Drifter On The Horizon

by Travis Pasch

CHAPTER EIGHT

  First Dates

  Zale opens his eyes to the tattered ceiling of his car, falling foam particles itch his retinas. He failed in his mission last night and lost the glowing woman in minutes. He hadn't even stayed awake long enough to see her come back, her car is in it's designated spot now, so she must have come back sometime in the early morning hours. He knows for a fact he's over-thinking her outings. He rolls over and wishes for more sleep. Doctors have always told him twelve hours of sleep a day is unnecessary but he feels like a bag of rocks if he doesn't get it.

  He climbs into the driver's seat. He decides to make for the desert, where better to wait out the waning hours before his promised meeting with the coffee shop girl. Before he can get the car moving the thought of aliens seeps back through his thoughts, he's pretty sure they contacted him two weeks ago, maybe the glowing woman is one of them in disguise. He dismisses the thought after wasting an hour sitting and thinking about the nothingness of the idea. The loss of time shocks him and he immediately pulls out and heads down to the nearest highway. He doesn't know where to go, but that doesn't seem to matter today, the lukewarm wind swirling his unkempt hair feels like heaven.

  After three or four songs on the radio have played themselves out he pulls his car off to the side of a small back road and steps out without looking. He gets out and stretches to stand tall, looking into the distance. He sees nothing but sand and dust, a peaceful appreciation for creation quiets his thoughts.

  __________

  Today is the day, the day Clint can put Azelia behind him forever. She rubbed the idea of a date painfully in his face. Maybe her seeing that loser is a good thing, it can crystallize the last few months of emotions into one last attempt to either win her back or ruin her new life. He wants nothing more than to let her go for good, but he doubts he can when the moment comes. He's rolled plans around in his head all day, but the only ones that keep popping up involve violence, and it's too early for that. Embarrassment will have to do for now. He can see the look of disappointment on his father's face of what his life has become. He was once the perfect son, in a time long ago forgotten. He gave it all up for her, forsook his flesh and blood for her. He throws a pistachio shell at a photo of her sitting on the shelf. Nothing brings him much joy anymore, with impatient anger he waits in his giant recliner for the day to pass.

  __________

 

  Fun, something Zale hasn't had in quite some time. He prays he can unwind tonight and let the pressures of his easy life slip away. The day passed pleasantly in the desert and he avoided seeing anyone at all. Being back in the city feels welcome after a stint of isolation. The air assaults his face as rolls down his window. The air has chilled itself for the night, the sun no longer holding power over the falling temperature. He makes it a few minutes early and gets out to check his motley reflection in the car window. He ruffles his hair in an ill attempt to change his appearance. His chest is smashed powerfully into the hood of the car before he can decide if he looks acceptable.

  "That's my girl, man," the traffic cop from before says gruffly while leaning uncomfortably close to Zale's ear.

  "Who?"

  "I'm not an idiot, I saw you talking to her yesterday."

  "And?"

  "I'm gonna make tonight hell for you," he says and slightly loosens his grip on Zale. Zale reverses the hold and slams the man's face up against his car. He smashes the man's face onto the hood once more for good measure then throws him teeth first to the pavement. He leans down over the traffic cop and rests on the back of his heels while crouching and smiles to himself.

  "Just leave me alone man," Zale says and stands. All the other man can do is groan and hold his now bleeding nose. His years of martial arts finally proved useful. Zale makes his way for the shop, unfortunately he can't remember her name for the life of him. He walks up the stairs with the utmost speed hoping he doesn't get shot in the back, he tries to remember whether traffic cops carry guns. Either way, getting shot anywhere isn't on his list of things to do tonight. The idea of that man doing something irrational makes him more than a little nervous, despite his recent victory.

  His feet manage to keep moving and bring him into the coffee shop. His sense of smell is taken over by the aroma of the brewing beans and the slight stench of people who've long overstayed their welcome. The girl spots him from behind her station at the counter and waves to him, he waves and smiles back. Her hair and makeup look more rushed than the last time he had seen her, but she still looks very pretty. He sits at the table closest to the front and gently lowers his head into his hands. She rushes to his table.

  "Hey, I'll be done in a few minutes, you mind waiting?" the girl says to him as she stands over him. He looks up at her and smiles.

  "Not at all."

  "Azelia! Get back here," a woman yells from the back. Azelia turns to go and looks back at Zale.

  "Sorry, it'll only be a minute," she says, and before he can respond she's gone. At least he knows her name now, all he has to do is remember it. He called his old girlfriend the wrong name half the time and they dated for three years.

  Zale once again puts his head down and realizes he has no idea of what they're going to do tonight. Maybe they'll just go to a bar like everyone else and listen to bad music playing too loud to hear anything. He feels almost at ease with the idea, but knows he has to think of something better if he ever wants to see her again.

  He spots her coming from the back and manages a pretty convincing smile. She comes out sporting her street clothes looking a world better without the dirty apron. She struts right up to him and roots herself so close to him he has a hard time standing up without rubbing up against her entire body.

  "Where to?" she asks the last question he wants to hear, but the most obvious one.

  "Honestly I don't know... I was kinda' hoping you knew of some place, I'm kinda' new here. I've heard of a few cool bars downtown."

  "Anywhere's good, I'm down for a bar."

  "How 'bout George's."

  "I'm in," she responds.

  "After you," Zale says while gesturing for her to go first.

  __________

  Clint doubles over at seeing them together, fighting the urge to get sick. Every fiber of his being yells at him to kill the man with her. He somehow resists the deadly urge and settles on the sad consolation prize of following the two of them. He knows the man got lucky in their previous physical encounter and he could defeat him if things fall that far into chaos. His feelings for her were finally starting to diminish but seeing her with another man brings out every ounce of jealousy he's ever felt. After a few moments his innards settle and he sets off in their direction. He still has very ill intentions on his mind, but he'll bide his time for now, he can outlast this new man. He drifts about twenty feet back from them and begins to follow the pair.

  __________

  The conversation was interesting on the walk to the bar. He's definitely an odd bird, with an unusual upbringing and fairly bleak future, but who is she to talk about the future. He looks out of place and uncomfortable now that they're in the bar. Azelia wishes she could think of something interesting to do, but it's been so long since she's been on a first date she can't remember what it's like to not know everything about her counterpart. She doesn't want this to end before it has a chance to bloom, considering he's the only man to catch her eye in months, and she feels responsible for getting them into this awkward spot.

  Sweat and alcohol congeal in the very walls of this place, making for a downright nasty smell, and they stick out like two rusted nails among a box of new screws. More than one wandering eye has come to restful judgment on her hair. The yuppie population of any area would flock to such an establishment.

  "You wanna get outta' here?" Zale yells, his scream barely hits her ears above the blaring music, she smiles and shakes her head yes. They exit the bar briskly, only when they get to the street do they both stop and look at each other.
<
br />   "Where to?" she asks, still having to yell over the bar's music that protrudes over the majority of the available sidewalk.

  "You want some twenty five cent ice creams? We can get a bunch of em," Zale says. She laughs before responding

  "Sounds good... But how much ice cream you think I can eat?"

  "Oh, I uh, I didn't mean it like that at all," he stumbles.

  "Did your mommy not teach you sarcasm in homeschool?"

  "Ouch, a homeschool joke, how funny."

  "What can I say?"

  "Let's make a little bet. If I eat more ice cream than you, you have to pay. Deal?"

  "So you'll reward me for being a fat ass?"

  "I guess," he responds and grabs her hand, leading the way to the parlor.

  __________

  Zale wishes he could remember how to get there, especially now that he's made a bet, but his brain can't seem to force the directions into his feet. The place is about as far from special as you can get, a dump that serves cheap ice cream, but anything's better than the awkwardness of the bar. They've been talking nonstop for almost an hour on the walk, a feat he hasn't managed with a woman in sometime. But his nerves are starting to entrench themselves. They've circled the same few blocks for what feels like the hundredth time. She still seems to be enjoying herself, but he really doesn't want to screw this up now.

  "I'm glad you know where the place is, because I have no idea," Azelia says.

  "Haha, it should be a left up here and then, I think, we'll be there," he responds his cheeks once again turning slightly red.

  "I'm just messing with you, this is better than most first dates I've had," she says, while looking up at the large buildings surrounding them. She has slowly been deleting every inch of space between them and he likes the warmth her body is radiating.

  "You must've had some pretty bad dates," he states matter-of-factly.

  "That's the truth."

  "At least I know I'm not at rock bottom just yet," he says partially laughing. Before she can say anything he points excitedly to a sign ahead. "That's what I've been looking for!" he yelps.

  "I'm hungry, good thing we, I mean you, found it," she responds.

  "What street is it by the way? Just so I can show my next date how to get here?" she whispers. He normally doesn't like people touching him but he very much likes the way she feels against him.

  "It's Franklin and Twelfth," he sputters much louder than he needs to, she backs up a hair but keeps a firm grip on his hand. This is almost better than being close to the glowing woman, he can only dream of what her touch will feel like.

  "Almost there," he says as they turn down the street. He tries to wipe the persistent awareness of the glowing woman from his mind, but she sticks like glue and alters his reality to an experience slightly less enjoyable than it should be. He looks to Azelia and she smiles in return, her grin loosens the other woman from his mind some.

  __________

  Azelia's glad they had gotten lost, his company brings her a joy she almost forgot. But she's possibly happier that they finally arrived at their destination, her feet are starting to hurt. He wasn't lying about just how sparse the shop is, she wonders how they've stayed in business. It's nothing more than a closet wedged in between two gigantic buildings decorated with ten booths and an ancient looking counter, but the ice cream is great. Zale's nose tip is a dark purple, covered by the raspberry ice cream he's trying to work down all too fast, he never lied about liking their ice cream. She also wonders if he was joking about who's paying.

  "I thought you said the ice cream is only twenty five cents," she says giving him a questioning look. He smiles back at her while wiping his nose off with a napkin.

  "I guess inflation wrecks everything, sorry," he apologizes, taking another bite before continuing. "Are you from up north?"

  "Yeah, from Pennsylvania, how'd' ya' know?" she asks while licking the bottom of her vanilla cone.

  "Just a guess," he says. The air-conditioning creaks on loudly, the noise snaps both of their heads to attention, the man behind the counter picks his off the counter, he's going to fall asleep where he stands in the next ten minutes regardless of their presence.

  "How do you do that?"

  "Do what?" he asks while taking another bite, giving her cold chills.

  "Biting ice cream, doesn't it give you brain freeze?"

  "Not at all, plus, I wanna finish it so we can let the poor old man go to bed," he says as he takes another large bite out of the cone. Just as she's about to respond Clint's face, a mask of anger and hatred, bursts through the front door, followed reluctantly by the rest of his body. She looks at Zale, his mouth almost explodes in curses, she guesses they've already met. Clint goes up to the man at the counter and orders some sort of blue ice cream, he somehow manages to let his words seep out in a friendly and silky manner, he always was polite. After paying the small fee he sits much closer to them than she can handle.

  She and Zale's eyes lock together, only for a moment, before they stand up simultaneously. She laces her fingers with his and hangs as much of her body on his shoulder as she can. He's obviously been following them, there's no way this is coincidence. Zale calms slightly as they exit.

  "I'm guessing you've met?" she asks as they once again find themselves wandering the streets. Since he already finished his ice cream she throws the rest of hers away into the nearest trashcan, not wanting to deal with the dripping menace.

  "Yeah... Didn't catch his name though," he responds.

  "It's Clint, I'm really sorry about him," she says, hoping Clint didn't ruin her chances.

  "It's ok, but, it's getting late and I'm pretty tired," he says and she just nods her head.

  "Sorry, that sounded bad, I had a lot of fun tonight. When can we do it again?" he asks. Her face lights back up and she resumes hanging on his arm.

  "Anytime," she answers.

  __________

  Jade has taken far more than the necessary precautions to ensure none of the pedophiles from the night before could know who she is, but she realizes her safety means the death of innumerable evil men, so she can't take any chances. She boils the bloody clothes from the night before in a large pot on her new stove. Once the water bleaches the clothes she puts that mission behind her. With that task fading from her thoughts she can focus on another uncertain and annoying aspect of her life, the man who's been living in her apartment complex. If patience were a virtue she possessed she would wait him out and let him dwindle into nothing but she can't follow such a path. She first has to assess just how deep his obsession runs and how far he'll be willing to follow her. She plans on luring him to the desert sometime soon to test him.

  __________

  A blinding light walks across the parking lot, his eyes are only drawn to her for a moment though. His eyes hang so heavy nothing could keep him from sleep tonight. His curiosity and obsession can't combine into a strong enough coalition to force his tired body into action. The date went longer and better than he ever dreamed of, he can't remember the last time a woman agreed to a second date. Despite the building factors mounting every day for his departure from the glowing woman's presence he still feels an inexplicable need to be close to her; he wishes he didn't but it seems out of his control. Regardless of hardly looking at her that glow makes him feel warm in the dark of night. He can't place it but he feels like he has known her his entire life, that she just wasn't manifested until recently. The front lobe of his brain starts to hurt from trying to place the woman in his memories, sleep seems easier. He slept so little today his head weighs twenty pounds and his eyelids even more, the last thing he wants is more adventure tonight. Even changing his clothes feels like too much work, so he just rolls to his back in the rear of his car.

  Like a blender his thoughts swirl and drift to the warm glow he feels when in proximity to the glowing woman. If only his mind weren't so unruly and he could control his thoughts he might be able to get something done. He rea
lizes the woman is destroying yet enhancing every aspect of his life. If only he could confront her. He lets his ideas fade into nothingness and his eyelids close. His dreams play out the story he's supposed to be writing...

  The gallows pole looms large in the hero's eyes, a sight he laments, far too many men are meeting their Maker at the end of a rope these days. Obviously he has no problems with killing outlaws, but is there really a need for public humiliation moments before a man meets his end? Regardless of the circumstances in this dirty little town he needs to sell this carriage, and fast. He maneuvers through the mostly empty streets, trying to pry his eyes off the execution. He may have to wait until the hanging happens before he can sell his hated prize considering every possible buyer awaits eagerly for a man's death. The executioner's call forces him to turn to the gruesome scene once more.

  "For the murder of a man, the kidnapping of the noble woman Michele Wretsky, and the theft of personal property, the supposed ranger shall be put to death!" the executioner exclaims in a deep booming voice from his vantage point above the sea of townspeople.

  The hero turns ghostly white after hearing the charges. Who is Michele putting to death in his stead? Why would she kill an innocent man instead of hunting him? Or does she just feel the need to kill a look-alike to quell her rage? He parks the carriage far enough away from the crowd to stay undiscovered but close enough for a fast getaway. He tries to think of something as he steadily pushes his way through the crowd, keeping his head down the whole way. Despite his fear he can't just let an innocent man die for him. When he finally glances up, now close enough to see the victim clearly after making his way through the majority of the crowd, his resemblance to the hero shocks him to the core. His chest feels tight and his brain doesn't work.

  The gallows stands only inches from his face and a viable plan to save the man is far from coming to fruition. The man yells to a small family only a few feet from the platform about his innocence. His wife and children, the hero assumes; they're bawling uncontrollably and trying with all their might to fight through the four men holding them from reaching the man they love.

  The priest is finishing up the last rites and the hero still has not developed the slightest inkling of a plan to save him. A vein of self preservation works its way into his scattered thoughts, if he saves the man it will also mean he'll be hunted relentlessly like a rabid dog. An evil idea graces his mind as he looks around the sea of people surrounding him, his life would be so much easier if he were to let this man die in his stead. He could put this evil behind himself forever and continue to do good for the world. Is his life worth more than that of any other man? He doesn't know but can't force the thought from his head.

  He tries to stay calm enough to fight the urge to rush the platform and shoot these unjust fools. The thought of saving the innocent man battles his survival instincts and self-preservation. The man yells something incomprehensible but the yell makes the hero look up, right into the man's eyes.

  The man stops yelling the second his eyes lock with the hero's but then it is too late for either of them, the man drops through the floor, his neck snaps in an instant. His legs kick from reflexes and his body swings mournfully like a gruesome pendulum. The crowd erupts in exuberant cheers and the large executioner takes an exaggerated bow. The crying of the man's family hits the hero like a hammer but he is stunned only momentarily, this obviously isn't the place to rest his head. He starts for his carriage, hot tears run down his cheeks in shame and disappointment. He cries not over the loss of the man's life, but finding out what he has become is the most frightening thing of all and he knows the shame of this moment will live on forever within him.

  But as he mounts his stolen carriage he can't help thinking that at least he will be alive to endure the shame.

  Part Two: What Happens In The Middle