Thick darkness lingers heavily across the cold jail as I stare blankly ahead, my mind once again aimlessly wandering through all that has happened and had led me to where I am at now. Of where my future will be taking me. If only I had stayed in Knoxville and allowed my dad to turn me in as he had been threatening to do, I’d only go away for the things I actually had done. Now that I had optioned to move Kristy to Hazzard in attempt to escape jail time, I am not only facing the charges of what I had done in Knoxville, but also for beating the hick mechanic that I had found lying upon his floor in his own blood. “Damn,” I cuss angrily in frustration as I silently wonder of how long I could be spending behind bars now.

“Awesome,” I hear Ronnie whisper behind me and I slowly glance behind me to find a hand slipping a note into the open bars of the window. Ronnie reads the note by a dim light that his friend shines through the window only for a broad smile to cross his face. “It’s about time, Steel. Let’s do it!”

The man he had called Steel whispers something before I hear footsteps walking away and Ronnie slowly climbs down from standing on his cot to meet his friend, as he always does at this time of night. “What’s that about?” I slowly ask, turning around the rest of the way to face him.

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I stare numbly up at the bright lights that shine down from the old ceiling while I vaguely hear the irregular beeping of the monitors that sit a foot or two from my head. Questions continue to run rapidly through my throbbing head as of how I had ended up at Tri-County and in so much pain. I sigh heavily only to enforce a fiery wave of pain through my lungs as I silently recall what Dr. Sanchez had said, I was found beaten in my garage. But by whom? And why? I vaguely recall the argument with Hogg over Rosco’s patrol car and rising the rent upon my garage, but Hogg wouldn’t have me beaten to death over the price of repair. Neither would his dim-witted sheriff. Fear and panic continue to swirl thickly through me as I once again am lost in thought of what all this means, of someone trying to kill me, and almost succeeding. Chills harshly rushes across my numb and pain covered body as Sanchez’s voice once again speaks up within me as he explained how close I had came to my own death. Would have if it weren’t for a lady named Kristy who found me in time and had performed CPR while her brother went for help. Only to force the questions to reappear within me of why I am here to begin with.

Abruptly my questions and thoughts are interrupted as the latch softly makes a clicking noise from the white painted door to grab my attention and I tiredly turn my head to look. After a brief moment, two tall and serious looking men walk in wearing dark pants and a dark blue windbreaker. Their body language and look cries loudly of authority, power, and of some sort of police agency. “Cooter,” the dark blond haired man finally speaks as he walks up to my bed while his hand goes inside his windbreaker and pulls out a black wallet. He slowly opens it and holds it out to me while he continues, “I’m Sergeant FBI Agent Frank Mills. There’s,” he points to the younger of the two with dark hair and dark eyes, “is my partner, Agent Treyton Mueller.”

I slowly nod only to reinforce the throbbing pain as I slowly hand his badge and ID back to him while I force a smile as I fight back the tears that begin to swell in my eyes. Tears of pain that continues to build within me. “I didn’t do anything. Promise,” I force another smile as I cautiously look from Mills to Mueller who stands at the end of the bed, staring at me with his shadowed dark eyes.

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