by Stanley Gray
“Oh. Thanks for the lesson. Ummm…Elm and Federal, I think.” Tom said.
They started off. The streets were still mostly deserted. They got lucky and caught a string of green lights, and in minutes, they were in front of his house. Tom looked around. “No van.” he whispered.
“No van? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Delilah asked.
Tom blinked. He looked at her, widening his eyes. His pulse ran away again, trying to elope from the asylum of his body. “I really,”
“Shut it. I need to know. I’m about to become your fucking accomplice, here. You want to be a secretive little shit, you are going to have to do this on your own.” she said.
Tom sighed. “Why? Why are you helping me?” he asked.
“Does it matter? Look, I saw how messed up you were. I think you’re kind of cute. And if there are rich, powerful people trying to murder innocent people and get away with it, well, fuck them!” Delilah said.
“You think I’m cute?” Tom asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Rich people are trying to murder people?” Mike asked.
Delilah laughed. “Fill me in later, hot shot. Just go get your shit. Pack light.” she said.
Tom hesitated, clammy hand lingering on the broken black plastic door handle. He looked out the window, towards the house. Then back to the driver. Then back to the house. A small, single-story cream-colored home with a garage. The lawn needed quite a bit of work. Made of real grass, it had mostly dried out and withered under the martinet that was the Texas summer. The variegated stone walkway led the short path up to the steps of the tiny stone front porch. Suddenly, he laughed. He realized he’d almost bought groceries earlier, and had the fleeting thought that it was a good thing he hadn’t.
Getting out, he tensed. He tried to put his head down and hide his face. He hadn’t been there long enough to know any of the neighbors, but who knew? He looked straight ahead. His footsteps seemed to echo down the block. His heart wanted to explode. Sweat slid down his sides. His hands jammed into his pants pockets, they almost were too slick to grab the keys in his pocket when he groped for them.
Turning his head, he took a moment to assess his surroundings. The two neighbors adjacent to his property had their porch lights on. That, by itself, didn’t mean much. There were no signs of movement, no silhouettes peeking out of the windows at the strange newcomer. Tom unlocked the door.
Waiting several moments before he opened the door, he hoped that the tactic might help reveal any malicious intruders or devices that might be waiting to ambush him inside. When nothing happened, Tom swung the door open, moving out of the entryway with a deft step.
He laughed at himself when he looked inside. Nothing awaited him. No menacing presence moved to interdict him. It was a product of a feral fear ravaging his mind. Tom reminded himself that they couldn’t destroy him. Only he could.
Though in the back of his mind, he chided himself for buying into such banal bromides. He was currently trying to flee his home. After becoming a suspect in a capital murder case. In Texas.
Everything looked normal. Tom walked through the small house twice, checking for anything that might seem amiss. Nothing caught his eye. The boxes of evidence remained where he’d left them. His clothing all seemed in the proper order. He checked his watch. It was now just past one in the morning. He needed to hurry.
Getting down on his knees, he shuffled through dirty laundry and bags of receipts he kept for tax purposes, trying to find a duffel bag. Locating one, his fingers strafing upon the familiar fabric, he pulled it out. He peered at it for longer than was strictly necessary, his mind threatening to wander. Focusing, he decided that it would do. He began tossing clothes into the travel container. Trying to take only those items which he would imminently need, he quickly filled the bag.
Sighing, he stood. He carried the Nike duffel bag buy its handle into the living room. Socks spilled out over the edge as he walked, hindering his progress. He bent to pick things up every few feet, only to have to do so again two or three steps later. Pausing, he stood in the narrow hallway and took a deep breath. “Calm down, Tom.” he said. He counted to ten out loud, then resumed what he was doing.
Setting the canvas bag down in the middle of the living room, he looked at the box. He knew he needed to take it. That was the closest thing he could ever have to insurance, even if he did have two other copied sets of the data and files hidden elsewhere. He wouldn’t necessarily be able to easily access the evidence from prison, which is where he felt sure he was headed.
Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, he heaved up the frayed brown cardboard box, the flap flipping up into his face, and walked out into the night. Navigating over towards the Subaru, Tom kicked the side. The back door was locked. He heard a click, and reached down to open the door. “Can you open the hatch or something? The back seat is kind of full.” he said.
“Oh, sure.” Delilah said. Another click.
Tom rounded the corner, looking up and out, trying to divine the secrets hidden by the dense darkness of the night. Her mien proved too difficult to decipher. Though, Tom had to admit, he might not be in the best state to do just about anything other than merely exist. He plopped the box into the back, and then threw the bag in beside it. “Is it okay if I go in one last time, see if I can gather a few more things?” he asked.
“Sure, Tom. But, can you hurry, please? Time is kind of of the essence here. Plus, I’m fucking tired.” she said.
Walking back to the house, his mind began to turn towards more practical concerns. He wondered how Delilah expected to pay for this whole charade. Tom didn’t have any money. Not really. Certainly not enough to change his identity and move to Mexico. Or whatever it is the fugitives did in the movies. He knew enough off the top of his befuddled brain to know that Mexico probably would never be a great place to run to, but, other than that, he was fresh out of ideas on how to live on the lam.
He chuckled. “Wonder if there is a blog post for that?” he said aloud, as he walked through the house on Elm Street. Tom snatched up a pillow, then slipped off the thin blue covering. He tossed some things into the pillowcase, then meandered into the bathroom. Grabbing the transparent plastic hygiene kit he still hadn’t had time to unpack, he turned and went back in the direction from whence he came.
Pausing in the doorway, he looked back into the interior of the small house not long ago he’d considered home. Tom wanted this all to be over. He felt a deep, profound fatigue setting in. It was almost as if the lupine madness that had descended on him earlier lurked at the edges of his mind’s wild vastness were just patiently stalking him. Waiting. Waiting for the time when he would just lay down and allow it to feed.
To feast on the emaciated sliver of the man he had once been.
Chapter 11
They were leaving the state.
The moon’s paramour blushed as it made a few feeble, coy attempts at pretending to resist its advances. The pastel hues blended together to create a dazzling display that captured Tom’s full attention. He fell into a trance, watching the desert sun poke its head, yawning, over the horizon. Lethargic and fatigued, Tom found something…remarkable, in the timeless beauty of the changing of the celestial guard.
Santa Teresa provided a haven, of sorts. And it turned out that Delilah happened to live there. The ride felt longer than 30 minutes, but when they finally pulled in to the driveway of a quaint two-story stucco house replete with garage and lawn, Tom felt ready to dive into sleep. He didn’t even need a bed, at this point. After roving around town, getting shot at, ending his career, and becoming a fugitive all in the span of a few hours, he thought he might deserve a nap.
Delilah paused in front of the decent-sized garage, waiting for the cream-colored door to open. When she pulled in to the shadowy enclave, she sat in the driver’s seat for several minutes, fingers lightly tapping on the steering wheel. The crack of the door cycling shut swept through the confined space. “Okay. Let’s go in.” she sai
d.
Something in here had changed. Tom got out, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He grabbed his bags and tried to follow Delilah, but she was already inside. A door to the left remained open, and a narrow sliver of dim light pulsed through, illuminating the way. “Ow.” He said. Nearly tripping on a small wooden step that was hard to see in the low light, he stubbed his toe. He looked down, glowering. Fighting the urge to stand there and take out his rage on the inanimate object, Tom checked his impulses and headed in to the house.
A comfortable living room decorated in a soft style that seemed to scream of femininity greeted him. Off to the side was a decent-sized kitchen. Delilah stood in the glow cast by a tall stainless steel refrigerator, drinking a glass of orange juice. She wore nothing but her bra and panties.
Tom gulped.
He wasn’t sure if his heart would be able to take the constant radical shifts life seemed to suddenly delight imposing on him. Sometimes it would jolt up, sometimes it would descend like some crazed rodent scrambling into the earth’s bosom.
“Where’s Mike?” he asked. He chided himself. Here he was, confronted by a beautiful, half-naked woman who’d already expressed her attraction to him, and he was inquiring about the gay guy. Mike was great, but…Tom wasn’t going to have sex with Mike. Not by choice, anyway.
“Come sit down. Let’s talk.” she said. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked. After a long moment of staring at his immobile form, she smiled. “Do my boobs intimidate you, Thomas? Big, bad reporter man?” she asked.
“N…Noooo.” Tom said. His voice cracked. Despite himself and the circumstances, he smiled. “Honestly, yes.”
“I can put a robe on if you’d like.” she said.
“I…I really am tired.” he said.
She rounded the corner and walked directly up to him, her eyes alight with a fierce glow. She rose up on the balls of her feet and kissed him. She pushed her lips against his and held him with primal urgency, the hunger and desperation behind her marauding tongue. She pressed her firm body against him, her taut nipples poking his chest.
Tom inhaled her scent. The distinctive aroma of her arousal, coupled with a vaguely fruity shampoo and her perfume ignited something inside of him. He felt his body growing warmer as he responded to her passion. A tingling sensation swept through him, setting his skin on fire. His heart again tried to rip its way out of his chest as he bent down and jammed his lips into hers, half-closing his eyes as he succumbed to the beautiful, divine ecstasy of the moment.
They led each other to the couch. They touched each other blindly. Groping. Fondling. Giggling and whispering nonsensical utterances under the thin veil of moonlight that filtered through the half-open blinds.
She yanked at his pants, fighting to rip the belt off. A sort of growl seemed to emanate from somewhere deep in the back of her throat. Delilah smiled, a greedy, sharkish smile, and freed his tumescent manhood from its sheath.
They descended into a raucous arena of oblivion and passion in that moment, consumed by desire.
They merged, becoming one.
Finished, breathing heavily, sweat forming a slick sheen on his hairy chest, Tom lay there. He felt disoriented. He had only met this woman some hours ago. If he had ever told anyone he’d picked up a woman, any female at a bar, they would likely have laughed at him, smiling in that indulgent, knowing way. But, it had happened.
The most boring kid in high school was now a fugitive who’d just banged an air force girl after a shootout.
“That…” Delilah said. She smiled, her eyes closed. It seemed like her skin glowed.
“That was…fun.” Tom said. He looked down at her, awash with…something. He brushed a strand of black hair from her face. Such beautiful skin. A smattering of freckles dotted the tender flesh by her left temple. Looking at them, he noticed something. Reaching out, he pushed Delilah’s hair back. He saw a tattoo, of a star, in blue ink, there. “I never noticed that before.” he said.
“Wha…” Delilah muttered. She opened her eyes. Sitting up, her body brushed his. She shivered. Smiled. “Oh, that.” She said. She covered her chest with her arms. Looking around, she got up, returning wearing a purple silk robe that shimmered in the shafts of moonlight filtering in through the window. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” she said. “I need something to drink. Want anything?” she asked. She seemed nervous. She got up.
“I could use some water.” Tom said. He made a conscious effort to avoid watching her. It was difficult. He wanted to turn and gaze at her voluptuous beauty, regard her feminine grace and elegance. Her body seemed a vast and enigmatic work of art. Tom felt suddenly reminded of the painting his new friend, somewhere in the house sleeping, had created. His thoughts meandered away from the cloyingly close masterpiece to the painting. What was it? Why had he felt so inspired and attracted to it? He reflected on the reality that he was somehow changing. The turmoil he’d conspired to impose upon himself seemed to be doing something…perceptibly altering the very fabric of his mind.
Something cold pressed against his hand. He turned. Tom took the glass of water. Raising it to his lips, he sipped. His mind drifted back. To her. To Delilah, the strong and exotic woman next to him. “What happened?” he asked.
“Shhhh…” she raised a finger and put it to his lips, moving slowly. The act seemed vaguely sensual. “I don’t want to think about that right now, okay?” The last part came out as a question.
“Sure. So, what…do we talk about? Or, do we even talk? I can’t go to sleep now.” Tom said. He looked away. The mere sight of him aroused him in so many ways.
“What was it you were saying about a van, Tom?” she asked.
“Oh. That.” Tom said.
“Yeah. That.” Delilah retorted.
They both took gulps of their respective beverages and waded into an intermediate silence laced with contemplation. “There was a van. A woman was driving it when I could see into it. When I left the house in the morning, I think it was morning…” Tom laughed and looked up at the ceiling. A fan sat up there, its brown mottled blades dusty from disuse. “Fan is dirty.” he commented. He inhaled. Bending forward, he placed his glass on the coffee table. Hearing Delilah cluck her tongue, he took the unstated cue and slid a coaster underneath it.
“So, anyway.” Tom chuckled.
“What’s funny?” Delilah asked.
“So much.” Tom said. He fought to keep the hysterical laughter at bay. Everything was funny. He looked over at Delilah. “I was a virgin until…23? Yeah. 23. I never even got laid in college.” he admitted.
“Well, you did a pretty good job. Maybe if we do it again, if I allow it, you’ll have to use that forked tongue of yours, devil man. Anyway, I need to know about this van. I need to know what I’m getting myself into.” she said.
“Knowing I’m a fugitive isn’t enough?” he asked.
“Well, you might be a so-called fugitive. But I know you’re innocent. I was there, remember? Given what I already have heard, it seems highly unlikely anyone would allow me to testify at any trial. I’d probably have some sort of accident.” she said. She frowned. “Don’t think about turning yourself in, okay? If they find you, well…” she looked away. Shrugged. “If they find us, then so be it. That’s not really in our control. It would probably be best if they did not find us. But, there probably would never be a trial. Tom? Are you listening to me? There are all sorts of scumbags, literally hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, in prison and jail right now, people that would murder you for an extra slab of stale roadkill and a cookie.” she said.
Tom blanched. He wanted to pace. He got up and began walking around. He looked down when he saw Delilah looking at him. He turned, shielding his body from view, and adjusted his pants. Zipping them up, he resumed pacing. A smirk turned up the corners of his lips. What she’d said struck a chord in him. He intuited the fundamental truth of what she said. He knew. He just didn’t want to admit it.
“There was someone fol
lowing me. That’s really the long and short of it.” Tom said.
“Who?” she asked.
“I have no idea.” Tom said.
“Take a guess.” Delilah shot back.
Tom collapsed back into his seat. “So many people could, and probably do, want me dead. I think whomever it was probably broke into my house. At least, whoever they worked for.” Tom said.
“This is good. I like this. Please, tell me more.” Delilah said. She had one finger on her chin and was staring at him.
“It’s just a hunch, really.” he said, blushing. He sensed his voice changing, going higher, and he felt a little embarrassed about that, too. His face felt hot. He was acutely aware of her presence, next to him. “I know that the box containing most of the evidence I had gathered was moved. Or, it was in a different place than where I remembered putting it, anyway. I could have just moved it or something and forgotten about it.” he said. He simpered.
“But you don’t really think that happened.” Delilah said. The words came out as a statement.
Damn, she’s smart, he thought. He leaned back against the couch cushions. He closed his eyes. He wanted to drift off into the protective embrace of sleep. The desire to flee reality proved alluring and persistent.
“Why New Mexico?” he asked.
“It’s cheaper. I’m still pretty close to El Paso.” she said. A pregnant pause ensued, both of them waiting for the other to say the thought that clearly lingered in both of their minds. “So, would it be too weird if I asked if you wanted to sleep in my bed?” she asked.
“Where is it? Do I have to walk far?” Tom asked. “I’m pretty tired.” he said.