By Hunter Perez
I spent about five minutes trying to convince myself not to panic – which was no mean feat, considering that I was locked in a jail cell in the middle of a derelict ghost town in the middle of the New Mexican desert by a law enforcement officer with more than few emotional problems. When my anxiety abated, I began to consider what would happen next.
I came to the immediate conclusion that Nicky was not going to leave me to die a slow death. For starters, he knew I had a phone with me – we already exchanged text messages – and I would be able to call 911 for help. Yet I hesitated to immediately place such a call because I was uncertain if this was an elaborate but unfunny prank on Nicky’s part. He obviously carried anger issues about my leaving him 10 years earlier, and maybe this was his warped idea of a temporary but determined comeuppance.
