The Salesman,
Denver Max
By: Chris Fox
Transcribed from: “Salesman, Denver Max” by The Blood Brothers.
Off of the album: ...Burn, Piano Island, Burn.
Did you ever meet Denver Max?
Denver Max was a man, like any other. He lived down the road from you. Did you know him? Maybe you did. It wasn't as if Denver Max was a shut in; on the contrary, Denver Max was quite the socialite. This doesn't go to say that Denver Max was the most outgoing person in the community, but he had his collection of friends and acquaintances. Maybe you were one of them.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Denver Max could be seen throughout the town. He frequented the places you frequent: he shopped at your grocery store; he sent and received mail with the same mail carrier as you; he walked in your park; he bought a cup of coffee at the same Starbucks; he thought the coffee was burnt as well.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Denver Max was your neighbour. Or maybe he lived just down the block, or the street, or on the other side of the neighbourhood. You've seen him though. You've seen him taking a stroll down the sidewalk - he was the man that waved at you. You've seen him washing his car - he was the man who flashed you a smile as you walked your dog. You've seen him driving down the road - he was in that car you didn't recognize, but know you've seen before. You've seen him in the park - he was taking a walk while the kids played soccer. You've seen him at the gym - he was the man who patiently waited for you to finish using the treadmill. You've seen him; Denver Max is a nice man.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you even spoke to him? He had a quiet but deep voice. His voice sounds like a raspy viola, and was soothing in a off-kilter way. He spoke long and fluid, and was very eloquent. Maybe you even knew his first name? His first name wasn't hard to forget. Everyone remembers a name like Denver; if you can remember the capital of Colorado, you can remember Denver Max. Maybe you even knew where he lived? He lived in the house with the very light brown bricks, around the corner on Beach Street, even though there are no beaches in Arizona. It was a modest suburban home - not large, but not small - perfect for a bachelor of his age. Maybe you even knew how old he was? He never liked to admit it, but he was thirty-one years old. He would never lie to anyone who asked though; Denver Max was such an honest man.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you remember what he looked like. He had light brown hair and green eyes. His nose was long, and his jawline somewhat short. He was lanky, and it seemed as if he was not eating healthy. But he was well formed, his muscles toned; Denver Max was such a strong man.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you even knew how helpful he was? He was always willing to volunteer his time in community efforts. When that private company was going around the neighbourhood, trying to get people to agree to natural gas drilling, he was the first to help with the petition against it. Maybe you even have something of his? In the big annual neighbourhood garage sale, Denver Max always had the strangest, quirkiest, and most interesting curiosities for sale.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you even know what his job was? Surely you knew what his job was! Denver Max was a door-to-door salesman. Oh yes, the good ol' friendly face of Denver Max, professionally dressed in his black suit on those sweltering summer days, standing on your doormat, ringing your doorbell. Such a nice man, who was so dedicated to wander the neighbourhood in his dress shoes, with his quaint briefcase, a smile on his face, the salesman, Denver Max, right at your doorstep.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you even remember what he sold? Cameras. The salesman, Denver Max, sold high end camera equipment: tripods, fisheye lenses, Polaroid cameras, underwater lens gear, cable releases, Holgas, expired film, custom made pinhole cameras; Denver Max had everything you ever needed, as far as cameras went. Shockingly, his equipment was high in demand throughout the town. He procured some cameras that you would never be able to find anywhere else. Furthermore, Denver Max developed photos from his home. He had a darkroom in his basement, and slaved under the red lights to make some of the best quality photographs you could find. He developed them in any size you wanted, and though he was a little pricey compared to your local drug store, he guaranteed your satisfaction, and never failed to deliver.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you know that he is famous? Well, that he was famous, but I'm sure you understand. Maybe you even saw the time when he appeared in the local newspaper, on the front page? Maybe you even remember the article, and the accompanying national news broadcasts that aired on television soon after? Maybe you remember all the media that milled about town right after the event? Maybe that old article is lying around here somewhere.
Did you know him? Maybe you did. Maybe you knew Denver Max. Maybe you knew that fateful story of the salesman, Denver Max. Maybe you know about Lisa Whitney, and about Jessica Thompson. Maybe you know about the secret of this neighbourhood. Then again, maybe not. But maybe you remember that article; that news article must be around here somewhere. But while we look around for it, in these dusty boxes in a lonely attic of a desert suburban home, you can hear the story again.
Once, several years ago - I think it was in August - Denver Max - the salesman, Denver Max - woke up. There was a ding-ding-dong at the doorbell of his quiet home. Denver was sipping his coffee that Tuesday. Denver Max was taking the day off today, so he was able to enjoy his morning coffee as the hum of the television from the next room left him in a daze. Ding-ding-dong, again. How obnoxious, thought Denver. "Now, now, don't get frustrated. Today will be a good day. Entertain your guest," Denver said to himself. He was dressed sharply, as always, in a nice, white, button up shirt with a plain tie, and slacks. He was ready for visitors.
Ding-ding-dong sang the doorbell as Denver took his coffee mug with him to the front door. Denver glanced through the peep-hole, but couldn't recognize the couple who stood at the front door. The man wore a baseball cap, and mumbled inaudibly to a woman in what appeared to be a bright green floral dress. Denver opened the door.
"Hey there, neighbour!" hollered the over-jovial man in the Diamondbacks ball-cap. His name was... Yes, it was Kelley... yes, Spencer Kelley, and his wife was Margaret Kelley. They had three children already in college, and one baby, still in the crib. They had Denver over for dinner several times. They were not regular customers, but they took a lot of photographs - mostly of their college students and baby pictures - nothing terribly exciting - but Denver remembered that Mr. Kelley had his way with a camera; he was by no means a professional, but the photos were rarely blurred. It was little things like no blurred pictures on a roll of film that perked up Denver's smile more than usual.
"Hello there, Mr. Kelley," said Denver. "Hello Mrs. Kelley. How are you both doing?"
"Splendid, Denver, splendid," said Mrs. Kelley. "Please, Denver, call me Margaret."
"We're doin' fine, my good man. How are you? I'm surprised I haven't seen you all dressed up and trottin' about the neighbourhood," said Mr. Kelley.
"Not today, Mr. Kelley..."
"Spencer, please, partner," interrupted Mr. Kelley.
Denver hated when he was interrupted, but continued, "I'm taking the next few days off. It's a little tradition I have. I take the week of my birthday off."
"Denver!" cried Mrs. Kelley, "You never said your birthday was this week! have you been hiding in this house of yours, not inviting anyone over?" she said sarcastically.
"Basically. I like my birthdays low key. After thirty years, I don't see much fuss in birthday parties."
"When was your birthday, pal?" asked Mr. Kelley.
"Sunday."
"Well you should've told someone, you ol' son-of-a-gun!"
"Yes, we would have been delighted to do something for you," Mrs. Kelley said.
"It has been nice and relaxing though," Denver continued. "But by no means am I not working. I'm still developing photographs. I assume that's why you dropped by."
"Readin' my mind again, chum," said Mr. Kelley. "We have a few more from the kids, and of Diana."
"Oh, adorable Diana," Mrs. Kelley said, somewhere between sheer amazement and a bragging, "she took her first steps the other day. Oh, it was simply adorable! We were so lucky that Spencer had the camera handy."
"I've learned to keep that thing where we can find it in moments. Kodak moment, y'know."
"Believe me, I know," Denver said, only a little impatiently. "Please, come in, sir - ma'am. I have some coffee in the kitchen, and you can make yourself at home while I see what you have today."
"Why thank you, Denver!" Mrs. Kelley said with obligation.
"Only if it's Folgers," hollered Mr. Kelley with a guffaw. Denver let the couple in, and they made their way toward the living room, the television still on. The couple mumbled something about the morning news program that was on while Denver reached into the urn beside his front door. At the bottom of the urn was a keyring with a single brass key. He took it, shut and locked the front door, and turned toward the kitchen. Before entering the kitchen, he unlocked the basement door with the brass key, making absolutely sure to pocket the key.
Denver was always looking for the most efficient way to do things. So naturally, he realized how much more efficient it would be to get his stock photographs from the basement. He opened the basement door and made his way downstairs. Click went the light switch, and the eerie red glow dimly illuminated the room. Denver usually admired the photographs that lined all of the walls, or the photos developing on the wire above his desk, but not now. He was in a hurry. Denver wanted to get the couple out of his house so he could go about his business. He opened his filing cabinet, took out all the sizes of mock-ups he thought the Kelleys would be interested in, and returned upstairs. Denver made sure to lock the door on his way out.
Denver filled two coffee mugs with his brew and awkwardly carried them, his own mug, and the stock photos into the living room. "Denver, pal!" Mr. Kelley said loudly, "Don't stress yourself over us. Let me take those mugs from you... there we go. Thank you so much, buddy."
"Yes, thanks a lot, Denver. It smells wonderful."
Denver neatly arranged the stock photos on the coffee table as the television mumbled something about war efforts, and the entire room sipped coffee. The Kelleys soon after offered their five rolls of film, and discussed the sizes they preferred. After their business was settled, some small talk was talked, and fifteen minutes passed, the Kelleys had decided.
"Thank you, so much, Denver. We love to have someone in the neighbourhood that develops photographs. We wouldn't trust anyone else with our pictures," said Mrs. Kelley, taking her last sip of coffee.
"You're very welcome ma'am. I'll call you when I've finished developing them. I still have your number. Excuse me if it takes a little while; as I said, I'm not in a particular rush this week."
"Take all the time you need, buddy," Mr. Kelley said.
"Yes, we prefer quality over quantity," Mrs. Kelley said happily. The Kelleys began to get ready to leave while Denver took the coffee mugs into the kitchen, putting them next to it. He would was them later. Denver turned from the kitchen to meet the couple at the front door to wish them off. He hadn't expected Mr. Kelley to be standing where he was, in the hallway leading to the kitchen, right by the basement door.
"Oh, sorry sir. I didn't realize you were there."
"No, my fault, neighbour," Mr. Kelley said, "But hey, I had a question, pal. I kind of wanted to know what went into developing film." Where was the brass key? Where was the basement key?! Oh, there it was, in Denver's pocket. Deep breath... "Any chance I could have a look-see at your little office? Down there?"
How did this man know Denver developed his film in the basement? No matter, don't question it. "I'm sorry, sir..."
"Spencer, chum, call me Spencer," Mr. Kelley interrupted.
"Spencer... Mr. Kelley, my... office is a mess right now. You wouldn't want to see it."
"Oh Denver, you rascal! My office at work is a pigsty. It doesn't matter. I'm just curious, pal. Let's see it." He is reaching for the door! He is reaching toward the doorknob! He is touching the doorknob! He is turning the doorknob!
"Sir, please! Mr. Kelley... I mean, Spencer," Denver stuttered, "I'm just very self-conscious about it. I promise, though, that I'll get it cleaned up, and when you come to get your pictures, you can have a 'look-see.'"
"Very protective!" Mr. Kelley said loudly, "But I like that! Shows pride in one's work - like there's something special that not anyone can see. I like your style, neighbour." Denver hurried Mr. Kelley to the door. "Well, thanks again, Denver. It's a big help."
"Yes, Denver. We know you'll do a fabulous job, as always," said Mrs. Kelley.
"You're very welcome. Goodbye." Denver quickly shut the door. He hurried back to the hallway, jerking the doorknob. Locked - whew. Denver applauded himself for remembering to lock the door. He took out his brass key and unlocked it once more. Denver took the film down the rickety wooden steps into his basement. As he reached the bottom steps, he smiled broadly. He knew he had seen his most recent favourite photograph on the wall out of his peripheral vision. But now wasn't the time to admire. Denver put the film cartridges in his small refrigerator, filled with different photograph orders, as well as his own personal photographs.
Denver made his way up the rickety stairs, smiling again as he saw the photograph in his periphery. He locked the basement door with the brass key. He entered the kitchen, took one last gulp of coffee, and washed all the mugs. He turned off the television, put on his classy black shoes, and dropped his brass key in the urn. He left the house, locking it on the way out. He hopped into his dusty, maroon BMW and drove off.
Denver enjoyed driving around the neighbourhood. It was usually such a quiet, subdued place, and the loudest noise was the choir of dogs that barked in unison when people walked too near to their yard. But it was summer vacation; the children were taking the neighbourhood by storm, with their footballs, and soccer balls, and basketballs, and tag-you're-it's, and hide-and-go seek's, and their jump ropes, and their hopscotch, and their marco-polo's, and their skateboards, and their bikes.
Denver almost hit a ball that bounced playfully across the road in front of him. The car squeeled slightly as he avoided hitting it. The child responsible for kicking it into the road was a young, black haired girl with a short denim skirt and pink shirt. The young Asian girl profusely muttered apologies to Denver, none of which he could hear with his windows rolled up and his air conditioning on. She quickly scampered and picked up the ball, running back to the safety of the yard as Denver smiled and waved at her. He drove on.
National Avenue. It wasn't an avenue by any means, but they chose the name because the road was a pretty cul-de-sac near the golf course with some very nice houses dotting this area of the neighbourhood. 1230 National Avenue. That was Denver's destination.
One last look in the mirror. How did Denver look? His eyes were a little saggy - he had been staying up late too consistently, but that would be fine. Was Denver already growing back his beard? No, just his imagination. Was his breath as terrible as he thought it was? Nonsense - it never mattered how many times went to a new house like this, he was always nervous. Denver grabbed his briefcase and brought it to the front seat. A couple down the street kissed each other romantically before the man hopped in his expensive car and drove past Denver.
It was time. Denver got out of the car and strolled up the sidewalk that led to the front door of 1230 National Avenue. His heart was racing, but he knew this was normal too. The salesman, Denver Max, was confident. This would be easy, as always.
Ding-dong, as Denver pressed the doorbell politely. He straightened his posture and tried to look more professional. No answer. Ding-dong, again. This happened sometimes - the houses he visited would be wary of answering the door. But normally, someone answered after a moment. This was a friendly community. Ding-dong. There were no cars in the driveway... but Denver expected that. Finally, the blinds of the window to Denver's right moved, and Denver knew he was being inspected. He smiled at the window, and calmly knocked on the screen door.
After a few more moments, the locks began unlocking. One lock... two lock... surprisingly, even a third deadbolt. Then the white front door opened. There stood a young girl. Her name was Lisa Whitney. She was fifteen years old, had long blonde hair that ran to her back between her shoulder blades, eyes that changed in the light, sometimes light blue, sometimes green, sometimes a light-blue gray. She was a straight A student, member of the yearbook committee, and was going to try and apply for a position on the student council next year. Lisa enjoyed talking on the phone with her friends, running track, and reading fashion magazines, as well as shopping at the mall for the latest styles. Today, Lisa was wearing a gray and blue plaid skirt with knee high socks and tennis shoes, along with a similarly coloured gray and blue striped low-cut shirt.
"I'll call you back," Lisa said to the phone in her hands. Beep. Silence... only the sound of distant children playing drifted through the air as Lisa, the young 15 year old girl and Denver, the aging 31 year old man, stared awkwardly at each other.
Lisa was unamused. "Um, yes? Can I help you?" she asked impatiently.
"Oh yes, I'm sorry," Denver said. "Hello, my name is Max. Denver Max. What is your name?"
Lisa simply stared at him. "Um, like... what do you want?"
"Oh yes, well, you see, I'm a salesman, and I was just dropping by. What's your name? I didn't catch it."
Lisa looked strangely at Denver, not sure what to say. "My name's Lisa."
"Lisa," Denver said, "that's a very pretty name. Are your parents home, Lisa?"
"No. They leave for work early. Doesn't everyone?" Lisa said.
"Oh, that's too bad. I really wanted to catch them today."
"What do you sell?" Lisa asked curiously.
"Well, I sell camera equipment. Many different types of cameras," Denver said, raising his briefcase, "among other things. Do you like photography, Lisa?"
"Depends." Lisa seemed bored already, "I have a camera, but it's nothing special."
"That's interesting. Could I see it?"
"I'd rather not go get it. Actually, I was on the phone. My parents will be back later, like, at five or around then anyway. Maybe you can come back then. Bye..." Lisa was closing the door.
"Wait!" Denver said, and Lisa waited. "Sorry, and I understand. I will come back later. But that is an absolutely amazing outfit you have their."
Lisa glanced down at herself. "It's nothing special really."
"On the contrary. See, Lisa, I make most of my money selling camera equipment. But I also happen to be a professional photographer for a magazine. Have you heard of Sixteen Magazine?"
"Of course!" Lisa said with excitement. Apparently this was a high point of conversation for her, "I love it! I just got the August issue three days ago."
"That's cool," Denver said. "That was the day before my birthday. Well, Lisa, I happen to be a freelance photographer for Sixteen Magazine. In the magazine, we feature lots of models posing on sets, and trying to look beautiful and all that. But we're doing an article either in September or October about what our readers are actually wearing. Not models, but everyday people. And since that outfit looks amazing on you, I was wondering if I could take a few pictures?"
Lisa pondered the options. "Would I be in the issue?"
"Hopefully! It's a great outfit - the best I've seen in the last couple weeks. Sixteen is going to pick the best of the best, but I think you have a pretty good shot. That is, if we take the photos. What do you say, Lisa?"
Another silence. "Yeah... I really want to... but..."
"It won't cost anything, I promise. And I'll be done in five minutes. Short and sweet."
"You don't have any forms I have to sign or anything, do you?" she asked, still wary.
"We have some forms, but we can send those later, when you're confirmed to be in the magazine. What do you say, Lisa. Want to give it a go?"
Another silence. "Alright," she said, a big smile on her rosy face.
"Wonderful," Denver said. "Let me grab the camera in my car. If you have any other good outfits you want to try to put together after we get this one, go get them ready." Denver put his briefcase down on the porch, "I'll be right back, Lisa."
Denver hurried to his car. In the backseat was a sophisticated camera and a tripod, both of which he took and toted back to the house. Lisa was no longer at the front door, but the door was open still. Denver took his briefcase and passed through the screen door into the house. Lisa's house was very bright, and the furniture seemed expensive. There was a phone on a stand with a notepad in the hallway, by the stairs, to the left. There was a lot of light coming through the living room window, directly to the right of the front door, which Denver shut behind him. He set up the tripod away from the window, looking toward the dining room. The angle was perfect.
Lisa bounced happily down the staircase and found Denver in the living room. She had several clothes in her arms, which she laid on a chair. "How many outfits do you think you have, Lisa?"
"Well, maybe two or three, not counting this one," she said, still smiling.
"I think I'll have just enough film. We'll definitely be able to get one of these photos into the magazine, I bet. But let's take some with this outfit first. Are you ready? Need to wash your face or put on some make up real quick?" Lisa looked worried, and rushed into the hallway, where a mirror was hung on the wall. She played with her hair until it was in a position she was comfortable with, and quickly returned.
"I'm good. So, what should I do?"
"We'll start with a really basic pose. Straighten your skirt real quick? Perfect. Now, spread your legs, and put your right hand on your hip. A little lower, fingers in the pocket if you like. And legs spread a little more... straighten the back - pretend you're trying to look really tall without using your tippy toes... perfect. Perfect. Now smile... and..." Click. "Perfect, we got it. Now, we're going to do the exact opposite. Left arm on your left hip, legs spread again... oh, you're a natural." Click. "Now Lisa, tell me about yourself. Are you a girly girl, or a tomboy?"
"Well, all my friends think I'm the most girly girl around. But secretly, when I'm not doing anything with my friends, I go with all the boys who run track to the U-Haul parking lot over on Dryden Road, and we ride around on skateboards."
"Oh, so a secret tomboy, eh?"
"Yeah," she said with a sly grin, "I wouldn't even tell my friends though. They'd think I'm weird."
"I think that's very cool. Let's try something that fits that more. Put your right arm on the door frame right there, left arm on your hip, and make a face like you don't even care... perfect, Lisa." Click. "And now one more, this time let's see if we can reach the door frame above you. Like you're going to do a pull up - oh, arms away from the face. Better, better, now stretch..." As Lisa stretched, her short shirt lifted up, exposing her stomach and belly button, as well as the waist of her skirt, which was easily two inches below her belly button, her hips exposed. She looked very skinny. Denver coughed as he clicked the next photo.
"Oh right, Lisa, I almost forgot, would you happen to have a nice bathing suit? We wanted some shots like that as well, since it's a summer issue and all."
Lisa let go of the door frame and looked at Denver strangely. "It's not a summer issue... you said it was September or October."
Denver didn't mean to say that. He got carried away. "I'm sorry, I..."
"Sorry, maybe you should leave," she said, hugging herself around the waist.
"But you still have a couple outfits... and we have some more film. We can definitely get a few more photos in."
"No, really. You should leave," Lisa insisted.
"Maybe just one more for the road?"
"Okay dude, you're scaring me. Get out, or I'm calling the police." Lisa turned on her heels and went toward the staircase, where the phone was.
"Wait, Lisa!" she stopped, but barely. "Your parents... they wouldn't think this is a good idea, would they?"
"No," Lisa responded quickly.
"But wouldn't you like to do this? Wouldn't you like to be beautiful?" She shuddered. "No, no, I know how you feel. I've seen plenty of girls. Sure, you've got the hair, and the eyes, and the pretty voice, and body. But with a face like that, you're never-ever going to make it big. You've never dated anyone, have you?"
She shook her head, "Well you'll never find a boyfriend, unless you get that face adjusted. But I can change that. This magazine, and my pictures, can make anyone beautiful. Gorgeous. And we don't have to tell a soul, Lisa. What crickets see is between you and me."
Denver was nervous. He hated his nervousness. When he got nervous he stuttered. He preferred being eloquent. He just needed to remain calm. This would work out. Lisa stood, staring at Denver like she had seen a ghost and discovered uranium at the same time. She almost turned toward Denver again, but quickly shook her head, turned, and ran down the hall, her thumping feet audible on the wooden floor. She picked up the phone.
Denver pushed the tripod onto the couch behind him and grabbed his briefcase, forcing it open while running after Lisa. Beep beep beep went the phone as Lisa quickly dialed 911, Denver rounding the corner as she hit the talk button. Denver ran toward Lisa and threw the briefcase down the hall, hitting Lisa in the shoulder of her right arm. The phone flew out of her hand and bashed against the ceiling before landing in separate pieces with a loud clatter across the wooden floor. Lisa gasped and tried turning quickly, but Denver was in front of her already, and as soon as the scream began to leave her mouth, he pushed her with all his force.
Lisa screamed as her body lifted completely off the ground. Her leg, close to the stand with the phone, knocked the entire stand over, and she landed flat on her back with a loud bang, knocking the wind out of her, forcing her to cough loudly. Denver grabbed his briefcase, and pulled out the silver magnum inside. He pointed it straight at Lisa.
"Don't you try to call the cops, little girl - cops, little girl! Before you dare pick up that phone, you'll be dead." Lisa wheezed as she tried to back up. Denver couldn't help but peek up her skirt, but he shook his head. He had to concentrate. He sat on top of her as she continued coughing and doing everything in her power to scream. He grabbed her by her shirt, pulled her up, put the gun to her head and cocked it. "Now - now - now shut up. Don't make a - make a peep. Not a sound."
Both fell silent. Lisa was too scared to scream. Denver's eyesight started to wander toward Lisa's chest... "I'll scream..." she whispered.
"I'll sh-, sh-, sh-, shoot. Don't scream, Lisa." She was bawling. "We're going to take a little car drive. It won't be too bad. But we're going to have to be mature. We're going to have to get my camera and tripod, and we're going to have to walk to my car like adults. And we kn-, kn-, kno-, kn-, know what will happen if we s-, s-cream, now, don't we, Lisa?"
Lisa didn't say anything. She whimpered, "Don't we, Lisa?!" Denver shouted, and she nodded between whimpers. "I'm sorry for pushing you, Lisa... I'm going to let you get up now... You're going to w-,w-, w-, wait here for me, and we'll go outside. Understand?" she nodded, and he instantly got to his feet.
Denver quickly returned to the living room and grabbed the camera and tripod, folding them as fast as he could, and shoved it all under his arm. He quickly returned to Lisa, who had not moved. She was bawling in the fetal position. He took her under the arms, "Come on n-, n-, n-, now Lisa. Time to go. We've got to stop crying." He could feel her bra strap under her shirt, and the smell of her hair was irresistible. "Come on, Lisa, very quick." Denver re-cocked the gun, "Let's step into the car, Lisa."
He watched as Lisa bit her lip, trying to hold back her obvious terror. He didn't know if she would run or not, but he moved her along. They went through the screen door and out into the front yard. Nobody was on the street, and Denver was lucky. He motioned Lisa along to his car, unlocking the doors before she reached them. He awkwardly opened the door for her and gently pushed her in to the passenger seat, closing the door behind her. He opened the back seat door, threw his things inside, and shut it quickly, locking all the doors. Lisa tried to open the door, and screamed when it didn't open, but not loud, because her crying stifled it. Denver brandished his gun and she stopped, putting her forehead against her white knees. Denver quickly crossed to the driver's side, hopped in, started the car, and was off.
Twenty miles down the road, Lisa was still crying. They were outside of town, on the highway, heading south. Denver was driving fast, but not conspicuously so. By the time they reached Tuscon, her parents will only then start to wonder where their pretty little blonde has gone. But Denver had to comfort Lisa. "Hey there, it's alright... you're doing great." Denver put his hand on Lisa's shoulder, but she screamed and moved as close to the passenger door as she could manage.
"Lisa, don't be sad... don't be mad. I didn't mean to hurt you back there. I just couldn't have you call the police. How is your shoulder doing?"
Without warning, Lisa dove toward Denver with an animalistic scream. Denver screamed, defending himself against blows aimed toward his head by the 15 year old. The car veered to the left, and Lisa banged her head on the passenger side window. Denver's car sailed across the middle lane of the highway. He grabbed the wheel after they went over the fast lane, and were falling into the dirt median. He jerked the wheel to the right, and swerved back to the right hard, almost hitting a nearby car. He got control of the car and remained in the middle lane as cars honked at him and quickly passed.
"L-, L-, L-, Lisa! You can't d-d-do things like that!" Denver yelled, "You'll kill us!" Lisa then began breaking down into fitful crying again. Denver hated this part. The girls never understood.
"What are you going to do with me," she blubbered through tears. "Are you going to kill me and dump me out in the country?"
"No, never, my darling, Lisa. I wouldn't dream of it."
"Then what?! Are you going to do that... thing that you sick weirdos do. Ransom?"
"No, dear Lisa. I wouldn't dream of it."
"Then why are you doing this? Oh my God, why are you doing this to me?!" she bawled. She continued crying for the next hour.
The gas tank was running on empty, and they hadn't even reached Tuscon. The day was slowly fading. They weren't making good time, but thankfully, Lisa had stopped crying. Denver felt more comfortable. The first few hours were always the toughest. The girls never understood.
"Why...?" Lisa mumbled.
"What's wrong, dear?" Denver asked.
"God, shit! Don't say that! Why are you doing this to me?" Lisa asked. "Why?" She was trying not to cry.
"The girls treated you pretty bad in school, didn't they?" Denver asked.
Lisa looked at him, confused. Denver continued, "You heard them, didn't you. 'There goes Lisa, that little slut, with Jeff.'"
"How did you hear that?" she asked.
"Your parents too. 'You need to focus on your extracurriculars. You know you can't date until your 18.' And then that boy turned you down when you asked him out for coffee. 'Like I'd ever go with you, babe.'"
"You've been following me?" she said, shocked.
"Yes. And I know what it's like. I used to be like you, when I was your age," she scowled at him, "Obviously not a girl, I know. But I was like you. I had lots of friends, yeah. But they were fake. 2-D. I'm betting you feel the same way."
Lisa didn't respond, and Denver knew because he was telling the truth. "And your parents don't understand you. They don't know what's in your head. You're so much more mature than they think."
Lisa stayed silent for a long time. "Then why me?"
"Because I liked you. And knew you needed to get out of that wretched town."
Denver and Lisa needed to stop for gas. Denver found a ratty looking gas station - the rattier, the less people they would have to deal with. Denver parked by the pumps, and touched Lisa's shoulder. She shuddered violently.
"Now Lisa," he said calmly, "we need to stop for gas now. We can get some snacks and use the bathroom too, if we need to. But you have to do me the favour of not doing anything strange while we're here. Can I trust you?"
"Why should I trust you?" Lisa said.
Denver took the gun out of his door's cup holder, and showed her it before putting it in his pocket. "Can I trust you, Lisa?" She nodded. Denver reached in his wallet and pulled out ten dollars, and handed it to Lisa. "Get what you want. We've still got a ways to go."
"I'm not hungry... how could I be?"
They both got out of the car. Lisa walked quickly into the shop, Denver right behind her. The shop smelled rancid, and a fat attendant sat behind the counter, dozing to a TV show. Lisa looked at the attendant with panic in her eyes, but turned back to Denver, looking toward his pocket. Denver nodded, and she approached the counter.
"Ex... Excuse me. Do you have a restroom?" she asked.
The fat attendant woke up, "Yep. It's out back there. Gonna have to take this key," he handed Lisa a key with a big wooden block chained to it.
"And I'll have forty on number two," Denver said, patting Lisa, who shuddered again, and tried to make her way out the door. "Keep the change, thanks."
Lisa was already outside when Denver opened the front door of the shop. "Lisa. We have a deal?" She didn't turn, but nodded, and wandered to the back of the shop where the diesel trucks parked. The bathroom door was in view of Denver's car. He would see if she ran. She unlocked the door and went inside as a group of truckers passed the door and smoked by the corner of the shop. Denver started to fill the tank with gas.
After a moment though, Denver heard a rusty sound. He looked around, but saw nothing that could have made the noise, and began to wonder. He stopped the flow of gas, and walked toward the station. He passed the truckers toward the restroom door, but before he was there, could already hear the grunts of a girl. He made a dash around the corner of the gas station. Nearly six feet above the ground, Denver saw Lisa hanging out of the small rusty window. She gasped at the sight of him.
Denver was taken aback, but only for a moment. He shook his head; he noticed some trucker who was driving away was glancing over confused. "Okay, now, Lisa, let's get down. Come on, I'll help. Let's go." Denver wrapped his arms around her, though she tried to slap at his face. More firmly, he wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her out of the window. He placed her on the ground and straightened her clothes for her as she simultaneously looked shocked and confused at him.
"You shouldn't try to do that. If you really need to go, go. Otherwise, come with me to the car."
Denver tried to straighten her skirt, but she pushed him back. "You shouldn't touch a girl like that." She looked violated, and as if she were about to cry, but she rounded the corner of the station quickly, and went back into the restroom. Denver passed the smoking truckers again, who apparently were listening to their conversation. Denver returned to his car, finished filling it up, and returned the pump.
It had been two minutes, and he was going to see if Lisa was finished when he heard a muffled scream. When he looked toward the restroom, only one of the three truckers he had seen before was standing at the corner, stepping on his cigarette. Denver hurried toward the bathroom again, already having imagined what might be happening.
Denver walked straight toward the restroom door, but the trucker stepped in his way. "Sorry, man. It's occupied."
"Yeah, by my daughter. Move."
"Not nice to go in their while a girl's there. Them's bad manners," the trucker said, pushing Denver. Denver sent a punch to the trucker's nose. Denver felt the trucker's nose break, and the man fell to the ground. Denver quickly pulled out his gun and kicked open the bathroom door. One trucker stood near the door inside, and was hit by it. Before he could react, Denver pistol whipped him over the head, sending him to the floor. The other trucker had his filthy hand over Lisa's mouth, his other hand on her inner thigh. He turned his head dumbly to the sound of his friend landing on the floor, and saw Denver with the gun. "Oh shit," he said.
"Yeah, that's right. Let her go now."
"Man, don' shoot, man." The trucker let Lisa go. Surprisingly, with a startled scream, she ran and threw her arms around Denver, silently crying.
"Let's go, darling," Denver said to Lisa, and they backed out of the restroom. The hurried to the car and took off.
It was ten in the evening, and Denver felt tired. "We're going to have to stop somewhere. We're so far from a town though. We should've been in Tuscon by now." Lisa hadn't said a word for hours. Denver drove for another ten miles, but found nowhere to stay. Instead, Denver drove down a farm road, and then out into an empty field. He parked his car in the middle of the field and got out. He opened the trunk, where there were many sleeping bags and blankets laying, taking out as many as he could hold, as well as a pair of handcuffs hidden in the corner of the trunk. Denver laid the blankets and sleeping bags out on the field, leaving plenty of room, before he opened Lisa's door.
"We'll sleep here for the night, Lisa. I'm not sure if you'll leave though, so I'm going to have to use these." He showed her the handcuffs. She didn't argue as Denver helped her out of the car and handcuffed her wrist to his. He covered her with blankets, and gave her distance as she made herself comfortable. He then put his body close to hers. She fidgeted with worry at first, but soon after fell asleep, her breathing slow. She was exhausted, as was Denver. They fell asleep in the field.
Denver only woke once during the night. Lisa was moving, but still on the handcuff. When Denver opened his eyes, he saw her sitting up, her free arm in her shirt. "Are you alright, dear?"
"Don't say that," she said angrily. "I just couldn't sleep with this on. I never can. Stop looking, perv." Denver stopped watching as she took her bra off and threw it aside. Denver was still tired beyond reason, and couldn't stay awake even as Lisa fidgeted. But before he drifted into sleep, he heard her mumble something. "Thanks for saving me..."
"No, no, that won't do," Denver said in the heat of the desert sun. They were at a rest stop, cars flying down the highway like the running of the bulls. Lisa's shirt had been ripped when the men preyed upon her at the gas station, and her skirt was torn when Denver pulled her out of the window.
"I thought you said we were going somewhere," Lisa said, disgruntled and sweating.
"I did, but we're in no rush." In fact, Denver was far behind schedule. He hated to linger, just in case an Amber Alert was announced. Everyone would know who to look for, and everyone would be looking. And Lisa was not the most conspicuous girl. She was a gem, and people would notice her like a diamond ring.
"Anyway, are you ready to go?" Denver asked.
"I... um... I couldn't use that restroom. It was gross."
For some strange reason - though Denver knew it was not the right decision - Denver wanted to go slow. He didn't want to rush. He wanted to continue this journey very slow. Yes, he could be apprehended easily if he lingered. But he wanted to spend time with Lisa. "It's alright. We can find somewhere else to stop. How would you like to go to a mall and get some clothes that aren't falling apart?"
Lisa scowled at him in a confused sort of way. Denver didn't acknowledge the look, "Come on, let's go. We'll get food in town. We're almost there."
The duo returned to the car and continued down the highway for another half hour before they arrived in the midst of Tuscon. Denver drove to the nearest mall, parked in the parking lot, and turned the radio off as he looked at Lisa, who gazed longingly out the window at nothing in particular.
"Now Lisa, this is like the gas station... you can't do anything..."
"Crazy, I know... nothing crazy, I know. Can we just go?"
"Sure," Denver mumbled awkwardly. After Lisa slammed the door shut, Denver took the pistol out of his pocket and threw it under the driver's side seat. Better not to take it in, even if that's taking a risk, he thought.
The two entered the blessed air conditioned foyer of the mall. "Alright, we'll find you some clothes first... Wow, I haven't been to a mall in forever," Denver said to himself.
Lisa rolled her eyes and turned to the right, Denver following in her wake. After a short walk, they came upon some hip and trendy shop decked out with surfboards, where a security guard sipped out of a plastic cup lazily in front of the store. Lisa entered, Denver right behind. The store was cramped with all nameless types of clothing in all directions. The sheer amount of stuff surrounding them made Denver feel slightly claustrophobic.
Denver stated the obvious. "There's so much stuff..."
Lisa mumbled something audible, though she said nothing in particular. It was the type of speech where you could say anything and reflect the same profound amount of indifference. She picked up a neatly folded yellow polo, which she tossed aside unfolded. She looked at the shelves along the wall, lined with jeans in every size one could ever ask for; she ran her hands through a rack that had underwear hung on it, and Denver bit his lip.
Apparently Lisa had then found what she was looking for: a table covered in different styles of skirts. She sifted here and there through them in the same way one looks for the perfect apple in the mountains of apples at the supermarket. Denver was intrigued, but totally aware of his surroundings. What he noticed was that people had begun to take notice. There was a boy and girl standing near the entrance whom Denver and Lisa ignored, despite the greetings they received. But those within the store took notice of Lisa's ragged clothes, and glanced curiously at Denver. He was worried, but he had to wait for her; he couldn't force her, lest make her uncomfortable.
Eventually she picked a very short denim skirt. She raised it to Denver, to which he replied, "Of course. Go ahead and get a shirt too, if you'd like."
She grimaced at him in that same angry way, but couldn't help looking down at the side of her t-shirt, where a hole was ripped, and was growing with every gentle movement of her body. "Can I get anything?"
"Absolutely."
She smirked slightly. Denver had a feeling she was going to purposefully buy something expensive, but Lisa was worth a few extra dollars. She grabbed another skirt without a second thought, crossed the small space, and grabbed two polos with a quiet laugh. Denver glanced back at those who worked in the store, who were no longer paying them mind. Denver caught Lisa taking some of the underwear into her growing pile of clothes, and he bit his lip again as she covered them discretely with a couple shirts.
"I'll need to try this on..." she mentioned with a slight cough and a nervous look as she raised the skirts.
"Sure, absolutely," Denver replied, only slightly anxious. Lisa passed into the next room, Denver lurking after her. The room was crammed with more filled shelves, a counter with cash registers and appropriated clerks who looked insatiably bored, and a few chairs. Lisa entered the dressing rooms with one glance back; Denver heard the lock.
Denver sat down in the black leather chair. A group of girls entered the store, and giggled inanely; Denver paid them no mind; one of the girls, whom looked to be 17, flirted with one of the clerks, who was obviously bashful. Denver felt awkward, stood up, and walked into a different room - the men's side of the store - and patiently perused the jeans absentmindedly. Without warning, a loud shrill began to squeal from all around the shop. Denver glanced to the room he left, where the clerk looked in the opposite direction toward the entrance, equally curious?
That's when Denver heard Lisa's voice, along with that of a burly man outdoors. "And where are your parents, little lady?"
"Let me go! Please, I've got to go!"
"Shoplifting is a serious offense. Keep your hands behind your back."
"You don't understand! No!"
Denver hurried to the front of the store. The attendants who greeted them looked excitedly at the scene unfolding: Lisa was outside the store, dressed now in one of the short denim skirts and a brown polo. Her hands were behind her back, and the security guard had one handcuff around her wrist.
"I've got to leave, now! Really, I didn't..." Lisa pleaded, struggling. She had obviously tried to run away as fast as she could. Denver had to act.
"Lisa, there you are! Where in the world are you going?"
She turned her head quickly to him, her hair covering her face until she blew it away. The security guard also turned. "Sir, is this your daughter."
Without hesitation, Denver responded, a lie already in his head. Hopefully Lisa would understand. "Yes. Lisa, what's going on? You know what I told you! Why would you run out of the store with clothes that weren't yours?"
She mumbled something inaudible, thoroughly confused, so Denver intervened. "I'm sorry officer, this was all my fault. I had told her I thought I left my wallet in the car, so she must have wanted to grab it for me. Is that right, Lisa?"
Lisa still said nothing in return, but instead glanced at the security guard, and nodded.
"But turns out, I have it right here," Denver continued, waving his wallet through the air like a passport. "So we'll pay for what we wanted to buy. I'm sorry for all this trouble, sir; Lisa, really, this is embarrassing."
The security guard looked back down at her, and then unlocked the cuff. He shook his head and laughed, mumbling something about kids these days, and Lisa sighed with relief. And as soon as she was out of his dirty grip, Lisa nearly dove to Denver. He made to hug her, and though she was hesitant, she returned it. "Don't scare me like that again, please," Denver commented when their embrace ended. He handed her his wallet. "Now go pay for all that. I'm sure once it's paid for they'll let you wear it out of the store."
Lisa simply nodded, but as she returned to the store, Denver heard her whisper warily to him. "Thanks." The theft detection system wailed again and she disappeared into the store.
"Sir, I'll need to still file an incident report. What's you and your daughter's names?"
Denver almost forgot somehow that the guard was there, his flushed face instantly fading. "Oh, right. Denver." Shit! Why did I give my name?!, he thought. "I mean, Denver Terrel. And Lisa Terrel."
The security guard scribbled on a piece of paper, which Denver then had to signature twice. By the time he finished, Lisa had returned with a bag, still wearing the almost stolen outfit. Denver took her hand and they walked away.
"He said he was going to arrest me... I was so scared..." she mentioned quietly.
"You're safe now. It's alright."
She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, still begging to be filled with tears, and Denver took her gaze as a thank you.
Lisa was stressed after the ordeal with the security guard - Denver could tell - so he took her to the food court, where they ate a meal in silence. Denver bought her a cookie, and was shocked that (of course, when he was only glancing at Lisa out of the corner of his eye), she saw her bearing an honest smile. She would tell him later that he picked her favourite cookie without asking her what she wanted, but that was later.
They walked around the mall - which was fairly extensive, adorned here and there by abstract art pieces that claimed to be inspired by the Arizona desert - just to kill time. Denver enjoyed it thoroughly, though he knew it was nothing truly special. Lisa led him to a couple stores she wanted to visit. She bought a necklace with a peace sign, along with a pair of sunglasses at another trendy store; she wore the sunglasses even though she was still indoors. When leaving a store, the walkie talkie of a nearby security guard blared loudly from his hip, and Lisa clutched Denver's free hand. He noticed that she didn't let go until they reached another store, and upon leaving, took his hand again.
They picked up some hamburgers for lunch after several few hours, and made their way out to the parking lot. "Is there anything else you'd like to do?" Denver asked. Again, Lisa grimaced her strange grimace, but eventually mentioned a couple movies she wanted to see. "We have all day," Denver assured. "No rush."
He should be rushed. But Denver was not rushed anymore.
They went to the nearest theatre, somewhere near Broadway Boulevard. Denver let her pick the movie - something that was new and got good reviews - a horror movie - and they went in. The theatre was delightfully cold, and the movie was already playing. For three o'clock, the movie was surprisingly full. The two found a seat near the back.
"Sorry, can you get some popcorn?" she asked when they was somewhat comfortable, though she nervously looked at people near her.
"Do you..."
But in their whispers, before Denver could finish his sentence, she did for him. "I'll stay here. I promise..." Denver was suspicious, but tried. He had no more cash, so he used his credit card to get the popcorn, as well as some drinks. He returned to the dark room, and apparently someone in the movie had already died. He found Lisa still in her seat. Later, she told Denver that he also picked her favourite drink without asking her, but that was later.
Denver was swept up with love, in the way that one sweeps dust under the rug. He was chock full of it - of love - but had to hide it until he was ready to do something with it. Denver was not naive. He knew that obviously, Lisa realized she was sitting in a dark theatre with her captor. But as Denver watched her quietly in the darkness, she stared on, hardly blinking, engrossed in the movie, as if she - just for a moment - forgot where she was. When the killer in the film popped out, and the audience gasped in horror as the protagonist was brutally injured with the killer's implement, Lisa grabbed Denver's hand out of reaction and buried her face in his shirt. Denver smiled.
She realized what she had done after the danger from the horror movie subsided. She coughed, embarrassed, but Denver also saw her smile as well. Later, the protagonist and his love interest were hiding from the killer. The young man leaned in to kiss the girl, telling her not to worry. There was a collapse of something in the darkness, scaring the main characters; Lisa again latched to Denver's arm. It was only a cat in the movie. Denver whispered that Lisa shouldn't worry, and kissed her cheek. She grimaced her odd grimace again, but she didn't remove her arm from Denver's until the credits were rolling.
Lisa insisted they see another movie. Denver knew he should have left town hours ago, but couldn't help himself. They went to see a romantic comedy next, something a few weeks older. The movie was certainly not scary, but Lisa nevertheless entwined her arm in Denver's. The movie became increasingly mushy; Denver would have given the movie two stars, but he was a photographer, not a critic. He was not really concentrating on the movie though, because somehow, Lisa's hand somehow ended up in his own. When the protagonist was caught in his love interest's bedroom wearing a dress, Lisa laughed so hard that she began coughing. Denver rubbed her back kindly, and kissed her again on the cheek.
She didn't grimace, for some reason. She still smiled from the joke. Denver smiled at her smile, and she seemed to notice, because she tried to look away. Denver kissed her cheek again, and she looked at him. Before either of them knew what happened, they had been kissing each other fervently until the main characters finally realized how in love they were. The credits began rolling, and it was dark outside as Denver led Lisa to the car, hand it hand.
A little over 50 miles later, the two had attempted to make up for lost time. Denver knew they should have made more progress, but he was content with staying somewhere here for one last night. They stopped in the town of Sells, and drove a little to the south, then to the west; Denver found a road that went further west, though the name of the road was destroyed by a car and any sign that was there stood absent. He drove until he found an empty field, and drove to the middle of it.
He let Lisa wander off to take care of personal business she had - he knew there was nowhere to go in the middle of the desert - and laid out his blankets and sleeping bag. When Lisa returned, they laid down. She asked him questions - Denver could never remember what they were, exactly - personal questions, but not too personal - and before he knew it, several hours had passed. He suggested they sleep, but Lisa said she wasn't tired. They laid in silence before she began to kiss him.
Who knows how long later, she went to find a drink of water in the car. Denver was exhausted, and took off his shirt, and found the handcuffs at the bottom of the sleeping bag. Lisa heard them clack against each other. "Please don't..." she said, spitting water to the dirt. "I'm scared of those after everything..."
Denver nodded. "We really should get to sleep. If we're lucky, we should be where we're going by evening tomorrow.
Lisa didn't respond. She kneeled down next to Denver and turned away from him. She fiddled under her shirt until she unbuckled and slipped off her bra, throwing it on top of the handcuffs. She crawled into the sleeping bag, but kept her body close to Denver. Denver was watching the stars, trying to figure out which were faking - satellites that were just pretending - when she kissed his neck. They kissed together in the sleeping bag, and Lisa was glad Denver stroked her smooth thighs, though she never told him so.
Who knows how long later, she went to get another drink. Denver looked for his watch, but couldn't find it. Lisa returned, spitting the last of her water to the dirt. Without speaking, pulled off her shirt, and she slithered out of her short skirt. Denver stared in awe of her, only covered by the thong with hearts, as she slipped next to him. He removed her discreet clothing, and removed his. She said she had never done that before, and she moaned with pain when they began.
She then said she was comfortable. She said it felt good. She screamed when it was time to scream, but it was the scream of release. She wanted to scream that scream of release. She screamed again the second time, when she seemed much more comfortable. She admitted she loved that night to Denver, but she said that later. Then, she screamed; she screamed with pleasure and love. Even if she was scared, nobody would have heard her in the middle of the desert, who knows how long later.
Lisa awoke, still naked, though under a blanket, in the back seat. Denver had only slept a few hours, and had placed her as carefully in the car as possible. She was asleep when Denver passed through the fenceline and crossed the odd landbridge, stretched across a small, dried up lakebed where the fence didn't extend. Denver had taken this route before, and had already found his way to a more major road; the air felt different, and was certainly hot as they breathed in the Mexican air somewhere south of San Francisquito.
Denver stopped and the two relived themselves before continuing. Lisa never put on her clothes until they reached Highway 2, and only then put on her other new shirt, along with her purple unmentionables with a panda design, saying she only wanted to dress because there were so many cars. She took everything back off once the traffic died down, crawling into the front seat, and basked in the warmth of the sunlight in full view, her slight curves casting delicate shadows across her body. Denver smiled and drove further west.
He stopped halfway to Puerto Peñasco to stretch on the side of the road, and to fill his car with some gas he had stored in the trunk. They were driving only five minutes later. "I never would have ever thought - forever, like, in my entire life - that something like this would happen. It's so crazy." She mentioned, making a person out of her fingers, which she had walking across her breast down to her belly button.
"Love is strange." Denver had never used that word with any of the others. He had never actually used that word before, he then realized.
"It is love though. I mean, like, I'm not crazy, right? It feels like what I thought love would feel like... despite things. It feels like love for me." She rubbed her stomach without thinking. "So it's love for you too?"
"Yes," Denver mumbled, watching Lisa. "Yes... absolutely, unarguably, it feels like love."
Lisa slid her hand delicately along her bouquet like her thumbs were green. "It still hurts. My mom told me that I shouldn't date boys, because love hurts. I guess she meant this. It still hurts."
"That might be it."
Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. The name bounced around Denver's head. Her voice echoed through the empty chambers between his ears. Her body's image was burned into the back of his head; he could see every curve of her body, every hue of every inch of her skin, down to the finest detail; he could smell her all over him, and she was ingrained in every way imaginable, on his lips, and his clothes, and his car, and his memory. He couldn't resist her when she began to pull his pants off as he remained in the driver's seat sailing down the road at 80 miles an hour. Denver pulled over, and she climbed into his lap like a child younger and less mature than she was. She threw her bouquet to him like she was at a wedding, and they kissed before they did anything. She screamed again who knows how long later. Denver didn't finish, and she let him, screaming twice again before he was done.
She kissed him, begging him not to stop - pleading that she had never felt so real - so alive - in her entire life. She was still sitting atop him, bared to the Mexican world around them, on the side of some road, as she pleaded, and begged with her new love. He loved her, and she loved him. She begged to him, pleading, now crying; oh, how she cursed her parents - how stupid they were for sheltering her - how horrid they were for keeping her from the world; oh, how she cursed her friends, for losing their virginity before her - how they only insulted her - berated her - for retaining her precious flowers; oh, how she cursed, and hollered, and moaned, and how she loved Denver Max, the most unlikely lover - the most skilled kidnapper - the kidnapper who fell in love with the first girl out of the 12 that he had taken before her. How she begged, and moaned, and hollered, and pleaded, just one more time, please, in case she never breathed again - in case her parents never looked for her - or never found her - or whatever, just one more time, so she could love it, and know she was better than all her friends for waiting until she climbed into the lap of true love - she begged, she pleaded, just once more. And once more it came and went, and there Denver embraced love like fetching true love as it sailed through the air - like fetching Lisa's bouquet - like fetching Lisa's bouquet at the wedding - he embraced love as he embraced Lisa's body that sweated in the Mexican heat. She screamed, twice more before Denver finished, but she screamed with love. She kissed him with love, and she screamed once more involuntarily as she sat and kissed him. She climbed back into her seat, crying, laughing, and smiling all at once. She took Denver's hand, and wrapped it around her, and he caressed her entire body as he drove west toward the ocean.
Lisa was clothed by the time they reached Puerto Peñasco, but insisted Denver never let go of her. He continued to caress her, and when his hand passed over her breasts, she kissed his hand, and when his hand skirted up her skirt, touching her so lightly, she breathed a deep breath, and sighed with relief. She smiled happily when Denver left his arm around her shoulder at the gas station, where everyone blathered in Spanish.
She was exhausted, but Lisa insisted they go down to the beach. They ate something together that neither of them could pronounce, and laid out together on the sand until dusk. Denver hated the salt water, but Lisa insisted they go for a swim, and he couldn't deny her. They took off their clothes and swam together as the sun faded. They returned to the sand, and Lisa wanted to express her love once more, insisted she was truly in love, and Denver granted her this love, communally, on the deserted beast as the moon rose and reflected off the ocean.
Lisa and Denver returned to the car, her arms wrapped around his entire body. She insisted true love, and apologized for losing her purple panda underwear somewhere on the beach. She put on her red heart pair as Denver poured them some fruit drink in some plastic cups. Denver told Lisa he loved her, and they finished their drinks. Denver caressed Lisa on the hood of the car, lying together, kissing, until she passed out, though not due to exhaustion. He tried not to look up her skirt as he laid her in the back seat, but couldn't resist.
He realized how unclean things could be, and decided, though he would rather not, it'd be for the best. He loved her; it was the least he could do. He delicately removed all of Lisa's clothes as she slept heavily. He wrapped the blanket around her; he buckled her up as firmly as she could in the back seat; he threw her clothes in the dirt.
He drove west out of Puerto Peñasco toward a small town of La Choya, but turned off the road, heading for a large sand dune he was told was named 'Big Sandy'. At the top of the hill, he looked for a path on foot large enough for his car to drive up the rocky side of the cliffs. Before he climbed in the driver's seat again, he checked on Lisa. Sleeping like a baby, naked like the day she was born. He caressed her once more, her entire body, which glowed in the moon like the ocean. He kissed her lips, and she breathed heavily in her sleep.
He took the path up the mountain side. The car scraped several times on rocks, but Lisa didn't wake. Denver drove as high as he could; he could see the entire ocean now, La Choya flickering to his right along the coast, the steep cliffs leading down to the water below him. He turned the car off. Once more, he crawled into the backseat. He laid atop Lisa, caressing her. He whispered he loved her more than anyone else in his entire life. That she had changed him forever. That he loved her. That he missed her already. That he loved her.
He checked the seat belts, and when they were firm, he locked the doors. Denver went to the rear of the car, and took his second blanket from the trunk. Then he pushed, because sometimes with love, just like cars, you have to push. You have to push, and hope some inertia gets started. Because if you can't get that first little bit of inertia, love or cars can never start rolling.
Denver had already rolled with the inertia of love. Love was now Lisa. That was the definition in the Dictionary of Denver. Now it was time for the car with his love to roll. And boy, did it roll. It rolled right off that cliff. It bounced violently down the steep incline until the steering wheel must have jerked to the left. Because is jerked violently, and Denver grimaced like Lisa as the car cringed, and bent, and screamed a horrid scream - not of love, but of pain. It sailed sideways, rolling, right off the side of that jagged cliff. When it slammed into the lower cliff, the front end collapsed with the impact, and all the windows split and smashed. And it tumbled down, down, down. It scraped, and screamed, and hollered, and begged, and oh, it was a terrible sight. Denver watched, horrified, as the door sailed off like a kite before it smashed once more against a lower cliff.
And Lisa fell into the ocean, car and all, with a tremendous, deafening crash that Denver would never forget for the rest of his short life. He stared at the car as it bubbled senselessly gasping for air on the surface of the ocean, the waves grinding it against the cliffside. The pull of the waves drew it slightly away from the mountainous cliff, and with one last gasp, it sank into the dark Sea of Cortés.
Do you remember that story? Do you remember Denver now that you heard? Who could forget Denver Max? He had long since returned from the beaches of Mexico to Beach Street in Arizona. He had long since given Mr. Kelley those photos. He had long since developed the pictures of Lisa before he pulled that gun out, and before she stepped in his car, and before he saw her beautiful body, and before they fell in love. He had long since heard about the Amber Alert, and had long since seen the weeping mother and father on TV. He only watched those reports to catch a glimpse of Lisa in her picture on the television.
Do you remember that one day? Denver felt empty inside. He had been crying for weeks. He needed a release. He left the house, locking it on the way out. He hopped into his dusty, dark blue BMW and drove off.
Denver enjoyed driving around the neighbourhood. It was usually such a quiet, subdued place, and the loudest noise was the choir of dogs that barked in unison when people walked too near to their yard. But it was still summer vacation; the children were taking the neighbourhood by storm, with their footballs, and soccer balls, and basketballs, and tag-you're-it's, and hide-and-go seek's, and their jump ropes, and their hopscotch, and their marco-polo's, and their skateboards, and their bikes.
One last look in the mirror. How did Denver look? His eyes were a little saggy - he had been staying up late too consistently, but that would be fine. Was Denver already growing back his beard? No, just his imagination. Was his breath as terrible as he thought it was? Nonsense - it never mattered how many times he went to a new house like this, he was always nervous. Denver grabbed his briefcase and brought it to the front seat. A couple down the street kissed each other romantically before the man hopped in his expensive car and drove past Denver.
It was time. Denver got out of the car and strolled up the sidewalk that led to the front door of 3217 Fernando Drive. His heart was racing, but he knew this was normal too. The salesman, Denver Max, was confident. This would be easy, as always..............
....
After a few more moments, the locks began unlocking. One lock... memories... Then the red front door opened. There stood a young girl. Her name was Jessica Thompson. She was sixteen years old, had medium-length brown hair that ran to her shoulders, light brown eyes that weren't particularly exciting... She was a straight A student, member of the student council, and was going to try out for the track team next year. Jessica enjoyed talking on the phone with her friends, walking her dog, playing on the basketball team, and practicing cheers with the friends she had on the cheerleading team. Today, Jessica was wearing a boy's tank top, a light blue denim skirt, and black leggings, with some socks with cartoon characters on them.
....
Denver was nervous. He hated his nervousness. When he got nervous he stuttered. He preferred being eloquent. He just needed to remain calm. This would work out. Jessica sat warily on the couch, staring at Denver like she had seen a ghost and discovered uranium at the same time. Without a second thought, she dove over the couch knocking down an end table as she ran down the hallway toward the phone.
Denver pushed the tripod onto the floor - he heard his camera lens break - behind him and grabbed his briefcase, forcing it open while running after Jessica. Beep beep beep went the phone as Jessica quickly dialed 911, Denver rounding the corner as she hit the talk button. Denver ran toward Jessica and threw the briefcase down the hall, hitting her in her left side. The phone flew out of her hand and bashed against the ceiling before landing in one piece with a loud clatter across the wooden floor. Jessica gasped and tried turning quickly, but Denver was behind her already, and as soon as the scream began to leave her mouth, he pulled her with all his force.
Lisa screamed as her body lifted completely off the ground. Her hand, grabbing the wall-phone for support, ripped the entire unit off, and her foot caught an end table with a vase, all of which slammed and broke on the ground. He had pulled her by the low cut top she had put on for the photoshoot, which ripped straight off her body; she landed flat on her back with a loud bang, knocking the wind out of her, forcing her to cough loudly.
"HELP!" she yelled, and Denver crawled toward her as she tried to crawl away. He grabbed at her skinny jean, desperate to hold her still. "HELP!" He yanked at her pants, but they slid straight off her slender body. He grabbed her bra, but it snapped off instantly as she crawled desperately toward into the kitchen. She stood up and ran, "HELP! HELP!!!" Denver, still on the floor, snagged her underwear in his hand, but she ran with all her might, and the elastic ripped, and she ran completely naked to the kitchen.
Denver grabbed his briefcase, and pulled out the silver magnum inside. He ran into the kitchen. Before he knew what happened, he was screaming in pain. Jessica had found a knife, and slit his upper arm. He pointed the gun at her face, and she dropped the knife and backed up until she reached the fridge.
"Don't you try to call the cops, little girl - cops, little girl! Before you dare pick up that phone, you'll be dead." Jessica wheezed in terror. Denver couldn't help but stare at her, fully bare before him. He could only think of Lisa. He shook his head. He had to concentrate. He grabbed her by the neck and threw her against the counter, they slammed the magnum against her head. "Now - now - now shut up. Don't make a - make a peep. Not a sound."
He picked her up. She was bawling too heavily to scream if she wanted to. She began to caress her body. He only saw Lisa. But this bouquet wasn't thrown to him. He couldn't have sex with this girl. Not here. But he couldn't leave her naked and bleeding in her kitchen. She wasn't Lisa, but maybe she would give him release.
He put the gun to her head and walked her outside. The street was empty anyway, and he realized nobody saw Denver Max pushing the naked teenage girl, hands forced behind her back, to his car. He spun her around - he stared her body down there on the curb of her street, in front of her house. Her breasts, her skin, her belly button, that unique bouquet between her delicate legs. They were all different, but they weren't all Lisa. Lisa was all he wanted.
He molested Jessica - he grabbed her breasts and forced her to kiss him. He threw open his car door and spanked her before pushing her in and closing the door. He ran to the driver's side door. That's when he heard her.
"I love you, Denver."
"Lisa?" He looked around in desperation. Where did she call from. She sounded like she was speaking through a megaphone.
"Denver, please, stop."
"Lisa?! LISA?!" He hollered at the top of his lungs.
"Denver Max, please put down the gun."
"LISA! LISA, I LOVE YOU!"
"Denver Max," Lisa called, "please put down the gun, and put your hands on the back of your head! We will shoot!"
"LISA! I never, ever stopped loving you. This filthy bitch means nothing to me. I was going to give her my love, but I can't. She is naked, and beautiful, and I can't give her any love. Because you were naked, and beautiful, but you loved me. I love you, Lisa! I LOVE YOU, LISA!"
"Denver Max, put the gun down now!"
"I love you, Lisa!"
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven times Denver screamed. He screamed, totally in love with Lisa, as all 24 bullets flew through his liver, and heart, and kidney, and lung, and neck, and head, and skull, and mouth, and chest. The police officers on their way reported to a special team of detectives who had been tracking suspected serial killer, Denver Max, who had reportedly kidnapped, raped, and killed 13 girls, including Lisa Whitney.
They got to 3217 Fernando Drive before the officers, and found Denver Max in the front yard of a house, molesting a girl, naked, right in full view, in her front yard. The detectives reported that he sexually molested the young girl before throwing her into his vehicle. They drew their weapons and ordered him to drop his. He yelled the name Lisa, slurring his speech wildly, screaming about his last murder as his new victim forced the car door open and fell naked in her lawn as the automatic sprinklers flared on.
All the neighbours were on their porches, screaming in horror and shock. The young girl bawled and screamed, and Denver Max screamed like he was in love, 'LISA!', until he seemed to point the gun. The officers opened fire and their bullets ripped through Denver's body like warm butter. His blood was scattered on the street, pouring to the curb. His blood mixed with the sprinkler water as the detectives pulled the naked Jessica from the ground screaming, while neighbours screamed and yelled as the wild sirens made the choirs of dogs sing rampant.
Denver glanced, with every bit of energy he had left, at his surroundings. He saw his blood everywhere. But more importantly, he saw the naked girl. I didn't do it, he said in his mind, with his last thoughts. I didn't do it Lisa. I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, and couldn't. She was beautiful, but she wasn't you. Never again, Lisa. You were true love. I love you, Lisa. I'll see you soon, and we'll scream together, like true love.
Do you remember that day? Do you remember the day Denver Max died on 3217 Fernando Drive?
Do you remember that day?
He screamed like he was in love. He was.
