The Lair of Jack: Long Shot Love Duet (Book Two)

by Aven Jayce

  “Youngstown, Ohio.”

  “Ohio?”

  “You remember getting shots with us at a Scranton bar about five hours back?”

  “What? No. That never happened.” I spread my fingers, watching them waver and morph into various shapes. I’m totally waking now, able to form complete sentences again, yet not quite ‘right.’

  “The liquor knocked you out. Fucking lightweight. I had to carry your ass to the car.”

  “Not true.”

  “It is true,” Jack says.

  “Five hours ago? No.”

  “Yep.”

  “A bar was open so early in the day?”

  “Yep.”

  “I got served? I’m twenty, liar.”

  “I didn’t lie that I always lie.”

  “Stop needling me.”

  “Never.”

  I gaze out the window, realizing I drank too long ago to still be drunk. I’m guessing we’ve driven a good eight or nine hours. I passed out, slept, woke up with a massive headache, but I’m not still liquored up like I thought. I’m just stoned.

  I wonder the number of times Dylan held a joint to my mouth when I was asleep? I guess right now, I don’t know much of anything.

  “Is Quinn in the trunk?” I lean back, hoping the seat relieves the weight on my shoulders. My head’s so heavy it’s going to break my neck.

  “He wanted to be in there.”

  “That’s a lie, too... why does my head weigh so much?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’ll Google it. Where’s my cell?”

  He laughs, smacking Dylan’s arm and gesturing to take it out of the glove box. It’s passed back and I check my messages, seeing a blank screen.

  “You bastard. All my stuff’s gone.”

  “Like?”

  “Messages. Texts.”

  He shrugs. “Guess you deleted them.”

  “Why?” I exhale, annoyed with him and flopping my head from side to side. “Why? Why? Why? Why did you delete them?”

  “Shut it.”

  “Why? Why? Why? Why?”

  “Knock it off.”

  I’m really fond of the sound of my voice. “Why? Why? Why? Why. Why?”

  “Adlyn, don’t make me stop this car!”

  I quiet down and twist my lips, staring out the window at animated umbrellas taking their owners for a walk.

  “Umbrellas are dogs,” I declare. “Look at them walking their owners.”

  “See, this right here is why my dad likes to smoke alone. He always says being around too many people causes him to wig out... stop causing me to wig out, back there.”

  “She’s the best entertainment I’ve had in years,” Dylan says.

  “Easy for you to say when you’ve reached the end of the line and I’m stuck with her for another day.”

  “Yo, stop being a douche and admit you’re in love with her.”

  “Sure, my cock’s getting hard just thinking about boning my sister.”

  “Stop calling me your sister, it’s gross, you’re gross. You licked my teeth before you hung me. Who does such sickening things?” I mull over those words... the way they came out, that something so surreal can make sense causes me to laugh. And it only makes sense because it’s all Jack—Jack to a T. “How the hell can you drive like this? The road’s moving.”

  “The car’s moving, not the road.”

  “No, it’s the road. See it? It’s closing in on us.”

  “This is my normal state. I see nothing.”

  He slows and parallel parks next to a silver-ish building with a Technology Center sign over the front door. The ground floor windows are covered with painted murals, and the colors and designs start to whirl, taking on a life of their own. It’s trippy, everything’s trippy in a good way, except I’m not tripping; I’m high. I don’t even know what tripping feels like. Wait, am I tripping or am I high? No, I’m high. This is being high. This is trippy. No, this is high.

  “Oh, look at the pretty butterflies in the windows. They’re floating over the city... except that blue one. How come he’s such an ass? Do you see him? Do you see how angry that one looks? He’s got problems, lots and lots of problems. What a dick. Butterflies are dicks. This entire building is made out of dicks.”

  “God, she better zone out soon. You just had to give her another hit off that joint.”

  “It woke her up, didn’t it? We were getting worried. She’s been out half the day.”

  “Who said I wanted her awake? She was chillin’ and half-asleep on that first drag you gave her earlier, now she’s wild. You could’ve just checked her pulse to make sure she was still alive.”

  “Ahh.” He tosses his hand in the air then give’s Jack’s shoulder a fond pat. “You hate silence. I did you a favor, besides, she’ll mellow out soon enough.”

  “I suppose.” He opens a compartment between the driver and passenger seats and takes out an envelope, passing it to Dylan. “Here, it should be enough to get you there and hold you over for a few months. The bus station’s a block back and across the street. I’d take you all the way, but I gotta play it safe. I really don’t want a guy who’s—”

  “This is fucking crazy,” he interrupts, peeking in the envelope at the contents. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Not a word, just stay out of trouble.”

  They bump fists and Dylan gets out of the car. He’s dressed in a black, short-sleeve button down shirt, a pair of black jeans, and brown work boots, something I couldn’t see when the seat hid his body during the drive.

  “He looks good, like a real human. Where’s he going?”

  The engine starts and Jack observes him from his rear-view mirror, waiting until he’s no longer in sight before he drives away.

  “He’s on his way home.”

  “Albany?”

  “West.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a secluded spot to convince Quinn it’s safe to come out of the trunk. He insisted on going back there when he found out we were stopping in the city... then, once he’s out, I need to find my wife.”

  “Your what?”

  “Your what?” Quinn’s voice enters through the back seat. “Listen up, a-hole. You told me to hide in the trunk while you drove into this downtown area. Don’t make me sound like a fucking pussy... and did you say, WIFE?”

  Chapter Eight

  WILD HORSES

  WE’RE IN the middle of Nowhere, USA. A location where there’s nothing but endless sky, miles of farms, and uninhabited land. It’s a backdrop outside the Hellcat’s windows that is foreign to both Quinn and me, having experienced the Adirondack Mountains and a handful of parks and forests in our lifetime, but never a landscape so open and vast. A new world that makes us realize how little we’ve seen of this country, and witnessing it firsthand is daunting, but it confirms the infinite possibilities we have for our future. This is only the beginning of our journey.

  The start.

  This is how it starts.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I say, running my fingertips around Quinn’s ear as he rests his head in my lap. He looks up at me with an adorable smile and takes my hand in his. “There’re countless small towns out this way, and they don’t run one into the next. There’s a great distance separating each one, with acres of crops and small forest areas between them. I haven’t seen any subdivisions and it’s been hours since any houses have been crammed together... and with the clouds no longer crowding over us, I feel so alive... so free.”

  I take a look at Jack who’s slumped in the driver’s seat. He’s not answering our questions about his wife, or Dylan, and acts like he wants to be left alone, which, in all honesty, I don’t know how long I can stand to let him be. It drives me crazy when people are silent.

  We’ve given up badgering him for a while, although I plan on starting up again soon. Dylan disappearing is odd. I think Jack sent him back to the retreat
, or maybe to a different retreat to stay. Of course, that’s a guess.

  And I wish I knew where we’re headed and why he’s even bothering with us. We’ve only been able to get him to say one thing, one crazy Jack thing...

  “Being friends with me is like shitting sunshine; your ass is always on fire. Try to contain your excitement.”

  I was still high when those words came out of his mouth and it’s possible I heard him wrong, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.

  So... what the fuck does it mean?

  I don’t think I’m shitting sunshine, and I don’t think I want to shit sunshine anytime soon, or maybe I do, although I shouldn’t be shitting sunshine because of Jack Jameson.

  “A ride out west is precisely what we needed,” I announce, seeing if he’ll respond. He pretends he didn’t hear so I decide to continue my conversation with Quinn. “Your face isn’t all over the news around here like it is back in Albany. It feels safer out this way, doesn’t it?”

  “Kind of,” he says. “I’d like to know who snitched, though. Who said I was hanging out with Trent and Dylan at the river?”

  “Don’t waste your time thinking about it. Anyone could’ve placed you at the scene with the two of them. It’s not like that fight and all the yelling didn’t wake up at least twenty people. I know you said no one would talk, but if the cops gave anyone at the river some cash or food, they’d open up.”

  “I know, it was wishful thinking.”

  “Could’ve even been your dad. Not to mention Dylan is your brother. The first people cops try to find are family members to ask questions. Once someone told them you were on the streets, they’d see the connection to that camp and ask the people down there all the right questions.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Quinn...” I look down at him and use my most comforting voice. “The farther away we are from the east coast, the better off we’ll be. The city and Afterglow had us trapped, but out here we can reinvent ourselves. I think we’re going to be okay.”

  Trying to cheer him up and set his mind at ease hasn’t been working. He’s as freaked out as I am about being sent to prison. He doesn’t trust the system, and I can’t imagine he’d survive behind bars if it came to that. He’s tough, just not prison tough. And who the fuck is prison tough? Not many, certainly not me.

  Err, my head’s exploding thinking about all this crap.

  “I’ll have to work under the table for the rest of my life. I have no name, Addie. I’ll never be able to rent an apartment or open a bank account. I’m not going to be okay, ever.”

  Jack comes back to life, leaving his zombie state to tilt the rear-view mirror and look down at Quinn. He gives him a cynical half-smile and says, “You’d be okay if you were dead.”

  “What?” I respond with a look of disgust as Quinn raises his middle finger.

  “Thanks,” Jack says. “I love you both, too. But you should think about that.”

  “I’ll work. I’ll get a bank account and do all that stuff. I’m not helpless,” I offer.

  “That’s absurd... and we’re running away again. Nothing’s changed,” Quinn says. “Going to Florida may have worked because I still had a name. I’ve been stripped of everything my entire life, now, that last part of me is gone. I have no identity.”

  “At least we can’t sink any lower.”

  With Jack’s chuckle, I can tell he disagrees. He makes a fist and puts it just to the right under his chin, pushes to the left and cracks his neck. He does the same to the other side, making me wince each time I hear the cracking noises.

  “Trust me, your lives can get much fucking worse. At least you didn’t lose an arm, right? At least you still have one eye. At least the car only ran over your legs and not your gut.” He moves his head in a circular motion, rubs the nape of his neck, then opens a can of soda.

  “Don’t be an ass. Taking off and starting over isn’t unusual. We can do this. Lots of people want to disappear and never be found. I’ve heard stories...”

  “We’re in a fantasy life that can’t last,” Quinn argues, sitting up to reach into the front for a soda of his own. “This shit’s going to catch up with us. Wait and see. And what about your family? Have you thought about telling them where you are?”

  “I don’t know where I am.” I throw my head back and exhale.

  “You’re both exactly where you need to be. Relax, and roll with it. See where life takes you,” Jack says, lighting a cigarette and tossing one back to Quinn.

  “Is that what you think I should tell my aunt? That I’m where I need to be and not to worry because I’m gonna roll with it? I can only imagine what fiery response she’d have to that. And where’s your wife? Is she ‘rolling with it’ wherever you left her? And what about Dylan? Is he seeing where life takes him?”

  Jack stares straight ahead, ignoring my questions as he cruises along Interstate 80. He uses the controls on his armrest to open the back windows a crack, replacing the air-conditioned smoke-filled car with thick Midwest humidity and the overwhelming stench of manure.

  Leaving it smoky in here would’ve been better than the scent of shit. I’m already knee deep in it; I don’t need to smell it.

  I take a moment to watch rays from the evening sun push through one lonesome cloud in the sky. The beams grow in intensity and width until the sun breaks free and radiates over the spotted fields of chubby cows and foul-smelling manure.

  My mom would’ve laughed if she was here and I had said that out loud. Her voice in my head is taunting me right now, saying, “As opposed to what, Addie? Sweet-smelling manure?”

  I smile, and as wacky as it sounds, I wish she were here to smell it with me.

  “How about telling your aunt the truth when you call? We left because we don’t want to go to prison for something we didn’t mean to do, and there’s not much more to it than that,” Quinn suggests.

  I hesitate, rolling the window all the way down and placing my hand into the warm air. My fingers spread, letting the wind run between them before moving my hand in a wave-like motion.

  “Any response to that?” he asks.

  “I’m thinking...”

  Jack puts on a pair of sunglasses and a black baseball cap, the look reminding me of my Uncle Brian when he heads out to football practice. What Quinn mentioned about the truth won’t go over well with him or Nadine. Witnessing Trent’s murder and dumping the body is quite different than taking action to survive the river. For certain it’s on their mind more than Charletta’s death.

  “My aunt’s finding this hard to deal with because she sees me as the problem instead of seeing the incident as the problem. It’s not what happened, it’s about how I’m handling it. I’m sure my uncle feels the same. I’d never say that to them, but I have an idea of what I should say... Jack, can I have my cell?”

  “I gave it to you hours ago.”

  “Oh.” I look around, lifting my bag, checking my pockets, the floor, coming across it between the seat cushions. “I stuck it in there when I was stoned,” I say to Quinn. “It kept lighting up and I thought it was a sign from my mom.”

  “You mean you thought she was contacting you?”

  “Like I said, I was stoned... by the way, your brother was a total jerk for doing that to me, just wait ‘til I see him. Waking up in that state when you’ve never experienced it before is not cool. I was so out of it... isn’t drugging people illegal? I mean, I guess a lot of what we do is illegal.” I flip the cell in my hand, realizing it’s not mine. “Jack, this isn’t my cell.”

  “Who cares, just call.”

  “Where’s mine and whose is this?”

  “It’s one of my old prepaids. Take it, I think it’s got about five hundred minutes left.”

  “Where the fuck’s my cell?”

  “Afterglow, and don’t fucking swear at me when I’m saving your ass. You’re not leaving a trail across the country and you can’t pay the monthly bill, so
use this one until your life’s in order, or you’re in prison, or dead. Whichever comes first.”

  I nod a thank you to his awkward attempt at being nice, anxious to find out what his intentions are for helping us, and why we haven’t ended up dead in a ditch. “I thought you deleted my messages and texts, but it wasn’t even my phone.”

  “This is your brain on drugs.” He grins.

  “Be serious... why don’t you come clean?”

  “About?”

  “Us. Being our savior.”

  “Ahh. Took you long enough to admit I’m Jesus.”

  “I said be serious for once. Tell us why.”

  Soda drips down his chin as he tosses back the last swig. He wipes the dribble with the back of his hand, checks his black tee, and rubs a wet spot until it spreads and soaks into his shirt. The can’s tossed on the floor of the passenger seat and his cig’s back in his mouth.

  “Jack?”

  He bends forward to toggle through his playlists, then leans back without selecting a song, leaving the car silent.

  “Did you hear the question?” Quinn asks.

  He stays quiet, so I decide to let it go. Everyone’s tired and I can tell he’s not going to respond.

  I rest my cheek on the windowsill, becoming absorbed in the blurred road and wilted weeds that soar past. The colors mix together, yellow and green, brown and specks of purple—an amalgamation of soft edges and vanishing lines—glimpses of the natural world that lull my heart and calm my fears. Something so pretty could never bring harm. This terrain is our new burrow, and it’s up to us to find the right bedding, to pad our home in a way that brings warmth and safety.

  I reach out for Quinn, taking his hand to give it a firm squeeze. He smiles, watching my hair swirl in the open window and my T-shirt flap from the wind. The stink of manure has faded, replaced with hay and a sweet smell, similar to honey.