Chapter 6: Going Steady

Abby flew north. Owen, arms wrapped tightly around her neck, could see little except crisp stars shining in the desert air. He drank in the cool breeze, laughed and cried in turn, exulted in his dreams coming true. It was great to be free.

After a ten-minute flight, Abby landed next to a Buick parked several hundred feet off a highway. Owen felt his bare feet crunch into sand, but Abby did not let him go. Instead she pressed him to her with crushing force, repeating over and over again, "I missed you so much, Owen. I missed you so much."

Owen didn't know what to be most thrilled about: Abby busting him out of juvie, Abby flying him over central New Mexico, or Abby going topless. Owen rubbed her back as she continued to embrace him. Her smooth skin gave no indication that wings had ever been present. "I missed you, too," Owen said.

Abby released him, opened the Buick's driver-side door, and pulled out a large bottle of water. She rinsed off her face and hands, grabbed a fresh sweatshirt, and put it on. "Get in," she urged. As soon as Owen closed the passenger door, Abby started the car, gunned the engine, merged onto the highway, and continued heading north.

Owen lay down on the seat, with his feet on Abby's lap and his right arm beneath his head. "They'll be looking for us together," Owen explained. "This way if we pass a cop he'll only see you."

He hoped the dark would be enough to conceal Abby's identity. Her long, straight hair really stood out, especially since most girls didn't wear their hair that way. She ought to put it up, or better yet, cut it off. Owen wondered if state troopers would stop and search vehicles headed away from Albuquerque. He had no doubt Abby could handle any police they encountered, but he did not want to leave a trail of bodies. He wanted to disappear.

"Where did you get the car?" Owen asked.

"I stole it from a service garage," Abby explained. "I went through the vehicles they'd finished, picked the one I wanted. It won't be missed until the morning."

"It's cool you can drive," Owen said.

Abby smiled. "I'll teach you. Then we can take turns."

Owen liked the idea of getting driving lessons from Abby. He liked the idea of doing just about anything. He was free of juvie! He would never go back. Owen wondered what Alvirez was doing at that moment, how he was starting to search. The agent had seen them fly away. What would that mean for his pursuit?

Abby had left a bloodbath back at Bernalillo. Owen imagined every police officer in New Mexico pouring onto the roads in search of the fugitives. What was the better course of action? Should they make a fast run for the border? Or should they find some place to hunker down? Owen wished he had asked his friends what to do. Except he had never shared his hope that Abby would rescue him. Alvirez had figured it out though.

Owen felt the car exit the highway, but he did not risk a peek out the window. Instead he lay there, staring at Abby. She was so pretty! How amazing it was to see her and be close to her. Over five months they'd been apart. Owen had forgotten how great it was to look at her, to simply be with her. He couldn't let them get separated again.

Trees started crowding the road. "You can sit up," Abby said as she brought the car to a halt. Owen rose in his spot, watched Abby exit the Buick and use a large pair of pliers to open a link in a chain blocking their way. Then she drove the car forward, got back out, and repaired the chain behind them. "Santa Fe National Forest," Abby explained.

The road reduced to a single lane, then became gravel. They spent at least fifteen minutes twisting and turning up the side of a ridge. On the downward slope Abby pulled off onto an overgrown fire road. She took this until it gave out, then drove straight through a great pile of brush. They emerged in a small clearing containing two small tents. Abby got out and began piling sticks and plants behind the car.

Owen stepped from the vehicle. "That tent's yours," Abby said, pointing. "I got you some clothes. I hope they're the right size."

"Thanks," Owen said, wincing as walked over the bracken. He unzipped the tent and went inside. It was pitch black, but he discovered a flashlight and turned it on. The interior contained a pile of shirts and jeans. There were four pairs of sneakers in different sizes. Abby had even obtained socks and underwear.

Owen emerged a few minutes later, dressed in layers. It had only just turned September, but the air was quite cold at this altitude. His used his flashlight to navigate to the tarp spread in front of the tents. Owen examined the supplies Abby was organizing on the plastic: packaged food, four gallons of water, a camp stove, cookware, a lantern, bottled fuel, and several additional tarps folded neatly in a pile. Owen sat down opposite her, turned off his flashlight, and enjoyed the smell of pine trees. It was great to be free.

"Can you see in the dark?" Owen asked.

Abby nodded, her skin like porcelain in the moonlight. "Sometimes even better in the dark," she said. She heated water on the stove, opened a freeze-dried meal, and poured hot water over the food. She handed the packet to Owen and waited for him to start eating. Owen stared at her.

"Oh," she said suddenly. "Silverware." She went to the car and opened the trunk, then came back with a sleeping bag and a large Swiss Army knife. She handed Owen the knife and ran the sleeping bag over to his tent. Owen turned his flashlight back on, found a fork implement, and began eating…breakfast? He wondered what time it was.

As Owen wolfed down his beef and noodles, shivering without a coat and wishing they could build a fire, he turned a question over in his mind. "When did you last eat?" he finally asked Abby, trying to keep his voice flat. She looked away. "I need to know," Owen insisted.

"Two nights ago," she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That means you can go about another ten days, right?"

This surprised Abby. "How do you know?" she inquired.

Owen explained the map Alvirez had shown him.

"When I fly a lot I get hungry faster," Abby said. "Normally I can go two weeks."

"Did you know you were being tracked?" Owen asked. She shook her head. "He said you were wounded. Is that true?"

"Parabellum hollow point," she explained, pointing to her left thigh. "It bled a lot. By the next night it was healed."

"It was dangerous," Owen said, "staying so long in one place."

"I was trying to find you. I searched the city over and over again. I kept reading the papers. Four days ago they said you'd been moved. I got here last night, but I needed to get this ready first," she said, gesturing to their camp.

"It's great," Owen declared. "Best place I've ever been." He finished his meal. His shivering grew worse.

"I knew I'd forget things," Abby lamented. "I should have gotten you a coat."

"I'm fine," he insisted, but he kept thinking about how great a fire would be.

"You should get in your sleeping bag," she recommended.

Owen agreed to this. He closed his knife and rose from the tarp. Abby ran over to her tent and grabbed a radio, then met Owen as he was about to say goodnight.

"Can I come in?" she asked softly.

Owen smiled. "You can come in," he replied.

They squeezed through the entrance. Owen pushed the spare clothes into a corner, opened up his sleeping bag, and lay down on his right side. Abby snuggled up next to him, her back against his chest. Then she tuned the radio to a Santa Fe station.

They listened to music for a while. The last song Owen heard before drifting off was one he had learned in juvie:

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair

Two strangers learn to fall in love again

I get the joy of rediscovering you

Oh girl, you stand by me, I'm forever yours, faithfully

He fell asleep with Abby in his arms.

*****

Owen awoke alone, the sun high in the sky. He went outside and studied Abby's tent from a distance. He could sense that she was in there. Owen had forgotten how wonderful that was, simply feeling her nearby. She had staked a tarp over her tent, which provided additional shade. Combined with the cover from the trees and whatever blankets or sleeping bags she had in her possession, Owen assumed she was safe from the sun.

He walked down the hillside and relieved himself, wondering idly whether or not vampires had to go to the bathroom. He returned to their camp and found himself looking for a clock. As he rummaged quietly for food he thought of other things he wished he had. He began making a mental list.

The hours passed. Owen tried to decide whether or not he was guarding Abby. She couldn't go in the sun. But what practical good was he actually doing, patrolling outside her tent? If a hiker or park ranger blundered into their clearing, it wasn't like Owen could do anything about it. Abby had survived for five months on her own. She didn't need Owen in order to survive.

But it seemed she did need him if she was going to survive in a manner that didn't attract police attention. It puzzled Owen, how Abby had lived so many years, yet had never figured out how to conceal her kills. Didn't she understand how important the dead bodies were? Couldn't she do more to keep them from being discovered?

Owen hoped Abby needed him for more than just practical reasons. She said she had missed him. He wondered if she had been as lonely without him as he had been without her. Granted, he had eventually made friends in juvie. But it wasn't the same.

He wished for some books. There was nothing to do here. He spent a few minutes searching the Buick, didn't find anything interesting. He took some paper and a pencil that he found in the glove compartment and wrote down things they needed. He imagined police helicopters scanning the forest. Owen didn't like it that they were still in New Mexico. He began working on a plan.

Abby emerged from her tent as soon as the first stars appeared. "Hey," Owen said. "Hey," she replied. Owen almost offered her something to eat, realized that was stupid. Abby excused herself and disappeared into the forest. Maybe vampires did need to go to the bathroom. Owen became conscious of the fact that he hadn't showered or brushed his teeth. He pulled out his list and added more items.

"It's Monday," he informed Abby when she returned. "I want us to leave New Mexico Friday night. We're going to need a lot of money where we're going, but I don't want to rob houses clear across the country. I'd rather hit as many as possible Friday evening, right before we leave. Hopefully we can get a new car, as well."

Abby listened carefully, but said nothing. She seemed willing to let Owen take the lead.

"That'll give us several days to case neighborhoods in Santa Fe," Owen continued. "But tonight I want to practice. There's things we need. And I've never actually broken into a home. How far can you fly with me?"

"Yesterday was about my max," Abby answered. "At least without taking a rest. That won't get us to town."

Owen considered this. "Then we'll have to drive part way," he concluded. "We can't take this car on the main road, though. They know it's stolen." He ran to his tent for some extra t-shirts and the flashlight, while Abby cleared a path for the Buick. Then they loaded into the car and began driving out of the forest, Abby keeping the headlights off as she maneuvered through the trees.

She parked just out of sight of the chain blocking the entrance to this part of the park. They got out of the car and Abby took her shirt off. Owen wondered how long it would take him to get used to that. Abby took hold of him, ran down the road, and lifted off. Owen was amazed at how quickly her wings appeared. Being a vampire definitely had advantages.

A few minutes later Abby landed on a cliff overlooking Santa Fe. Owen had been to the town a few times, but he had no recollection of the layout. All he knew for certain was that he wanted to attempt a house on the far side of the city, away from the forest. He explained as much to Abby.

"We can't go straight over," Abby said. "It's too bright."

"Then we go around it," Owen informed her.

Abby picked him up again and headed north. Owen didn't like it that he couldn't see where they were going. Could Abby carry him facing out? If she did, he wouldn't be able to wrap his arms around her neck. But she had to be strong enough to hold him on her own, at least for a little while. He wished he could fly. The thought returned that he had first had in juvie: Couldn't Abby change him? Wouldn't everything be so much easier if she did?

"Try to find a large, unoccupied house," Owen suggested. "One with trees around it. It shouldn't be too close to other houses."

After a few minutes Abby landed in the back yard of a two-story dwelling shaded by several tall aspens. No lights were on inside the home, although a large flood illuminated the rear patio. Owen picked up a rock, smashed the floodlight, and waited for a reaction. Nothing happened.

His friends had taught him where to look for spare keys, but Owen didn't feel like wasting the time. Instead he had Abby fly him to an unlocked bedroom window, which he raised with his hands wrapped in t-shirts since he didn't have gloves. He got one leg through before Abby stopped him.

"Wait," Abby said as she clung to the house's exterior. "Dogs don't like me. If they have one it will come."

Owen paused with his legs straddling the windowsill, ready for a hasty departure. No dog appeared. "Keep watch," he reminded Abby. Then he entered the bedroom.

Owen made a quick walk-through, terrified of discovery. He imagined a sleeping resident arising and confronting him with a gun. Abby wouldn't be able to help him, not inside. His tension eased a bit as he proceeded through the house. It was unoccupied.

The first thing Owen tried to find was a pair of gloves. This took longer than he had planned, but the search at least familiarized him further with the dwelling's interior. Once his hands were covered properly, he grabbed two large suitcases from the basement and pulled out his shopping list.

He started on the lowest level and worked his way up, going systematically from room to room. His nervousness made him drop things, and spin in circles, and pause constantly to listen for Abby. He hoped she could shout loudly enough if the owners returned.

How much easier it would have been to simply go to K-Mart! Jewelry, cash, sweatshirt, coat, new clothes for Abby, soap, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, mouthwash, hammer, screwdriver, buckets, laundry detergent, rope, knives, baseball hat, food, water, watch, silverware, dish soap, scissors, rags, sponges, towels, map, women's magazines, whistle, bicycle, oven cleaner, toilet paper, books, backpack, batteries. Owen knew he wouldn't be able to find it all. Certainly there was only so much Abby could carry. He tried to slow down and prioritize, but it was hard. He kept thinking about getting caught.

Owen at least made sure he got the five items requested by Abby: newspaper, scattergun, ammunition, hacksaw, file. In the den he found a large gun case. It included a number of firearms that Owen assumed were shotguns. He broke the glass, lifted out the three weapons that looked most promising, and walked them upstairs to the open window. "Abby," he called into the dark.

She appeared suddenly from the rooftop, startling Owen so badly that he nearly screamed. "Is this what you want?" he asked. He held each gun before her in turn. She settled on two of them, told him to take the third one back. Owen searched the den further and discovered four boxes of ammunition.

He dragged the luggage to the top of the stairs and topped it off with items from the bedrooms. He then passed the suitcases to Abby, who flew them to the woods behind the house. Owen leaned the two shotguns against the windowsill and ran through the home, opening every window. He went to the living room and pulled all the books from the shelves. He added some pieces of lumber from the basement. Finally he got a can of gasoline from the garage and poured it on the pile.

He didn't want to destroy this family's home. He hadn't left any fingerprints. But some of the things they had stolen were untypical: toiletries, soap, clothing. The theft would stand out as unusual, and Alvirez wasn't stupid. Burning down the house would attract a lot of attention in its own right. But at least fire would keep the agent guessing. Owen lit the pile and ran upstairs.

This time Abby carried Owen facing forward; it was his job to hold the shotguns. He couldn't see much in the dark, although the city lights in the distance looked impressive enough. Abby had to land twice, but after an hour she got Owen back to their car. She rested longer in the relative safety of the forest. Owen felt badly about working her so hard. Eventually she flew off to retrieve the suitcases.

Waiting alone in the woods, Owen started feeling small and useless, this despite having just added burglary and arson to his list of crimes. He was struck by the hard truth that Abby could not always protect him. During daylight she could do nothing, of course. But even at night she could not be with him every moment.

He wished he had stuffed some ammo in his pockets. Yet what would he do with a loaded gun if a park ranger did show up? Would he really try to shoot him? Owen had no desire to kill people. Bobby had been a necessary exception.

It took hours for Abby to return with the suitcases. She shoved them into the trunk of the Buick and collapsed behind the steering wheel, exhausted. "You did a great job," Owen affirmed. Abby smiled, but said nothing. They made it back to camp just as the sky was beginning to lighten. Abby gave Owen's hand a squeeze and disappeared inside her tent.

*****

Owen stumbled into the morning. He wanted to rest longer, but the ground under his sleeping bag was rocky, and the changes in animal sounds kept causing him to stir. Tonight he would have to lay a tarp over his tent. That would at least keep the sunlight out.

He found a container of instant coffee. He didn't really care for coffee, but his fatigue called for desperate measures. He heated up a pot of water, only to realize they didn't have cups. He poured the crystals straight into the pot and began sipping from the edge.

A half-hour later Owen had the two suitcases open. He dug out a watch and strapped it on: Tuesday, September 6, 8:37 AM. He found the toilet paper and made a trip to the woods. He unwrapped a Hershey bar and ate it slowly, one rectangle at a time.

Owen kept thinking of things he had not succeeded in stealing, either because he hadn't found them or because Abby hadn't been able to carry them. It wasn't long before new items started coming to mind. He pulled out his list and wrote stuff down, but he knew they'd have to make do with what they had.

Actually, Owen would have to make do with what they had. Abby didn't seem to need much. She didn't even appear to drink water. She needed a good source of shade during the day. She had to eat every other week. That seemed to be it. Even the clothes on her back were, strictly speaking, non-essential.

He wished they could go shopping. Abby currently possessed over $1200 in cash, plus a decent stock of jewelry she eventually hoped to sell. Add in what they had just stolen, and a spree at the mall would be quite doable. But appearing in public was out of the question.

Owen picked up the newspaper and found several articles related to him and Abby. Apparently she had killed five guards. The escape had happened so fast that Owen hadn't really been sure how many she'd plowed through on the way to his cell. The article mentioned details about their families and funerals. Owen remembered how the correctional officers had turned a blind eye to what Bobby was doing. He felt somewhat content at the guards being added to the ever-expanding "f-with-Owen-Wheeler-and-you-die" list.

The state of New Mexico was engaged in a massive manhunt. Fortunately the image of Owen in the paper was his Bernalillo intake picture, which was almost six months old. His appearance had changed a fair bit since then. One article mentioned that Alvirez had been recalled to Washington. Owen wondered what that meant.

He opened up a map of Santa Fe and began studying the developments adjacent to the National Park. Those were the homes they would rob Friday night. Tomorrow they would start casing them. Owen eventually folded the map and switched to a box set of paperbacks, a four-volume series called The Lord of the Rings. He pulled The Hobbit from the case and began reading.

By the time Abby got up, Bilbo was telling Smaug riddles and Owen was reading by lantern. He put the novel down, grabbed some towels and other supplies for the two of them, and asked Abby to join him in a search for water.

They headed down the hill, but it took a lot longer than he expected to find a creek. By the time they did, he knew he could never retrace his steps. He trusted Abby would be able to navigate the way back.

Owen knelt beside the water and plunged his hand into the current. It was incredibly cold. He was tempted to give up the whole idea of bathing, but having a girlfriend motivated him. He didn't want to smell. He grabbed his stuff and headed upstream so he could be alone.

The process took a long time. He had to undress, dip in the (freezing) water, jump out and wash, get back in. It was slow going in the dark, despite the lantern and the moon, and he was afraid of slipping on the rocks. He dried off with the towel he had brought and put on clean clothes. But then he had to do his laundry. He got the dirty clothes wet, poured some detergent on them, and tried to rub the soap into the cloth. It would have been a lot easier with a bucket. He rinsed the laundry, wrung it out as best he could, and wrapped it in his towel.

When he returned to Abby he found her sitting beside the creek. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a fresh t-shirt, so Owen assumed she had bathed. There were no other clothes for her to change into, though. That was something they would have to take care of on Friday.

Owen was shivering as they started up the ridge, but the climb soon had him sweating. He wondered what the point of getting clean was if they just got dirty again anyway. They arrived back at camp and Owen glanced at his watch. Three hours had elapsed. Three hours to take a bath and do a handful of laundry. This "living in the wild" thing was ridiculous. He wished they could stay in a motel.

Abby popped the trunk of the car and grabbed one of the shotguns. She found the hacksaw and began cutting off the barrel. "This is a Remington pump-action," she explained. "Very reliable, even when you don't clean it. 12-gauge, so the recoil is going to take some getting used to." The barrel fell to the ground. Abby switched to the file and began smoothing the gun's new end.

"Sawing it off makes it easier to conceal," Abby continued. "It'll be easier to handle in tight spaces. It also makes it lighter. That's important if you're going to be hauling it all over the place. They say sawing off the barrel makes the pellets expand faster. I'm not sure that matters at close range, though."

She produced a box of shells and loaded five rounds. "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, whether you think it's loaded or not." She stood up, pumped the shotgun, lifted it to her shoulder, and fired into the trees. The loudness of the report shocked Owen. He covered his ears instinctively.

"The noise takes some getting used to," Abby admitted. "But recoil is the real issue." She beckoned him over and handed him the gun. "Stand like this, with one foot forward. Lean into the weapon. Press it against your shoulder. Tighter. Now try."

Owen squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. After some effort he managed to work the pump. He aimed and fired. The blast kicked the gun high into the air. Owen nearly lost his footing. He rubbed his shoulder where the stock had tried to dig a hole in his flesh. He stared at the weapon in disbelief.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Abby noted, taking the shotgun. "And it'll cycle fast, too." She fired off the last three rounds in quick succession. Owen rubbed his ears. It was like standing next to a cannon.

She handed the weapon back to him. "Keep it pointed at the ground," she said. She went into the trees a little ways and began stacking small logs. On top of this pile she set bottles from their growing collection of trash. Then she led Owen to a spot about three yards in front of the targets.

"The stuff they show in the movies is nonsense," Abby emphasized. "This is the distance at which real gunfights take place. Go ahead and fill the magazine. Try to hit them."

It took Owen several minutes to load the shotgun and pump a shell into the chamber. When he finally aimed the weapon and discharged it, he was embarrassed by the result: he had missed.

"That's OK," Abby said. "Get closer. Yes, closer. Really close. If you ever have to shoot someone, that's probably how close you're actually going to be."

Owen made another attempt, and this time he hit his target. He cycled through his ammunition, knocking every bottle off its perch. His shoulder was killing him.

Abby checked the gun to make sure it was empty. "Pistols are smaller and lighter," Abby observed. "Their recoil can be easier to manage. But they're inaccurate. The man who shot me last week, he got off five rounds with his Beretta. I was maybe two yards away from him. He only hit me once. That's why you want the shotgun. The spread of the pellets increases the odds of a hit. And it has a lot more stopping power."

She sat down, moonlight filtering through the canopy to highlight her hair. "There was a gunfight," she reminisced. "Four men. Ten, fifteen feet apart. They emptied their pistols. No one got hit. They were fall-down drunk," she admitted. "But all those bullets flying, you'd think somebody would get hit. I saw another fight, two men, two pistols each, against an old sailor with a double-barrel. The sailor was the only one who walked away.

"Of course a rifle is a different story. A sharpshooter gets you in his sights, and you're just dead. The Pennsylvania rifle was really accurate. But it took forever to load. The Winchester repeater was the first gun I was really afraid of. I won't attack soldiers. Not anymore."

Owen joined Abby on the ground. "Can you remember…before you changed?" he asked. "Before you were a vampire?"

Abby fell silent for several minutes, till Owen thought he had said something wrong. But then she spoke: "My sister Betsy would fasten my gown. She looked so dignified in her riding habit. It was burgundy, with mother-of-pearl buttons. I played dress-up with her hats."

"Afterwards," Abby said, her voice distant, "she was the only one who'd let me in. She'd tell me where the Indians were. I'd come home to her, and she'd clean me up, and she'd say how proud of me she was. She would let me hold her babies. She died in childbirth."

Owen heard Abby's despair, the vision-misery she had shared with him so many months ago. Her sorrow tore his heart. Yet he was with her now. Didn't he make her happy? He knew he did. He made Abby happy. He made her really happy. But that didn't seem to make her unhappiness go away.

Owen asked himself a strange question, one that had never before occurred to him: Could a person be happy and sad at the same time?

*****

The next night they drove to the chain a little before midnight. Abby picked him up, facing outward, and flew him to the nearest cluster of houses. They hovered over the development for several minutes, Owen matching the roads below with the map in his hand. Then Abby landed for a rest.

They repeated this process four more times, giving Owen a total of five neighborhoods to hit on Friday. He felt rather uneasy about planning to rob people. But it was better than killing them, which was what he was trying to prevent.

By the time they got back to the car, several hours remained until sunrise. Instead of getting behind the wheel, Abby handed the key to Owen and got in on the passenger side.

A thrill of excitement rushed through Owen. He settled into the driver's seat and shut the door. His dad had let him start their car sometimes, so Owen knew how to do that much. He put the key in the ignition and got the engine going. Then he turned to Abby.

"We can't risk the headlights," she began. "So you'll have to do your best by moonlight. The right pedal is gas, the left is the brake. Press the brake and use the gear shift to put the car in drive. Yes, like that."

Owen released the brake. The Buick began inching down the road. He touched the gas pedal and the vehicle shot forward. He stepped on the brake, bringing them to a jerking halt. He repeated this process several times, accelerating and stopping in erratic fashion. "Stupid car," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Abby protested. "I learned on a Packard One Twenty. Manual everything. You've got power brakes, power steering, automatic transmission. There will be no whining."

"Humph," Owen said. He continued practicing, getting a feel for the pedals. They were so sensitive. And he had trouble reaching them, despite the seat being up as far as it could go. But he got better, the Buick crawling along in fits and starts.

"Alright," Abby said. "Time to try a little speed. Nothing major, though, OK? We're on a one-lane road surrounded by trees. There's not a lot of room for error."

A glint came into Owen's eye. His first time driving, he was going to do it right. He turned the radio on and found a rock station just as My Sharona started playing. He hit the gas and began bopping his head in time to the music. Getting chased by half the cops in the American Southwest; gorgeous, bad-ass, vampire girlfriend smiling at him; 300+ horsepower under the hood; jamming to The Knack; cruising down a dark road with no headlights. Life was good. He sped up.

"Not so fast!" Abby cried out. "Left! No, right!"

Owen slammed on the brakes, the car coming to a rest with the front bumper just barely touching an enormous aspen. Owen couldn't help himself: he laughed. "First he's gonna shit, then he's gonna kill us," he quoted.

Abby's face lit up. "Fast Times at Ridgemont High," she declared, identifying the film. "No dogs allowed in the shuttle, son. I'm afraid Scraps will have to be shot."

"Airplane," Owen replied, surprised that Abby knew movies. "Take live tuna fish, and feed them mayonnaise."

"Night Shift," she answered. "We're not having hot mush today. We're having cold mush." Owen didn't recognize this one. Abby quoted another line: "Why any kid would want to be an orphan is beyond me."

"Annie," Owen said. "Bring me four fried chickens and a Coke." This time Abby was stumped. "Your women. I want to buy your women." He waited a moment, then added, "Hey, boy, got my Cheez Whiz?" Finally he burst out, "Blues Brothers!"

"Hey!" Abby protested, slapping his arm. "I was gonna to say that!" She began tickling his stomach.

Owen responded in kind, discovering that Abby was sensitive everywhere: abdomen, armpits, knees, feet, neck. He wondered how wise it was to tickle a hungry vampire, but he couldn't help himself. She was giggling uncontrollably, and soon Owen was, as well.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly they found themselves in each other's arms. Owen's heart started racing. Abby took his right hand and pressed it against her chest. Owen could feel her heart pounding through her t-shirt. She leaned toward him and touched her forehead to his.

Now is the perfect time to kiss her, Owen realized. He wanted to kiss her. He had to assume she wanted to be kissed. Certainly this moment begged for some kissing. But Owen didn't kiss her.

They separated after a minute and Owen continued driving. He navigated the gravel slowly, mystified at why he hadn't given his girl a smooch. He glanced at her, saw that she was beaming at him. So she wasn't upset. That was good. He thought back to the encounter in the basement when he had tried to enter a blood pact instead of just making out. I didn't kiss her this time, either. But I didn't cause her to vamp.

*****

Early Friday Abby escorted Owen through the Santa Fe suburbs. Cars appeared twice, causing the fugitives to scurry off-road and hide in the brush. It was dangerous, walking the streets together, but Owen considered the risk minimal at this time of night. He compared the five neighborhoods they were studying to the map of Santa Fe. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for at three in the morning, but Owen's friends had made it clear he should case houses repeatedly before he tried to rob them.

At one point Abby made a suggestion. "I know you're thinking about ringing doorbells to see if anyone's home. But there's a better way." She paused for a moment and added, "I'm getting hungry."

This concerned Owen. "Can you last another four days?" he asked.

"I think so," she said. "That's not what I mean. When I get hungry I can…sense prey. If I'm alone, I can open windows and tell if someone's home. At least I usually can."

"That's excellent," Owen decided. "Surprising people is the biggest risk."

"I can't always be certain," Abby qualified. "But I think it's better than ringing the bell."

Upon completion of the scouting mission they found a decent patch of forest near the suburbs. Owen led the way into the middle of these woods and reminded Abby of his instructions. "It can't be from around here. I know that's going to make it harder, but I can't have someone recognize it."

"I know," Abby said. She flew away.

Owen sat against a tree and opened his duffle bag. Flashlight, map, radio, sawed-off shotgun, baseball cap, pocketknife, food, water, toilet paper, gloves, oven cleaner, hammer, towels, magazines, books. It was a lot of stuff, but he was about to spend all day in these woods. He wanted to be prepared. He pulled out the map and the flashlight again and tried to visualize the developments they had just walked through.

Abby got back an hour later, bearing Owen's prize: a dirt bike suitable for the average thirteen-year-old. Owen thanked Abby, said goodbye, and let her head back to their hideout.

He rolled one towel into a pillow, used another as a blanket, and tried to get some sleep. By breakfast he was awake. The ground was uncomfortable and he was cold, despite wearing three t-shirts and a hoodie. He stomped his feet to warm them, then opened a can of corned beef hash and ate it cold.

Owen tuned the radio to Abby's station, but it wasn't long before he found himself getting sick of pop. The song Safety Dance was fun. And he liked Total Eclipse of the Heart, which he didn't understand but still wanted to share with Abby. Most of the music made him want to barf, though. He switched to classic rock.

He spent some time studying women's hairstyles in the magazines he had stolen. One article even gave directions: How to Make a Pouf. He memorized the list of required items. Eventually he switched to The Fellowship of the Ring. He kept glancing at his watch. It wasn't even noon.

It seemed like Abby slept a lot. She stayed in bed whenever the sun was up. Didn't that mean half the day? What was Owen supposed to do while she was sleeping? Should he try to match her routine? But even if he got all his sleep during daylight hours, that would still leave lots more time in which he was alone.

He tried to read. His mind kept drifting. Eventually it got to be 2:30. He hung the towels on a tree to help him find the spot, returned everything else to the duffel, which he left in place. Owen put on the baseball cap, picked up his new bike, and rolled it to the edge of the woods. He emerged onto the road and went for a ride.

Owen counted on four things to disguise him: the change in his appearance over the last six months, the baseball hat, the bicycle, and the fact that he was alone. He guessed that the last of these was the most important: everyone was expecting him and Abby to be together.

It took Owen 100 minutes to explore all five neighborhoods, by the end of which he was beat. He didn't like what he had seen. There were too many children. There was too much traffic. He reminded himself that the situation would improve. People would go out to restaurants, movies, football games, parties. That was one reason he had waited until Friday: more empty houses.

During his second tour Owen hit the jackpot. A family was loading suitcases into their van, a strong indicator they would be gone for the weekend, if not longer. A car sat in their open garage. Owen assumed they'd all be travelling in the van, leaving the other vehicle behind. He risked a second quick pass, trying not to stare. Then he headed back to his hideout in the woods. He had found what he was looking for.

Abby arrived a half-hour after sunset. They flew immediately to what Owen had already dubbed the "vacation home." After landing in the backyard, Owen let Abby begin inspecting the upstairs windows. The location was perfect. Lots of trees, no evidence of dogs. Abby couldn't find an unlocked window, so she went ahead and broke one. Owen didn't want to damage windows tonight if he could help it, but they had to make an exception here. This house was important.

After a few minutes Abby gave the all-clear and lifted Owen into an upstairs bedroom. He did a quick inspection as he had done before. No people, no dogs. A fairly comprehensive alarm system, though. Unfortunately this included the door into the garage. Owen rooted around the kitchen with his gloved hands, eventually finding what he hoped was a spare key to the car. He took out his hammer and began smashing drywall.

When the hole into the garage was big enough, Owen stepped through and got his first up-close look at the vehicle he hoped to steal. It was large, a Ford LTD, definitely big enough to carry all their stuff. Owen shined his flashlight into the driver-side window and smiled. The glass was tinted. The key opened the door. Owen got in and started the engine. They were in business.

The two of them developed a routine as the evening progressed. While Abby scouted for unoccupied dwellings, Owen expanded the hole into the garage and searched the vacation home for valuables. When she was ready she would fly Owen to a group of houses she considered reasonable targets. He always entered through a second-story window. He never stayed for more than fifteen minutes. He never took more than he could fit in his duffle. Tonight was about one thing: seizing high-value items and getting the hell out.

For the most part he restricted himself to five categories of loot: cash, jewelry, drugs, handguns, ammunition. The guys in juvie had taught him where to look, and he was amazed to discover the accuracy of their advice. People always seemed to hide money and weapons in the same places: under clothes, beneath mattresses, tucked away in closets. The jewelry sat in cases on bathroom counters and dresser tops, begging to be taken.

Owen hoped that by not forcing entry, and by not making a mess, people might take some time to realize they had been burglarized. Just to be on the safe side, however, Owen hit no other houses in the neighborhood containing the vacation home. It wouldn't do to have police scoping the area right as they were trying to make their escape.

At 10:30 Owen called it quits. He loaded everything into the LTD, grabbed a grocery bag containing the special items he had gathered, and had Abby fly him onto the vacation home's balcony. The balcony pleased Owen. No exterior fixtures were on, which together with the trees made the space safe from observation. He went to work.

First he cut open a large plastic trash bag and spread it near the sliding glass doors. He set an outdoor chair on top of this. He cut a hole in another garbage bag and pulled it over his head like a parka. Finally he produced a pair of electric trimmers, plugged them into an exterior outlet, and asked Abby to cut his hair.

The buzz took only a couple of minutes. Owen removed the bag from his shoulders and gestured Abby toward the chair. Her expression fell.

"Your hair is so beautiful," Owen professed. "I don't want to mess it up. But it has to go, Abby. I'm really sorry."

She relented and took a seat, clearly displeased. Owen covered her and organized his supplies: water, brush, scissors, blow-dryer, hairspray, and bobby pins. Owen ran his hand through Abby's hair. He had never actually done this before, and it made his fingers tingle. Owen shook his head and sighed. He had just robbed nine households. What he was about to do felt worse.

Owen had Abby lean back. He wet her hair and smoothed it out. Then he began cutting. He made it as short as possible on the sides and back, tapering to about five inches on top. With the low light and his lack of experience he knew he was butchering it. He kept reminding himself that the goal was simply to make Abby look different than her police sketch. She didn't have to like it. She just had to be disguised.

Liking it would certainly be nice, though. Owen wet her hair again and began blow-drying, using the brush to make it as frizzy as possible. As he continued to work he started to stroke interesting parts of Abby: her forehead, her ears, her neck. He brushed up against her shoulders. His heart was beating so fast he knew she could hear it.

Owen put the blow-dryer down and switched to hairspray. Abby studied him with a gentle expression, her mood no longer sour. Owen fought against frustration. The hair just didn't want to stand up. He tried using the bobby pins, but kept getting it wrong. Abby leaned forward and touched the sides of Owen's waist. His hands started shaking and he didn't understand why. He felt like he was going to faint.

He recognized the perfect opportunity to kiss Abby, but he was suddenly terrified of passing out. He stepped back and plopped into a deck chair. He waited for his head to clear. After a minute he picked up the grocery bag and handed it to Abby. "I found you an outfit," he said. "I hope you like it."

"Thank you," Abby said. She stood up and started undressing. It occurred to Owen that if he didn't do something, she was going to change right in front of him. He was all for seeing Abby naked, but this was just too much. He pushed himself up and hastened to the edge of the balcony, giving her some privacy.

When she had finished changing, Owen gathered up everything he had brought outside, along with Abby's dirty clothes and the hair they had cut. He carried the bag to the Ford, activated the garage opener, and started the car. He pulled down the driveway and closed the garage, then gave his seat to Abby. They headed for the forest.

"If we're lucky the owners won't get back until Sunday evening at the earliest," Owen explained. "By then we'll be across the Mississippi."

Abby drove through the woods as quickly as she could. Now was the time for speed. They reached their campsite, jumped from the car, and loaded their gear into the back seat. Owen hesitated over the Buick, which Abby had buried in logs and brush. The vehicle was covered with their fingerprints. Owen debated burning it, decided not to.

He turned to leave. Abby was leaning against the LTD, her hands behind her back. She wore white tennis shoes, blue designer jeans, and a fuzzy pink sweater with initials stenciled on the front. A gold pendant hung about her neck. Her short hair stuck up in what could only charitably be called a pouf. Owen took in the total package and thought he would die of excitement. She was so cute, so adorable, so irresistibly delicious.

Owen knew what had to be done. He walked up to Abby, took her face in his hands, and kissed her on the lips. "Let's go to New York," he said.