Jackson is his name. He tells me this as we pull into a hotel parking lot. I probably would object, but Im lost in my own nightmare. He gets us a room and I stagger to the bathroom like a zombie. The blood on my clothes is seeping through, sticking to me, and I can’t wait to get it off. I notice my wound as I slide my pants down. It’s not too deep, and somehow the bleeding has stopped. I fall into the shower and watch as red fills below. The hot water eventually fades forcing me to reach up and stop the shower. I lay in the tub, cold and alone. I can hear the television. They are talking about us. My mind sees the clerk.
His face will follow my line of vision for the rest of my life.
The TV stops. Jackson knocks on the door. I want to say wait, stop, don’t enter, but none of it comes out. As Jackson enters I just look up at him, pleading for any kind of warmth, any drug to wash away what the shower can’t.

I need some sugar to keep going. I head for the staple of the weak, the slurpee machine. I’m pumping blueberry goo into my cup, when things change.
“Hey. Aren’t you Sparrow?” the clerk rings out in jilted english. I ignore him continuing to fill my cup.
“It is you. Tommy Lee was looking for you. I’ll give him a call.”
No. Not now, I’m so close to leaving this town, escaping his grasp. My mind filters to our last night together. Tommy stands above me, belt in hand. I watch as it descends towards my face, helpless.
“NO,” is all I say, and then things blur together. I act as a cornered animal, unable to see my enemies clearly. My slurpee spills over onto the clean floor. I’m not sure when I went for the gun, but the clerk drops the phone in fear. I hear three shots that sound like they come from within me, watch the fear turn to emptiness in the clerks eyes.
The impact of the gunfire knocks me back into a row of display beers. One smashes to the ground, and as I slide to the floor it sticks its’ jagged teeth into my leg. I’m numb. I look at the gun, warm to my touch, and toss it aside in disgust. What the hell did I just do? It wasn’t me I think, try to tell myself. Tommy Lee did this, but I know that’s a lie.
I’m a caged beast. This is what happens when the pet bites back.
The chime from the entrance wakes me from my shock. I notice the glass in my leg, and pull the broken bottle from it, spraying my pants with blood. It’s the guy from outside who enters. I think I’m crying, as he bends down to me.
“Sparrow” He says my name gently, like we are old lost friends. “Sparrow, Come on we need to get out of here.”

Soon enough, this stranger is driving my Corvette, me paralyzed in the passenger seat, as we race away from the 7-11, in a horrific night of senseless murder. Murder and freedom.