Long Lost

Author's Note

Attempted suicide and suicidal ideation plays a part later in this story. I do not want to surprise anyone with this, given what I know of the subject.

Despite how it may seem, this is a story of love and redemption. I sincerely hope that you enjoy it.

*****

-- James --

I know what you're going to think. What kind of forty-year-old dude picks up a female hitchhiker half his age? That's an understandable thought. Honestly, I would think the same thing if I were you. I wouldn't blame you at all for dismissing me now as a pervert. I'm just going to tell my side of things, and you can make up your own mind.

I live in the country. Well, honestly, the country might be a little too civilized a term. I live where you might drive twenty minutes between houses, and the mountains are just next door. The air smells of pine and the days get cold pretty often. I was driving my truck back from the nearby largeish town which is two hours away on the interstate. I had just picked up a month or so of groceries and supplies. I had a number of repairs that I wanted to complete before winter set in. If I put my mind to it, I figured I could get them all done. Plus, that had the advantage of keeping me busy. I'd deal with the future when it arrived.

I had gotten off the interstate, and then off of the main road which ran through the small village (really just a gas station, two fast-food restaurants, and a tiny general store) onto the road that would take me the rest of the way home. I love this part of the drive. Nothing but God's country, the pines, and wildlife. Even at night, you might see all kinds of things. You had to be careful, but it was worth it.

By the time I was driving this part of the road, it was getting dark. I was about five miles along with another ten to go when I saw her. I was immediately worried. There's nothing on this road but my house and my closest neighbor was about twelve miles after mine. She could literally be walking all night and never reach anything. I knew I had to stop. If my wife had been with me, she'd have insisted. I pulled up beside her.

I leaned over and rolled down the window.

"Hey, are you alright?"

I couldn't make out her appearance very well. She was at least dressed fairly warmly and she had a backpack. Even before she spoke I could tell she was pretty young, maybe in her twenties.

"Um. Yes." she seemed kind of uncertain but I couldn't tell if it was concern about the stranger who just pulled over or hesitancy about asking me for help. I decided just to ask.

"Can I help you get somewhere? This road doesn't lead many places and it's getting dark. I'm happy to drive you. I'm James, by the way"

"I'm Tanna," she said. She looked at me, thinking, "About how far is it to the Jensen farm?"

She seemed to be testing me a bit, maybe making sure that I actually lived on the road. Smart. Bill Jensen was my neighbor. Was.

"Their farm is about twenty-two miles ahead," I said simply.

"Jesus. Everything is a lot farther away than it looked on the map. Would you drive me out there?"

"Uh. Well, I don't mind doing that but we should talk a bit first."

"All right," she said, and she opened the door, threw her back on the back seat of my truck, and hopped in.

When she got in I could make out a little dark brown hair escaping from under a wool hat. She was younger than I thought, somewhere between eighteen and twenty. She had a lovely face, her pale skin flushed with the cold of the autumn air. Her clothes and coat were appropriate for hiking in the cool weather and bulky, so all I could notice about her figure was that she was definitely petite. Maybe five feet tall plus a little. I can tell you right there I was really unsure about leaving her on a road like this at night. She seemed capable and prepared, but something about just dropping off a tiny girl like this in the middle of nowhere worried me quite a bit.

"Thanks," she said, obviously glad to be out of the cold, "What do we need to talk about, exactly?"

"Well," I said, pulling away from the shoulder, "The Jensen farm is up this way, but nobody lives there. He was my friend, passed away last year in a car wreck."

"Oh," she said and sat there quietly. Her face looked like I had just hit her, and she had the beginnings of tears in her eyes. I just waited for her to talk. We had a little ways to go still.

"I...He was my dad, I think," she said, simply.

Holy shit. I didn't know he had a daughter. Hell I'm not sure he knew he had a daughter. And I was a little skeptical, to be honest. He didn't seem the sort to abandon anyone, but you never knew.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it just like that. Whereabouts are you from?"

"Um. Canada. British Columbia. Sun Peaks. Its a few hours northeast of Vancouver."

"That...is a long way from here." I was honestly very impressed.

She laughed.

"Yeah, I guess. Um, not sure why I came all this way now. It never occurred to me that he might be..." she trailed off.

It was obvious to me that there was no plan B. She had been trying to get here the cheapest way she could, and now there was nothing at the end of the road. Now I knew I had to help her.

"My house is coming up here in about five minutes. You can come inside, I'll make you some tea, get you something to eat. If you need to, you can spend the night, got plenty of rooms. If you prefer I can drive you out to a motel about forty-five minutes from here. I can put you up there for a few nights, no problem. Up to you. But either way, I can't just leave you by the side of the road." I couldn't leave her there. I did what I knew my wife would have done. I'm not saying I wouldn't have done the same, but she was a good guide for me, even now.

"Um," she said, obviously conflicted, "I think tea and food would be great. I...I don't really have much money though..."

"This is just hospitality. A lot of people out here still believe in it, so don't think I'm special. No money needed."

"Th...thank you," she seemed a bit choked up, "Maybe I could spend the night and then tomorrow we could decide what to do?"

"That would be fine. Don't worry too much about tomorrow. No one is going to leave you in the cold."

The rest of the trip we stayed quiet, which was fine with me. It didn't seem awkward to her either. I could tell that she needed time to absorb what I said. And while we drove, I thought. I remembered that Jensen had lived up north in Canada for a while when he was younger. I couldn't remember the name, but he had told me about a ski resort that he worked at every winter, and all the crazy antics he had gotten into. He also mentioned that he slept around a bit with both the tourists and the local girls. I did some quick math in my head and her age was just about right. Could he have left a girl behind? Maybe never even knew she was pregnant? That seemed more like him. He'd never abandon a child or her mother, I was sure of that. But accidents happen. Shit. Now I definitely had to help her. Bill Jensen was more than just a friend. By the time he'd died, we were basically brothers. He'd left me his land, knowing I would keep it pristine and maybe donate to the park service or just let it be.

Well, if she was who she said, then the land would belong to her, no questions asked. That would be the very least I could do for her.

We finally pulled up to my house. I was glad I had left the porch light on when I left. I did tend to tarry and get chatty with people I knew at the stores and the diner I liked to eat at and then get back late. We got out and I led her into the house.

"I'll get that tea started and then I need to unload the truck. Some stuff can stay overnight but I need to get the food indoors." Bears wandered down into the valley sometimes and they could cause some mischief if they wanted to.

"I'll help you unload."

"You don't have to. You're a guest."

"I'm a freeloader," she laughed, "and I want to help."

So that's what we did. I started tea and showed her to her room to drop her bag off. She seemed impressed or at least pretended to be, which was appreciated. I basically live in what you might call a large cabin. It's simple and rustic, but comfortable.

We unloaded the truck in amicable silence, and it did go a lot quicker with two people. She might have been small, but she was clearly in good shape, maybe better than I was. We had everything in the pantry by the time the tea was whistling. Meanwhile, I got out some sandwich makings. It was simple but no one would starve. She didn't complain, and we made our own sandwiches and sat down with the tea.

She ate so fast I wondered when the last time she had a real meal. I tried to keep the conversation light. Dumb jokes, dad-jokes, you'd probably call me. Just to make her laugh and keep her mind off the next day. She needed food and rest. I wasn't going to let her suffer. And now, of course, I could see her well.

She wore a blue sweater, jeans, and some well-worn hiking boots. She was about five foot, and very young. Her dark brown hair was cut in what my wife called a Pixie do but I just called it cute. Her skin was pale like the snow and damn near perfect even though she clearly wasn't wearing any makeup. While she was definitely skinny, she had curves. Her jeans left nothing to the imagination, showing off her tight ass, and her small breasts were outlined by her sweater. Her eyes were ice blue, and her features were small and delicate, although by now I didn't think of her as fragile. She seemed about as tough as she was attractive.

Look, I'm wasn't planning on doing anything, even had she offered. That would have both violated the hospitality I had extended and made me feel like I'd let Bill down. That being said it had been about three years since I'd gotten laid and there was no way I wouldn't notice the features of an attractive young woman in my house. And she was, to put it mildly, stunning. The fact that she happened to be my type enhanced her natural attractiveness. In my younger days I'd have been turning on the charm. Thank god I was older and if not all that much wiser, at least better. Stronger of character would be how my wife would have put it.

We finished eating. I showed her around to the essentials. Her bathroom (it really was hers because I had a master bath that I used), her room, the living room.

"If you get hungry or whatever just eat or drink whatever's in the fridge. Rest up, and tomorrow we'll talk about what you want to do next."

"Thank you...really, I mean it," she said as she shut the door to the guest room.

I felt good about myself for what I had done. Everything seemed fine for the night, so I turned in.

-- Gemma --

I used to be a very bitter person. I was spiteful about the way my life had gone, and I had someone to blame for all of it. Although some people would tell you that it was a natural result of upbringing and life circumstances, I don't believe that is an excuse or even a reason. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I can tell you my side of things. I still feel sad thinking about what happened and what almost happened.

The whole process was a lot easier than I had expected. Then again, I didn't have to act as much as I thought I would. I really was tired and cold and hungry. I really was grateful that someone stopped and picked me up. I really was happy for the conversation after being basically alone with my own thoughts for weeks. And the house really was warm and nice.

I just despised the owner.

I had a few more sob stories prepared. How my family had died, how I had discovered where my father lived, how I had traveled by bus and hitchhiked across Canada and the western US. Some of it was even true. As it turned out, I could save them for later. Good. That would make the next step so much smoother.

I had to watch him for a few weeks. Ask questions (but not too many) and make some calls. I had even called him directly once about a fake delivery to see when he would be "available". He drove to town once every two weeks on Monday. Tuesday if there was a holiday. He always left in the morning and returned late afternoon or early evening. There was only one route that made any sense, and he had to drive past a McDonalds. I could go there every morning from the motel I was staying at (which was, ironically, the one he had suggested putting me up at). It even had wifi. In the morning usually, about five to ten cars drove past to get onto the interstate. I knew that he drove a red 2014 Ram 2050 with a custom camper. There were a lot of pickup trucks out here, but not many that fit that description.

After I saw him drive past, I just had to kill time and get on his road by mid-afternoon. I refused two rides. The first one was a nice old lady but the second was a skeevy dude in an old Corvette that made me grip the chemical mace in my pocket tightly. Luckily he drove on. And then, a little later than expected but still on schedule, my dad found me.

He looked like the pictures I had of him, but...better. That was an odd thing for me to notice, but I didn't really let it bother me. He was tall, lean, and had that ruggedness that comes from being outdoors a lot. He had some deep lines on his clean-shaven face but they were smile lines. He wore some beat up jeans, cowboy boots and a flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up over his forearms, exposing some rather impressive muscle. He smelled of pine and wood smoke. His eyes...were a lot like mine, honestly. He had an aura of relaxed confidence, like there was nothing that he couldn't handle. And he exuded masculinity, but not the kind that you need to be afraid of or that has to prove itself. Even the way he sat told me he was reliable, decent, kind, but honest.

I wonder if he had fooled my mom with this same act. It had to be an act, after all. Decent men didn't abandon pregnant women and kind men didn't pretend that their daughters didn't exist. Reliable men made sure that their children didn't get kicked out on the street before they were legally allowed to vote. Honest men kept in touch with their offspring, even if they didn't get along with their mothers. He clearly couldn't be any of those things.

I was a little disturbed that being in close proximity to him had an, uh, "effect" on me. Specifically, it turned me on. He turned me on. I had an image of him pressing me back into the seat of the truck, gently opening my legs to his hand as he kissed me relentlessly on my neck. It was spontaneous, unwelcome. I was attracted to him right away, from the beginning, even though I knew that he was my biological father. Inwardly I laughed at the irony but I also knew that I could use it. It would make doing some things easier if it came to that. I had made every part of myself a weapon.

When we reached the house I couldn't help but be impressed. It was like a log cabin but huge. It had two full stories and what looked like a big attic. Lots of windows all around so you could see the forest, the mountains. I bet you could even glimpse the nearby river. Inside everything was wood and clean. Hardwood floors with tasteful, simple rugs. A large kitchen that you could use to prepare meals for a lot of people. It was not the stereotypical house of a bachelor. I noticed that he gave me a huge guest room with a king-sized bed and its own TV. If it were a hotel I'd have expected to be paying a lot of money.

I saw that there were pictures of a small blond woman all over the first floor. She was definitely beautiful, curvy, smiling. Looked at least as country as he did. She wasn't my mother though. I wonder if she was what replaced her. What made him forget about her. About me. I wondered where she was and if she would approve of her husband bringing home a strange eighteen-year-old girl. I doubted it.

He really had no idea who I was. He bought the Jensen story completely. I had to do a lot of research on that part, but it really paid off. "Tanna" was real, but she was going to school in Vancouver. She wasn't Bill's child though, just a girl near my age who had been born a little after Bill Jensen left the area who happened to not have a father listed on her birth certificate. A little money, time, and effort got me a copy, just in case.

I knew that Bill Jensen was dead, but I had no idea that he was James' best friend. I couldn't have planned that part any better. It was obvious that he felt some kind of obligation towards the dead man. I wondered if he had wronged him in some way. From what I knew it would be typical of him to care about someone else's child more than his own flesh and blood.

The plan was actually pretty simple. Get him to bond with me by any means necessary, and I do mean any. Once he felt a deep connection to me I would steal everything of value that I could (from his house or bank accounts), and then leave, making sure to let him know exactly what I thought of him on the way out, probably by wrecking his home. If he had a wife or girlfriend I knew that I could destroy that relationship too. Then I'd send him a letter explaining everything so he would know why he was suffering and that it was just. I wanted him to be broken, broke, and alone. I needed him to know what it felt like to be betrayed and abandoned to fate by a loved one. I didn't really care about the money or if what I did would put me in jail. I didn't care about anything but hurting him. I certainly didn't have second thoughts from his manner or the way he let me into his house with no strings attached. I slept like a baby and dreamed of revenge. That's how it was the first night.

-- James --

By now you realize that I am a fool, but I didn't yet. That would come later. Sometimes it's better to be a kind fool than to be wise and cruel. That was something my wife cross-stitched for me. I think it was her way of saying she accepted that I made dumb decisions at times because I made them for what she saw as the right reasons. I missed her.

I got up at my usual time, which was pretty damn early. I didn't sleep so well anymore so it wasn't a big deal. I made twice as many eggs, bacon, and hash browns as I might normally and plenty of coffee. I didn't wake Tanna up. She could sleep in as late as she wanted. If these got cold I had plenty more.

As it turned out, she got up right after me, coming in as the coffee was finishing on the stove. She wore some shorts and a shirt that...wow. I mean it. She was a looker. Smooth legs curving up to a bubble-butt. Tight tank top showing the curve of her small breasts and the tiny points of her nipples. I didn't stare at her or leer or anything. This was all pretty obvious at first glance. I noted to myself that I should be on my best behavior and that she was wearing that because it was comfortable, not for my hungry gaze. It was not my place to judge or act like a lustful teenager, so I made my eyes behave themselves.

She was smiling.

"I kind of expected you to have a dog. It seems like there should be a dog keeping you company while you make breakfast. Maybe begging for some bacon?"

"An astute observation," I said smiling, a little ruefully, "Jones passed on a little while ago. He was a good boy who lived a long time and had a good life. Been meaning to get a puppy at some point but...it just hasn't seemed like the right time."

It hadn't been the right time for a lot of things, I reflected. I hadn't seen any women or written a single word since my wife died. I hadn't ridden a horse since then either, though I did find homes for the two that we kept. Good ones, with kids who would love them. I kept the dog. He was more my wife's than mine, but we got along fine and always had. He looked out for me and I was happy for him to be there. He passed right after Bill. After that, it just felt easier to be alone than to lose anything else.