Cory's Flight

by Dan Petrosini

  Cory ran it through his head again, deciding to tell her. He considered saying something when he got home, but the kids might pick up on it, and it would leave too much time for Linda’s emotion to spring a leak in the secretive plan. He’d tell her in the morning, right before leaving.

  Cory read the last page to Tommy. “You see, if you keep at something, you make progress.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “Don’t ever forget to give it your best, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You want me to read another story to you?”

  “You can?”

  “Sure. How about Harold and the Purple Crayon?”

  “I like that one.”

  Cory opened the book, and before he finished the first page, Tommy fell asleep. Cory woke him up. “Good night, son.”

  “’Night, Dad.”

  “Always remember, Daddy loves you. Okay?”

  Tommy nodded and closed his eyes. Cory shut the lamp and watched his son for a minute. He slipped out of the room and knocked on Ava’s door. She was sprawled on a bed covered in papers.

  “Still studying?”

  “Yeah, reviewing old tests.”

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “It’s algebra, Dad. You hate math.”

  “Just because I don’t like something doesn’t mean I didn’t work hard at it.”

  “Whatever.”

  “No. It’s not whatever. I want you to know in life, a lot of times, you can’t pick and choose what you want to do. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like. At your age, one of those things was math. I didn’t like it, but I worked hard and got solid grades.”

  “I thought you failed out in geometry.”

  “Uh, yeah. But I worked my tail off and turned things around. What I’m trying to say is, you can do whatever you want to, as long as you commit to it and are willing to work at it.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Nothing good comes easy. If it did, you wouldn’t appreciate it, you know?”

  “Okay, Dad. You’re preaching a little too much.”

  “Sorry, just want to make sure you know a little hard work is good for you.”

  “I got to get back to studying.”

  “Okay, good luck on the test.”

  “I think I’m going to do good. We get the results back Thursday.”

  “Good. Okay, good night, I love you.”

  He hung in the doorway. Ava raised her head. “Good night, Dad.” It pained him that all he got was a good night, but he told himself she was sixteen as he headed to the family room.

  Linda was on the couch. “I thought you fell asleep with Tommy.”

  “I was talking to Ava.”

  “She’s got a big exam tomorrow. How was she?”

  “Good, good. I wish I had a closer relationship with her. We used to be so close when she was small.”

  “It’s normal, she’s a teenager.”

  Cory sat next to her. “I feel bad for putting her in the middle of all this. I hope she’ll forgive me one day.”

  Linda took his hand. “She understands more than she lets on. She’s just giving you a hard time to protect herself.”

  “You really think so?”

  “No doubt about it. It’s normal to take it out on your parents. We’re easy targets.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “You’re a wonderful father. We’ll get over this.”

  Cory slipped his hand between her thighs. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Linda stirred. Cory kissed his wife’s shoulder. “You sleep okay?”

  “Yeah, first time in a week.”

  “You think it had something to do with my lovemaking skills?”

  “Maybe.” She pecked his cheek. “I got to get up.”

  As Linda got out of bed, Cory fished under the pillow, pulling out her negligee. “Here you go.”

  Cory admired his wife as she slipped the gown over her head. Watching her walk into the bathroom, Cory began thinking about how to tell her he was leaving today.

  He’d wait until the kids were out of the house, but figuring out how to start it off was difficult. He had to be sure to stress it was only to buy time to unmask the plot against him.

  Linda would want a fixed time line. It didn’t exist, and though Cory knew it wasn’t true, he was going to tell her three months.

  What was harder was knowing the kids would ask questions. He was sure Ava would be angry and Tommy confused. He felt bad Linda would have to deal with them but relieved he wouldn’t have to explain it to them.

  He’d ask Linda to say he didn’t want to plead self-defense because it would require him to say he did it. He hoped that that would console Ava and would prove his innocence.

  He began a mental checklist. He wasn’t taking much, but every item was essential.

  Cory heard Tommy talking to Ava as Linda headed to the kitchen. Cory dressed quickly and followed her. “Hey, who wants pancakes?”

  “Me, Daddy, me.”

  “Chocolate chip or blueberry?”

  Tommy looked at his mother, who said, “Whatever you want, today only.”

  “Chocolate chip!”

  “You got it, tiger. How about you, Ava?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “I said no.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  He pulled a pan out of a cabinet. “Tommy, get the milk.”

  Cory took his time walking back home after dropping off Tommy at school. As he walked up the stairs to their apartment, he decided he was going to march straight in and spill his guts.

  He pushed open the door. Linda was on the phone and shook her head at him. Hanging up his jacket, he heard Linda say, “Okay, Donny, take care.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Donny. He said you went there yesterday.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “He said you were acting strange and that you left your guitar there, telling him to give it to Tommy when he was sixteen. What’s going on?”

  Cory knew Mr. Black was right; you couldn’t trust anyone. He couldn’t tell Linda; she’d tell Donny, and then the news would spread. “Nothing.”

  “You gave him your favorite guitar and it’s nothing?”

  “I just want to be sure that if we get sued in civil court, that I won’t lose her. I want Tommy to have it at some point.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, that’s why we set up the lockbox.”

  “If there’s something I should know, you better tell me.”

  “I’m just doing everything I can, you know, to prepare and protect the family, that’s all.”

  “Okay. I got to run. I have a yoga class.”

  “Have fun.”

  Cory wanted to kiss her, but she grabbed her mat and coat and said, “See you later.”

  The door closed behind her. Cory walked around the apartment surveying each room. Sadness washed over him. He sat on Tommy’s bed and stared at the Tesla model they’d made together. He was going to miss him.

  His phone rang. Cory jumped to his feet. He hoped it was Black calling it off. It was spam. Damn. Doubt crept into his head. He couldn’t leave his family.

  He thought of Mr. Black and what he said: “You got to focus.” Cory nodded to himself and sprang into action.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Glad it was cold enough to justify wearing gloves, Cory put sunglasses on and stepped into the sunshine. He patted the false stomach he had on. It looked like he had a beer belly.

  Cory made a beeline for the subway station and used his wife’s Metro Card to take the train to Lower Manhattan. He wasn’t taking chances there was some way they could track him using his card.

  When the train pulled into his stop, he exited and sat on a bench, feigning to tie a shoelace. He slipped a smooth pebble into his shoe and got up. Limping as he made his way underground, Cory took the Path Train into N
ewark, New Jersey. He looked around before heading to the Amtrak platform—nothing but commuters hurrying to the office.

  Cory instinctively reached for his phone. The panic he felt when he couldn’t find it retreated when he realized he’d left it home. He pawed the ticket to Boston Mr. Black had given him last night.

  Back against a stanchion, Cory tugged his baseball cap lower and ran his tongue over the false teeth he wore.

  Cory felt the vibration running through the platform. The rumbling increased as the local train rolled in. The express was hours faster, but with fewer stops, easier to trace. The doors slid open and he waited, watching people pile on. The conductor signaled the operator, and Cory stepped on as the doors closed.

  He slid into a row of seats. The woman by the window was watching her tablet and didn’t look up. Cory took a paperback out. He opened it, turning a couple of pages before laying the Spanish novel, cover up, in his lap.

  The five-hour-plus ride dragged, but Cory was relieved it was uneventful. Tucking his chin in his coat, Cory hailed a taxi. He paid for the short ride in cash and walked three blocks to his destination.

  Cory raised his head, surveying the tall building he’d call home for who knew how long. Built over Boston’s North Station, streams of people were walking in every direction. It was a newer building featuring a touchless entry, but new meant surveillance cameras. He curled his arm up, placing the back of his hand under his armpit.

  Added to his altered gait, it’d be assumed he had suffered a stroke or had a muscular affliction. Cory ambled slowly to the entrance. He dug out the key card and waved it over a pad. The glass doors slid open and he entered. None of the front desk personnel lifted their heads and Cory headed to a bank of elevators.

  His key card automatically programmed the elevator to the fifteenth floor. No one got on with him, but there was a camera hanging in the corner. He kept his face near the control panel, his spirits rising with the elevator.

  Cory’s heart raced as he approached his temporary home. The door clicked open. He closed it behind him and leaned against it. He had made it.

  He looked around—a studio with a sleeping alcove. He pulled open the fridge. It was stocked. The cabinets were filled with canned goods. He clicked the remote, and the TV came to life. Stripping off the pregnancy belly and teeth, he went to the galley kitchen.

  Cory opened a can of tuna and watched the evening news. It was too early for trouble, but the reassurance felt good. He picked up the tablet Black had arranged. A note with private browser written on it was taped to the border. As a test, Cory jumped on the internet.

  He started typing his name into the search bar before realizing he should be using a private browser. Cory told himself to slow down. If there was one thing he had while on the run, it was time. Using the safer way to search, there was no current news on him.

  Cory found what he was looking for in a box under the sink. He cut the tape and opened the carton. Inside were seven phones, each marked with a day of the week and chargers. Black had said to only call in an emergency and that he’d reach out when he had something to report.

  Black wanted him to use the burner phone infrequently and never the same one within the same week. He cautioned Cory on using it to call anyone else but him. Cory picked up a phone, wondering, if they were untraceable, then why couldn’t he use one?

  If he did, who would know? Did Black have some way of knowing? He decided Black probably could track it and put the phone back. As he stuffed it under the sink, he saw something under the bed.

  Cory got on his knees and smiled. It was a guitar case. He opened it. It was a blond, low-end Fender, but it felt like Christmas to Cory.

  Picking it up, he strummed. Cory tuned the acoustic instrument and quietly played “Tablet Blues.” It felt good to softly sing the tune he’d ridden to the top of the charts years ago.

  He laid the guitar on the bed. Black had known without asking that it would occupy Cory for hours a day, lessening the chance he’d do something stupid out of boredom.

  Black had thought of everything, not only renting the apartment online from a corporate landlord, but stocking it as if an apocalyptic event was about to occur. His suggestion of essentially hiding in plain sight was miles better than melding into the dusty Mexican countryside.

  It was up to Cory not to screw it up by getting sloppy.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The cold woke Cory up. He was on the couch, and his shoulder was killing him. He got up and shut off the TV. Rubbing his collarbone, Cory went to the bathroom in the dark. The apartment was nice, but the sofa was no better than a table.

  He looked out the window, and the wind was blowing snow horizontally. There were scores of buildings in his view. They housed thousands of people, but Cory didn’t know a soul. He pictured his wife lying awake in bed wondering where he was.

  Cory had to get a message to Linda. She deserved to know if he was alive or hurt. He’d ask Mr. Black to let her know. He propped himself up on the bed and stared into the darkness. The reality of his isolation sank in.

  He reached for the remote and put the TV on. It was night number one, and he had to develop a routine. As The Usual Suspects played, he tried to come up with a plan to while away the days. He’d get up, have coffee and exercise. Some push-ups and sit-ups, maybe look on the web for things to do without weights.

  He didn’t have manuscript paper to compose music on. He figured he could plug chords into his phone. But then he remembered he didn’t have a phone. There had to be a program, maybe Google Docs, that he could use to notate. Either way, he’d have to bury himself in writing new tunes. He always lost track of time when he wrote or played.

  It would soak up time and he hoped to have a small library of songs he could sell. The one thing he’d miss would be playing with other musicians. The interplay and creativity that went on was a place he was used to getting lost in for hours.

  Cory tucked the blanket under his chin. Though it was freezing out, he’d miss being outside. It spurred his imagination. He cycled through the channels, hoping he’d get National Geographic. Maybe he could get a dose of nature from the boob tube.

  * * *

  Linda was pouring milk into her coffee and Tommy said, “Mommy, where’s Daddy? Isn’t he taking me to school?”

  “I’ll take you. He had to go to work early.”

  Ava said, “No, he didn’t.”

  “He did, Ava.”

  “What musician works at seven in the morning?”

  “I think they’re shooting a music video.”

  “That early in the morning?”

  “The streets are empty. It makes it easier.”

  “That’s cool. He didn’t say anything.”

  “You know your father; he doesn’t make a big deal about things.”

  “I wish he’d go back to making pop music, instead of that kids’ stuff.”

  “Maybe he will, but right now he’s able to be around while you’re still . . . uh, in the house.”

  Linda dropped Tommy off at school and made a call. “Donny? It’s Linda.”

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Cory never came home yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “I left for yoga yesterday morning, and when I got back, he was gone. I didn’t get worried until dinner. I tried calling him, but he left his phone home.”

  “He forgot his phone?”

  “Yeah. Do you know where he is?”

  “I wish I did.”

  “Are you sure you don’t?”

  “I swear, I have no idea.”

  “I don’t know what to do. He could be hurt or—”

  “Did he say he was going somewhere?”

  “No. He was home and gone when I got back.”

  “If he left without his phone, maybe he was rushing—”

  “For what? If it was some kind of emergency, I’d know about it.”

  “Let me make some calls. Maybe he was playing somewhere an
d just crashed.”

  “Something is wrong. I know it. He had an appointment tomorrow with his lawyer.”

  “Don’t panic. Maybe you should call the police.”

  “I was thinking of that, but . . . I got to tell you something, but you can’t repeat it, okay?”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Did he ever say anything about going on the run?”

  “You mean, like a fugitive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, he never said anything.”

  “He told me he was thinking about it. He was even playing around with disguises.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not recently, but when things were looking bad, before he changed lawyers.”

  “He mentioned something about not being cool with saying he did it. You know, he felt it could work against him.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Just, you know, if something happened, for me to watch out for you and the kids.”

  “He took off.”

  “I didn’t take it like that. I thought he meant if he had to go to jail or something.”

  “No, he’s hiding somewhere. I just know it.”

  “Where would he go?”

  “He said somewhere like Mexico.”

  “Mexico? Unless he flew, he’s still in the States somewhere.”

  “He didn’t fly. Cory gave up his passport as a condition of bail.”

  “I can’t see him sneaking over the border.”

  “It’s so dangerous. I’m scared, Donny.”

  “It doesn’t sound good, but maybe there’s an explanation. He could come walking through the door any minute.”

  “I know he’s not.”

  “I’ll make some calls, see if anybody knows anything. Why don’t you call the police?”

  “No, if Cory is on the run, he wouldn’t have gotten far yet.”

  “Hmm. Why don’t you call the hospitals in the area? I know it’s a long shot, but he could’ve had a heart attack or something and . . . hold on, did he take his wallet with him?”

  “I don’t know. Hang on, let me check.” Linda ran into the bedroom. She opened the drawer of Cory’s nightstand. His wallet was sitting in it.