Information


Kimble has a minion!

Gerard the Mister Shady Guy




Kimble
Legacy Name: Kimble


The Darkmatter Neela
Owner: Pureflower

Age: 9 years, 1 month, 1 week

Born: February 18th, 2015

Adopted: 9 years, 1 month, 1 week ago

Adopted: February 18th, 2015


Pet Spotlight Winner
January 8th, 2016

Statistics


  • Level: 43
     
  • Strength: 79
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 91
     
  • Books Read: 72
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Pawnbroker


On the Run
He lets his eyes slip shut as the nearly empty bus merges into traffic. The gentle rumble of the engine is a soothing sound that gradually lulls him into a deeper sleep.

It's been two weeks since he last slept in a real bed. A kind young woman with brown curls and hazel eyes had come into the hardware store where he'd been hired as a temporary shelf stocker. Kate was the owner's niece and she wouldn't allow anyone to sleep on the shabby couch crammed into a corner in the back room.

*****

She was an excellent cook. She prepared a lovely steak dinner for supper and a plate of eggs and buttered toast awaited him when he woke. The looks she shot him over the breakfast spread made him uncomfortable. She was envisioning a future he could not give her, picturing the two of them sitting at breakfast together for many years to come. It would not be the first time he was forced to break a heart.

Work was monotonous and the pay was nothing to brag about but for a few brief days he could almost pretend his life was back to normal.

Her face was very pale when she woke him in the middle of the night. The police had been to her uncle's house, flashing a wanted poster for a man named Kimble. The picture was undoubtedly his, though the gray hair in his mug shot made him look older. With tears in her eyes, Kate begged him for the truth. Had he killed his wife?

It would have been easier to put his gun to his own head than to kill his true love. He had failed as a doctor when he could not save Helen. He had failed as a husband when the true killer slipped from his grasp. He could not fail a third time.

"I didn't kill her." He looked Kate in the eye, waiting for her to run for the phone. He would not try to stop her. He would run as he had for the past three years, moving on to the next small town, the next crappy job.

Kate left the room, coming back with a small carpet bag stuffed with clothes that had once belonged to her brother. The shirts were a bit snug at the neckline but they were clean and plain, the sort of ordinary garments that would not draw attention to him. He was genuinely sorry to turn his back on the little white house with purple flowers beneath the windows.

*****

His eyes flicker open as the bus shudders violently and comes to a stop. He curses himself internally as he realizes he's been asleep for nearly two hours. Total relaxation is not an option when one is playing a game of evasion.

He follows the other passengers to the side of the road as puffs of black smoke begin to rise from under the hood of the bus. Everybody is sweating profusely beneath the fierce August sun. The bus driver spews curses as he pops the hood and gets a cloud of smoke to the face. Looking much like a cartoon character, he gives the front left tire a kick and nearly falls on his bottom.

A man in a blue shirt begins to tap the asphalt impatiently with his foot. "Can you fix it."

The driver shoots Blue Shirt a withering look. "I'm no mechanic."

"Maybe you'd like to call one. You do have a radio."

The driver pulls a checkered handkerchief from his pocket, mopping sweat from his forehead as he works the unit. From the sour look on his face, they can all tell the reply is not what they are hoping to hear.

"There was some sort of pile-up on the highway. They said it'll be an hour before they can get a tow truck out here, before the set went all to static."

Blue Shirt throws his hands in the air. "That's just great! I suppose in the meantime you expect us to sit in this oven and wait."

The driver jabs a thumb in the direction of a distant cactus. "You can go sit on that for all I care!"

The two men fall into an impressive shouting match, paying no attention to the other passengers. Kimble is the only one who notices the old woman perched on the edge of her suitcase, trembling and wheezing for breath.

He offers his water bottle. She accepts with a smile, taking a few sips and handing it back. "I never could abide the heat but my son lives out in Nevada. I met my first grandbaby this week."

Kimble returns her smile. He has always loved children though he has none of his own. Rummaging in her small bag, the woman produces a photo of an adorable baby in a frilly blue dress.

"I don't much fancy Rhonda for a little girl but that's the name they picked." She gasps, placing a hand over her heart. Kimble tries to capture the driver's attention as another woman offers a pillow she had used to support her back on the longride. The shouting match comes to an end though the two men continue to glare at each other.

The driver's scowl transfers to Kimble readily enough as his attention is drawn to the sick woman. "I don't know what you want me to do. The nearest town's fifteen miles down the road. About all they've got left are the bar and the jail."

"I'll go for help. These people can't sit around in this kind of heat without water and that woman needs a doctor."

The driver narrows his eyes. He pegged Kimble for a bum the moment he set eyes on the man but money is money and the vagabond had enough to cover his ticket. "You ever walked in the desert, boy? You're not much use to that lady if you go and make yourself buzzard food."

Blue Shirt snorts. "He clearly doesn't stop at every diner he passes like some people. I say let him go."

The driver dusts his palms together. "It's out of my hands. Don't go blaming me when you make the evening news."

Kimble has lost count of the number of roads he's traveled on foot. Bus tickets are a luxury he enjoys only when he is able to stick around a town long enough to collect his earnings. Drivers willing to take a chance on a hitchhiker are becoming less common every day.

He uses the edge of his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes, taking sips of water only when his parched throat threatens to start him coughing. He does not regret the few mouthfuls he allowed the old woman. Beneath the obsessive drive that keeps him on his futile search, he is a good person.

The bus driver told no lie when he described the town. Vandals have smashed most of the windows on the front of a factory that closed twenty years ago. One out of three houses has boards on the windows. The E on the bar's neon OPEN sign no longer glows, though a chaotic strain of rock music can be heard through the open door.

The red brick police station is the only building with cars parked out front. Kimble freezes at the sight of the bars on the windows, once again hearing the clang of an iron latch. For weeks he sat in his cell, contemplating the end of his life. What he is about to do is sheer madness.

The two officers toss a baseball back and forth as they wait for the pair in the drunk tank to sleep off a wild night. The most action they've seen all week was Miss Temple's tabby once again getting herself stuck in a tree. The sheriff didn't bothered to interrupt his fishing weekend to come in, leaving his deputy to spend a Saturday doing paperwork.

Kimble keeps his eyes on the chipped wooden counter as he begins to speak. "The bus to Columbus is stranded out on Route 7. The other passengers sent me ahead for help. There's a very sick woman on board with a heart condition."

Deputy Bowen rises, waving the other officer back to his desk. "I'll check it out, Steve. Somebody has to stay and listen for the phone." They share a chuckle. The station phone is more likely to collect dust than calls.

He points at Kimble and jabs a thumb toward the door. "You can ride along and show me the way Mister...say, I never caught your name."

"It's Robinson. Ken Robinson."

Kimble hesitates as Bowen holds open the rear door of his cruiser. "First time in a squad car, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nothing to be nervous about, Ken. It's just like any other car, with a few added accessories." He taps one of the window bars with a low chuckle.

Kimble's feigned interest in the scenery is wasted on the deputy. Bowen is not a man who believes in long stretches of silence. "So what brings you to the great state of New Mexico?"

"I've got a job waiting for me in Virginia."

"Phew! That's a heck of a road trip! Must be some job."

The static buzz of an incoming call catches the deputy's attention. The voice of the other officer comes through.

"I got the Doc out in Mesita. They're sending an ambulance your way."

They turn a curve, bringing the bus into sight. "Looks like we're going to beat the medics again. Over and out."

Bowen lets Kimble out, popping the trunk and pointing to a plastic crate full of water bottles. "Lend a hand, will you?" The other passengers crowd around the crate that quickly ends up in the hands of Blue Shirt. He fully intends to get his share first but one bottle is already missing.

Bowen takes a bottle to the old woman, kneeling at her side as the ambulance comes blaring around the corner. "Everything's going to be just fine, Ma'am. Mr. Robinson told me about your heart condition. We'll have you to the hospital in no time."

The woman's eyes widen. She told the nice man a bit about her granddaughter but she is sure she never mentioned her weak heart. The last thing she wants is pity. The paramedics are at her side before she can say anything in protest. She scans the faces of the passengers. Her hero is not among them.

The ambulance is pulling onto the road when another siren comes screaming over the hill. The second officer jogs over to Bowen, panting like a hound. He holds a crumpled flier in his hand.

"Call just came in from a Detective Gerard. I was flipping through our posters to see if anybody on this bus meets the description of the man he's looking for. You're never going to believe this!"

Deputy Bowen looks at the mugshot, eyes widening in astonishment. He scans the faces of the passengers but Kimble is no longer among them.

"Has anybody seen the man who came here with me?"

They all shake their heads and shield their eyes from the sun as they scan the scrubby desert foliage. By the time a unit is called in from Albuquerque, the scent trail is cold and night is falling.

Kimble's eastward journey continues. He pursues the rumor that a man with one arm is working at a small Midwestern diner, scraping up a living by doing reputable work for once. The place is not far from Kimble's hometown. It will be a fitting end to his journey, to return to the place where the horror began. At last he will cast aside his fugitive status and see justice done.

Profile by User not found: hiccup
Story by Pureflower
Inspired by the character of Dr. Richard Kimble from The Fugitive

Pet Treasure


White Stethoscope

Simple Gold Wedding Band

Lasirus Bionic Arm

Common Six-Shooter

Murders 101

Monochromatic Handcuffs

Police Car

Police Badge

Police Notebook

Suave Law-Enforcing Chapeau

Police Tape

Atebus Penal Code

Prison Plate

Snowy Village Train Engine

Sample Sewer Water

Ambulance

Cityscape Skateboard

Truck

Simple Telephone

Regular TV

Miniature Ferris Wheel

Pet Friends