Chapter One

The beautiful views of the rolling countryside were wasted on Dean Deacon as he twisted in his sleep. The Nevada heat crept into the Greyhound bus through the windows that had been thrown open in hope of tempting a non existent breeze. After a few hours, the rumbling of the engine and the whirring of the air conditioning became unnoticeable. The dust sprayed up from the back tires, a thick brown cloud following the bus constantly.

Twisting again to try to find a comfortable position in the seat near the back of the bus, he rested his head against the hot glass and rubbed the beads of sweat that had been gathering around his neck of his t-shirt. Most of the people that had boarded in Chicago with Dean had already been dropped off along the way, and now, only eight people remained. An elderly couple near the front, both reading. A mother with two of her children; the two young boys sitting on the seat behind the driver, watching the world roll past them in amusement and reverence. A girl sat watching a portable DVD player, a teenage boy on the back seat playing his music so loud in his headphones that a constant base beat reverberated through the bus, and Dean, asleep since they passed by Salt Lake City.

He stirred again, twisting and sitting with his back against the window and propping his feet against the arm of the chair. Opening his eyes, he brushed the back of his hands against them and blinked a few times, wondering how long he’d been asleep. He sat up straight and looked up over the seat in front of him down towards the front of the bus, glancing at the large digital clock above the windscreen. Four-thirty pm, he’d been asleep for over seven hours, a miracle in his books. He hadn’t slept more than three hours at a time since he got on the bus four days ago, and that was including the run down motels he been forced to stay in while the driver fuelled the bus and took his time off.
Leaning over, he pulled his rucksack upright and leant it against the chairs, digging into it to pull out the bottle of coke he’d stashed at the last stop. He twisted off the top and drank half the bottle in one. Shoving the bottle back into his bag, he leaned his head back against the window and sighed deeply. He had no idea where they were, or how long he had left in his journey. He dropped the rucksack to the floor and stretched his hands high above his head, arching his back and stretching his legs into the aisle.

He twisted to sitting properly in his seat and stood, sliding out into the aisle and making his way down towards the front, past the other passengers and stepping down until he was next to the driver.

“How long ‘til Vegas?” He asked, taking a seat on the steps.

“Another hour, maybe hour and a half.” The driver replied, looking back at Dean for a second before turning back to the road. Dean nodded, gazing through the windscreen at the spanning desert for a moment and returned to his seat, jumping slightly as his phone began buzzing in his pocket.

Flipping open the phone, he glanced at the screen quickly with a scowl before putting it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Mr Hanson?”

“Speaking.” Dean replied, leaning his elbow against the window pain.

“This is Kevin Slater, I spoke to you last week.” The phone crackled with static, as Dean sighed.

“Yes, Mr Slater. What can I do for you?”

“Well, we agreed on a two week contract, and I have yet to see you or any results.” The man replied, the note of contempt in his voice.

“I know Sir, but these things take time. I was researching the contract before travelling. I am on my way there now.”

“How are you getting here? Horse and fucking cart?” He asked sarcastically.

“I’m on a greyhound bus.” Dean answered calmly.

“This is the twenty-first century, Mr Hanson, we have planes.”

“Why spend more money than I need to, Mr Slater?”

“Because you could have been here three days ago.” He snapped.

“Mr Slater, is there something you needed?” There was a pause, the drone of heavy breathing down the ear piece.

“Yes, actually. I was wondering when the contract would be fulfilled?”
“It will be completed on time, Sir. Don’t you worry. You are paying for my services, and I will not disappoint.”

“That’s debatable, Mr Hanson. Very debatable.”

Dean took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could.

“Mr Slater, I will respectfully ask you reserve your opinions on my performance until the contract is complete.”

“My opinions will be decided at our meeting this evening.”

“That’s your call, Mr Slater. I will see you at six pm in the Hilton Hotel Bar as we discussed.”

“Sure, fine.” Slater replied angrily. “Well, you have six days, Hanson, don’t you forget that.”

“I won’t Sir. I w...” Dean replied, realising half way through his sentence that Slater had already ended the call.

He pushed the phone back into his pocket and leant back, resting his temple back against the window, staring at the orange brown countryside. From the back of the bus, a heavy drum beat joined the base line, drilling through his ears and skin. Dean looked back towards the boy, watched as he nodded his head to the beat, eyes closed. Dean scratched his forehead and turned back to the front of the bus. Resting his temple against his knuckles, he closed his eyes once again and drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

A large crystal blue lake materialised before him. Clear blue skies punctuated by snow capped mountains in the distance. Crouching down, Dean dipped his fingers in the water to find it cool and inviting. He turned and walked into a golden cropped field, the freshly harvested corn crunching under his boots. At the other side of the field, a large man with a baseball bat that Dean recognised immediately watched him, banging the bat into his open hand threateningly. His heart beating rapidly, Dean turned and ran.

A man with receding sandy blonde hair wove in and out of his dreams, a lined and worn face and weedy arms. In the haze of his subconscious, Dean couldn’t remember where he’d seen the man before, but he looked so familiar. A large man handed Dean an automatic rifle and then began bouncing around, telling him to get it over with and kill him, and just as Dean pulled the trigger, a loud beeping echoed through his dream, and woke him with a start.