The Chase(Darrell Case) Mike set by the side of highway 14 half asleep. Little traffic. He thought of Melinda. He had taken a suspect in a robbery to the hospital. The guy complained of a pain in his leg after Mike tripped him. Of course, if the guy hadn’t run, he wouldn’t have sent him sprawling. Working the ER that night, Melinda smiled at the handsome deputy. He snagged her number. Two nights later, he took her to his favorite restaurant. Tobure county was a quiet place and on a Tuesday night almost deserted. Highway 14 stretched out before Mike in the light of a full moon.

   Around nine, he saw Mable Johnson on her way home from church. She waved at him. He smiled and returned her wave. Her speed was five miles under the limit. One of the few cars he saw in the last two hours. He yawned and glanced at the dash clock. Eleven. Another hour and he could go home. Everybody behaving themselves tonight. Mike would leave the speeders and drag racers to the rest of the crew. He stretched and opened the door, thinking the night air would help him wake up. He walked up the edge of the highway. He heard the roar of an engine. Single headlight. A motorcycle running fast.

 The cycle blew by him. No license plate. Jumping back in the car, he tightened his seat belt. The radar gun clocked the motorcycle at a hundred and ten. Peeling out, he hit lights and siren. He flew down the highway playing catchup. The cycle increasing speed.

“Dispatch, this is patrol 24 in pursuit of a motorcycle southbound on 14-mile marker 45. Clocked him at one ten. Send backup.” He concentrated on his driving.

“10-4 24 all units 24 is in pursuit of motorcycle southbound on 14. Mile marker 45. Time11:04 PM,”

“Unit 26 coming out of Gaston on 18.”

Mike brought the SUV up to 125. The cycle came up on Blakeman’s ridge, hit the top went air bourn come down hard, wavered a little, and increased speed. Now they hit a flat stretch. They flew through the night. The rider brought the cycle up to 125, then 130. He saw Tillman coming in from the side where 18 intersected with 14. The motorcycle slowed down. Tillman blocked the road.

“Ok, we got you now,” Mike said, blocking both lanes of 14. The rider stopped, watching them. The helmet hiding their identity. The two deputies exited their vehicles. Hands on their weapons. Mike had no intention of shooting, but just gave the impression he would.

“Driver, shut off the engine.” Mike shouted. The rider watched them, the cycle idling. The motorcycle roared to life. It whisked by them. The driver lifted a hand waving, then was gone back up 14. Both law enforcement officers jumped in their vehicles and gave chase. By the time they topped Blakeman’s ridge, the cycle had disappeared. They searched the surrounding highways and gravel roads. It was as if they were chasing a ghost. At 2 AM, they gave up and went home.

The next evening, Mike had dinner with his fiancée, Melinda. After an excellent meal, they retired to the living room to make plans for their upcoming wedding.

“I think I left the samples of our invitations in the car. Would you mind getting them for me while I refresh our coffee?”
“Sure.” Mike said, getting up. Opening the door to the attached garage, he stood with his mouth open. There, setting in the corner of the garage, was the motorcycle he had chased to night before. Only this time it sported a license plate.

“Sorry, I guess I brought them in.” She said, touching his back.

“No problem”, he said, smiling. He shut the door to the garage and the chase. Melinda never ran from him again.         

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