honest, she told herself. What she had was an unfiltered, sometimes even desperate urge to speak out. And what she said was not always nice. Hmm. But it was almost always true. Knowing this, Jean had learned to put a clamp on her mouth at work most of the time. Most of the time.

Actually, as she thought about it, it was when she was worried or upset, or angry or under stress that she spoke out. Maybe even when she was hungry. She shook her head. That sounds like it’s just about all the time, except when I’m asleep!

Let’s move on with my self-analysis, she thought. I’m shy, she announced to the passing scenery.

No one knew that, she realized, because she tried so hard to cover it up. A constant effort was what it took. Maybe that’s where the stress came in, she reasoned.

All these thoughts kept swirling and distracting her. She turned off her brain and turned on the radio. There might be some music she could listen to. One of these days she would have to get one of those satellite radio systems for the car if she planned to travel much in it. Jean had shot her wad with this week’s vacation, so she figured that any more travel was out for awhile.

The tune caught Jean’s attention and her thoughts immediately went back to Rod. Darn, she said his name again. She knew that was what was really bothering her, deep, deep down. She was a melancholy gal just now. Lonely and blue. Floating along aimlessly. No lover. Yep! She had the classic my-lover’s-gone blues.

Jean remembered that dreadful Saturday morning when Rod moved out of her apartment. His last words that morning were, You bitch! She recalled that her last words might have been at a much higher pitch and aimed at the male version of that remark... something to do with the circumstance of his birth and his mother. Too bad, too, she liked his mother.

Since then she had been going through all those steps of grief, trying to get over him, just like her mother had when her father died three years ago. Her mother still wasn’t through to the end. She wondered how long it would take to forget about Rod.

She smiled at the thought that she could be grieving for a man who was still alive. She knew he was because they still had dinner once in awhile. And maybe a movie. He would call occasionally and they would chat, but he never stayed overnight again. Not since that morning. And that was just fine with her. She didn’t want him that way anymore. Sometime during the last few months of living with him she had fallen out of love. Or maybe it was a lot earlier than that; she just wouldn’t admit it to herself, that she had hung on too long to a relationship that was going nowhere.

Jean adjusted the cruise control and settled down to a steady pace. She remembered that last morning together. They had begun it in silence. She should have known something serious was about to happen, because she was never quiet for very long. It was a Sunday. They each read their own choice of newspapers then she picked up a book and started to read. As Jean recalled, she was trying to ignore the fact that he was even there. It was like one morning a woman wakes up after she’s had several really good hair days in a row, looks in the mirror and say, Wow! Am I ever desperate for a haircut! She just could not explain it any better than that, except to say that that morning she finally realized their relationship was over.

What’s wrong with you, Jeanie he had asked in a not-very-friendly tone.

Rod was in investments, tall, lean and serious. They had met at a party of a mutual friend and were instantly attracted to each other. Stupidly she thought it might be love. The next thing Jean knew, he was living with her. That had been nearly three years ago, shortly after her father died.

She knew now that whatever triggered her actions that last morning had been growing. Subconsciously, no doubt. That morning she woke up and realized she was tired of his little moustache, tired of his dirty socks, tired of his snoring, tired of his presence in her circle of life. Tired of him. Finally, after he asked again, this time sounding even less friendly, she had said, You know how every morning when you set the alarm and it goes off and you hit the snooze button a couple of times before you get up? But when I set the alarm and it goes off and I get up right away?

Yes, he said, not seeing the big picture yet.

Well, that’s it. That’s a good example. I think we’re the wrong two people together.

What? He stood up so suddenly that he knocked over the side table in the process. Rod had never shown much emotion when they had disagreements, but he surely was excited about things that morning. There was shouting, crying, blundering about - on both sides - and finally he agreed to move out. It took him more than a week to get all his stuff out of her apartment, but he never spent another night.

Since then, what had it been, seven months? Seven months, fourteen days and a couple of hours now, Jean calculated. She began to address her steering wheel again. Oh, this is ludicrous. I don’t want him. I don’t miss his sex, even though it was pretty good. Not that she had much experience to compare it with. What she missed was the companionship and sharing her day with him. And not that he listened all that closely. Mostly their evenings were spent sharing his day. There, she had said it. She felt better.

She had had some dates since then, but she soon realized she was the wrong age. Older men were looking for women younger than she and guys her age wanted older women. I should try high school boys, I guess. I could be that mysterious older woman. Their moms would love that. It was hard not to tell the steering wheel everything.

Still, she reasoned, you do hear about women high school teachers who have affairs with their male students. There must be something to it. Of course, they end up in prison, accused of raping a child. Well, that won’t do.

Oh, boy, my thoughts are going every which way, she thought.

And just what sort of guy was she looking for? Who did she want to spend the rest of her life with? She still hadn’t given up on that idea at this point, though she knew that one of these days she would look around and find herself in her fifties and still alone. When that time came she guessed she would have to accept the fact that she would always be a single. At that point she would get a pet.

She moved around in her seat, trying to resettle her butt. He’s got to be deep, she decided. Think deep thoughts. Feel deep emotion. Not like Rod who was pretty shallow. Her guy would have to love her and want to be with her. Put her first. Humph! That’s probably what every woman wanted. She was no different. But, she told herself, she surely was looking for something different. And she wondered if she would know him when she saw him. No, that better be IF I see him. Chances are he isn’t out there. The steering wheel did not respond.

Oh, Lordy, I’m blue!

She patted the steering wheel. Oh, well, she addressed it. I guess it’s just you and me, Valiant. Her new car was now her life. That was another thing she did to lift her depression. She bought a new car. And, yes, even if I never drive more than 100 miles in a day again, I will get you satellite radio! Oh, boy! Now she was making promises to a car!

But she would always be pleased with this car, the first one she ever bought without the advice of a man. She had hit just about every auto lot in Jackson City and beyond. It took three months, but she wanted to get it right. She became such a nuisance that the dealers would send their new employees out to talk to her when they saw her coming. She finally ordered one, American made, two-door and flaming red. She had the word Valiant printed in white letters, outlined in black at the top of the trunk lid. Her white knight. As she thought about this car it came to her that it had given her more pleasure in the three months since she bought it than Rod ever did in the entire time they lived together. Now, that’s bad. Perhaps she really was hard-hearted.

Enough of this self-examination, she said. What am I going to tell everyone when I get back? Her best friend Michelle will quiz her closely and eventually work it out of her that nothing happened. Others in the office will accept what she says, but be a bit leery if she dresses it up too much. If Rod ever found out he would snicker and remind her of her failings every time he saw her. Face it, he’s got a nasty streak!

So, from a new man in her life standpoint, the week fizzled. She had to admit, though, she was well rested, fully exercised and tired of other women on the lookout. She saw them all week, just like herself, at breakfast, lunch, on the golf course, in the lounge, standing at the bar and swaying to the music, hoping someone would ask them to dance and the magic would happen, and yes, hoping against hope that a miracle would happen. We women are pitiful she announced to the world. Men must love it how obvious we can be.

Oh, her heart was empty. And, as a matter of fact, so was her stomach.

A road sign showed up a few miles further announcing that the next exit was Route 28 and indicating the town of Shady Grove was just a few miles north off this exit. Two more signs went by announcing the eateries and gas stations to be found there. Must be time for our lunch, she told Valiant, checking the gas gauge.

Route 28 actually continued north through the countryside on up through this state toward Jackson City. She could take it all the way home and see something different on the rest of the drive back. She had driven all the way down to the resort on connecting interstates, so this would be a new route to her. Maybe then she could put her mind back on the business of driving and just enjoy the pleasure of her new car.

It seemed like a good idea so she took the exit ramp. The road became two-lane and wound around some low wooded hills into a valley of well kept farms. About 11 miles from the interstate was a small community called Shady Grove. Population 9,949, the sign said. It seemed clean and pretty. As she drove down the main street, called Main Street, she saw that the shop windows all had activity in them. No closed signs, no for rent signs. Life must be good here. Folks were walking along the street, stopping to chat, probably looking for somewhere to have lunch. It was nearly noon on this Saturday morning in late August.

Jean saw a bank on the corner of one intersection with a money access machine hanging on the side of the building. It would probably take her card and she could pick up some extra cash to start the week. Across the street from it was a place called Dottie’s Diner. Looking further down the street she saw a gas station. This would be a good stop. In fact, the place looked inviting enough that she might just walk along Main Street after lunch and check out the shop windows. She hadn’t bought much in the way of souvenirs for friends; this was her last chance.

She drove most of the length of the street, made some right turns around one of the blocks and headed back. The houses along the streets off the main thoroughfare were well maintained, with sprawling porches that seemed to invite the passerby to come on up, sit and visit awhile. Lawns were trimmed and neat. Back on the main street Jean turned right at the intersection where the money machine hung, pulled up close to the curb and reached over to open the passenger side door. She put Valiant in Park, climbed out and closed her door. The open passenger door, of course, assured that she would not lock herself out. That wasn’t just a phobia, it had already happened once and it had not been fun. Valiant liked to run a tight ship.

She stepped over to the machine and rummaged through her big purse looking for her wallet with the debit card in it. No matter what, it was always on the bottom. She found it, slung her purse over her shoulder and was about to insert the card into the slot when she heard footsteps running hard from the main street. She turned just in time to see a man careen around the corner and mow her down. She landed with a thud on her purse. My mirror! Jean yelled and groaned. She looked up. The man had stopped momentarily to stand over her.

Damn! he muttered then ran on.

She was indignant. Boy was she indignant. And she was mad too. The least he could have done was help her up. She turned to yell nasty things at him and saw that he had both hands full, one with sacks, the other with a knitted black thing that looked like it might have been a ski mask and a metal thing that looked like it might have been a gun.

Whoa! she said, maybe even shouted. Did this guy just rob the bank around the corner? Something inside her said yes. Could she still get some money out of the ATM was her next question. Then she shook herself and thought she had better try to remember his face for the police. She stood up, still watching him run toward the end of the block. He slowed down and seemed to be heading toward a maroon sedan parked on that corner.

Too late she heard another set of thundering footsteps and bam! She was down again.

Oh, hell! Who are you? Yelled an angry voice beside her on the pavement.

Now this is too much! Jean yelled back.

Are you the lookout? No one robs a bank by himself anymore. Get up! All this from a big man who rose to his feet, grabbed her arm and jerked her to a standing position. Who are you? He shook her arm as he spoke. He barely saw her, noting only that she was in green and had unruly red hair. Most of his attention was on the running man on the street ahead.

I’m - she started, trying to struggle free.

Never mind, he said, looking at her car. It that yours To her surprised nod he said, Well, I’m taking it. Where are the keys?

She came to. Oh, no! Not my car! Not without me, you aren’t! For all I know you could be with him or - She couldn’t finish because he had already climbed in behind the wheel and was adjusting the seat for his long legs. He revved the engine and she jumped into the passenger seat. He took off from the curb about the same time she closed the door. The tires squealed and she said My car! Watch out, will you? It’s new.

Proceeds from other banks? The big man growled. Where’d he go? Around the corner, was it? Is he waiting for you?

That’s ridiculous! I’m not with him. He knocked me down. Just like you did.

The big man turned the corner. The only moving car ahead was the maroon sedan at the far end of the street driving too fast for Shady Grove traffic. Look there! I’ll bet that’s him, isn’t it?

How the h-e-double-l would I know? She demanded. There was no answer.

They followed the maroon car out of town and up into the hills to the west. The road quickly narrowed to two lanes and faithfully followed the rise and fall of the terrain. She tried to speak a couple of times, but the rolling and weaving he was putting Valiant through took her breath away. She was becoming more and more concerned, both for her car and for herself. Would they survive this wild ride? She checked her seat belt and hung onto the door grip. She was sure they would be turning over and over and over very soon now.

They had been traveling at high speed for about ten minutes, catching glimpses of the car ahead around curves, when suddenly Valiant became sluggish. The speed dropped off and the engine sputtered and died. No! We’re out of gas! The man groaned. As they drifted to the side of the road he turned his angry face toward her. You planned this, didn’t you? Who are you anyway? At last she had his attention.

Jean gulped. She would live. Valiant would be unscathed. Then her mouth took over. Oh, no. The question is, who are you?

You’re with him, aren’t you?

That’s idiotic! I was about to get some money at the ATM. She looked down at her hand. Her card was still there, clutched tightly. She waved it as proof.

What’s that? Your alibi?

I’m an innocent bystander, you dolt! And anyway, who the devil are you? She was beginning to figure that her best defense might be a good offense.

If you’re so innocent, why were you there just when the bank was being robbed? You looked ready to block any and all pursuit. His eyes traveled from her red hair, curly at times, frizzy at others, all the way down to her toes. When he spoke again his tone was gentler by about a nano-second. How’s come I never saw you around before? I certainly would have remembered you.

Was that an off-handed compliment? She paused to think about that. Allowing only a moment of pleasure from it in case it was, she said, I’m just driving through. My vacation ended this morning and I was on my way home. I saw the sign to Shady Grove and thought I’d stop for lunch and get some gas. Her explanation sounded weak, even wishy-washy. It was too much information, anyway. This would not do. Then she remembered that she had been knocked down not once but twice, and neither man had apologized.

Now, I think you better tell me who you are, she said indignantly. This is my car, you know, and you kidnapped me. If we’ve crossed the state line you could be in a lot of trouble.

You mean the Mann Act? He demanded. "Say! I’ve got more women than I can handle