by Jaz Primo
I left a hastily written note on the countertop:
Paige and Roman,
I’m taking a few days to clear my head and gain perspective on my life. I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving so abruptly, but I doubt you would approve what I need to do. Even though I can’t expect you to understand what I’m going through, I hope you’ll respect my decision.
I’ll message you periodically so that you won’t worry about me.
Caleb
I figured that it was a pretty lame note, but it was the best I felt I could do on short notice.
Before I lost nerve, I exited through the front door, locking the door behind me.
Despite my reservations about continuing, I had scarcely reached the curb before an aura of satisfaction took root within me.
I smiled, feeling a pervasive sense of freedom and the hunger for possibilities like none I had ever felt before.
* * *
PART II
THE OPEN ROAD
* * *
Chapter 11
Caleb
Unfortunately, I couldn’t contemplate anything with any hope of peace of mind until I left New Haven, well before Paige had an opportunity to track me down via the microchip nestled beneath the skin of my shoulder.
I hastily purchased a bus ticket for the earliest, farthest away destination, which was the twenty-something-mile trek to Bridgeport.
At the bus station, I grabbed a printed map and another bus schedule for the surrounding region.
I already missed my mobile devices.
During the shuttle to Bridgeport, I devised a series of routes to follow that might throw Paige and Roman off while economically conserving my limited financial resources.
I went from Bridgeport to White Plains, and then on to Yonkers before ending up in Jersey City.
By then I felt tired and my butt was sore from sitting.
Honestly, I was surprised that I’d made it this far without being intercepted. I was convinced that by now they were already diligently searching for me.
I momentarily imagined Paige discovering me missing and then saying, “Aw, screw him. He’s more trouble than he’s worth…”
It made me smile, but also made me feel a little bit sad.
Did it make me feel better to think they were going out of their minds trying to find me?
Once I had mulled that over, it made me feel guilty. However, I was also appreciating the freedom of the open road.
Having had enough of buses for the time being, I made my way to the nearest train station, though it was a bit of a walk.
As I boarded the train destined for Newark, my mind wandered further and I began to contemplate where I actually wanted to go. Traversing endless bus and train routes didn’t entice me in the least.
It was evening by the time the train arrived at Newark, so I looked for a place to spend the night that was within walking distance to the station. I ended up in a cheap hotel that was so run down in such a cliché style that it reminded me of something out of a bad Hollywood film. Suffice to say, I checked beneath the sheets and mattress for pests before attempting to go to sleep.
The next morning began with a breakfast burrito and coffee from the nearest fast food restaurant. I boarded a train for a quick ride to Elizabeth, New Jersey. Once I exited the train, I located an Internet café to send a quick email Kat, Alton, and Paige to let them know that I was in no danger.
Then I was back on a train to Newark, where I changed direction and took a train northwest to Scranton, Pennsylvania.
At Scranton, I boarded a bus for Syracuse, New York and passed the time perusing state maps from the region to contemplate my future destination. Along the way, my mind wandered until my thoughts gravitated to Katrina.
The memory of her was almost painful to me.
She was the last person I wanted to think about at that moment. I couldn’t bear to focus on her or our relationship.
But she was the reason I was there.
If not then, when exactly did I intend to contemplate the central reason for my abrupt cross-country excursion?
I wasn’t ready yet. That much I knew.
So I returned to alternating between perusing maps and passively staring out at the passing traffic and surroundings.
It’s startling how quickly time passes when you’re avoiding confronting strong emotions.
Before I realized it, we were nearly at the outskirts of Syracuse, and I stared dumbfounded at my watch to realize that nearly three hours had passed.
Where the hell did the time go?
I ate a quick lunch and decided to go on to Rochester and then to Buffalo. During the layover in Rochester and some heavy traffic, I was able to sit and mull things over for nearly four additional hours.
By the time we reached Buffalo, it was almost early evening, so I stayed in yet another cheap hotel. Despite room conditions that were somewhat improved from my previous experiences, I nevertheless closely examined the bed before going to sleep.
One thing was certain about life with Katrina and all its trappings: I tended to stay in upscale, well-maintained accommodations. The Spartan reality of my life before Kat was quickly reasserting itself, like a half-forgotten memory of days gone by.
In reality, it had only been more than a year since I met Katrina. And yet, in some ways it felt like a lifetime. Perhaps that was because my life had changed so drastically over that short duration.
I had experienced unimaginable passion and adrenaline-rushing excitement, as well as confronted moments of heart-stopping terror. It felt as if I had already lived an entire range of lifetime events.
But it was the lighter moments with Kat that I cherished the most. I reflected upon those and it lulled me into a state of relaxation.
Sometime during my musings, I fell asleep.
I abruptly awoke to the sounds of someone banging on my hotel room door.
“Hey, open up,” came a gruff voice.
The room was dark as my mind struggled to grasp where I was amidst renewed knocking.
I instinctually grabbed my combat knives from beneath my pillow before slipping into my jeans.
I tip-toed to the door and carefully glanced out through the security peephole to see a tall, heavily bearded fellow facing forward.
“C’mon, open up, asshole,” he said. “I haven’t got time for this shit.”
He obviously had the wrong room and it sort of pissed me off that he’d woken me out of a relatively peaceful slumber.
I took a deep breath while slipping one knife into my back waistband, then unsheathed the other and held it at the ready.
I quickly unlocked the door and jerked it open, startling the guy. I snatched him by the collar of his leather jacket and jerked forward, catching him off balance.
“What the—”
I swung him downward onto the floor while placing the tip of my knife to his throat.
“Wrong damned room, asshole,” I said.
“H-hey, what gives, dickhead? You called me,” he stammered.
“I don’t even know who you are, idiot,” I said, increasing the pressure of the blade against his neck.
“Whoa, whoa, Peterson, back off,” he said, holding his hands up with palms open.
“Peterson? Who the hell is Peterson?”
“Wha—You’re not Blacktop Peterson?”
I stared down at him. “Do I look like Blacktop Peterson?”
Whoever the hell that was…
“Uh, how should I know? This is the drop, room 27 for Peterson,” he said. “Are you a cop? You’ve gotta tell me if you are.”
“Well, I’m definitely not Peterson,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Oh…shit,” he said. “I thought he said 27.”
Despite my heart racing, I was really pissed off for some reason.
“I oughta—” I said.
“Hey, whoa-whoa,” he said. “Let’s just calm the hell down before someone gets jacked—”
“That
’s you,” I said, pinning the guy beneath my knee while patting him down for weapons with my free hand.
I heard a door open across the hallway, but didn’t want to take my eyes off the guy before me.
“Hey, man, are you selling to him instead?” asked a tentative voice from the doorway behind me.
I held the knife at the prone man’s throat and reached behind me to withdraw my other knife. I turned to my newest unwanted guest.
“Do you want a piece of this, too?” I asked.
The man’s eyes went wide and he took off at a dead run.
“H-hey, this don’t have to end bad, you know,” the guy on the floor said. “I don’t want no trouble.”
I gave him my best hard glare.
“Did you hear that other guy running down the hall?” I asked.
“Y-yeah.”
I removed the knife from beneath his throat and rose to stand.
“You better beat him outta here.”
The fellow slowly rose to his feet with his hands held above his shoulders and gradually moved toward the open door.
“Go!” I said.
He ran down the length of the hallway. I heard rapidly retreating, heavy footfalls and a door fling open at the end of the hallway. I carefully peered around the corner in time to see the metal stairwell door shut with a thud.
Despite the late hour, I wasted no time hastily packing my things and heading downstairs to check out. There was no way I was waiting around to see if the guy came back and with renewed courage and perhaps a gun.
The desk associate was wary to check me out, but I told him about my unwanted guest, for which he apologized profusely.
“Absolutely, sir,” he said. “I’ll make sure my manager is notified. Should I call the police?”
“No, they’re both gone now,” I said. “But I’d keep the phone handy, if I were you.”
To his credit, the guy appeared sympathetic.
“I only charged you for half the normal rate. The manager left me his override card,” he said. “But would you mind giving me a good rating on a customer survey?”
Seriously?
“Yeah, for you, sure,” I said. “Not so much on my room experience.”
He gave me a sheepish look. “Yeah, I don’t blame you there, really.”
The associate gave me directions to the nearest decent hotel, so I cautiously made my way out into the night.
What a weird night.
Suddenly, I doubted the wisdom of my road trip escape from New Haven.
Once I had checked into a hotel just down the street, I went to the bathroom and splashed warm water on my face. I looked into the mirror at my tired expression.
Lying in bed, I replayed the events from my recent hotel experience. I was annoyed over how awkward everything had felt, and I silently critiqued my actions and technique.
I need more practice on takedowns, I mused.
I almost made a mental note to ask Roman about it during our next workout. It was odd how easily my mind fell into routines, no matter how undesirable.
Over the course of various training regimens and events ranging from enlightening to nearly lethal, I had morphed into a decidedly different version of me over the past year. I could scarcely envision the person I had been before meeting Katrina.
I could have pondered if that was a good thing or not, but I already knew that would have been silly, as well as pointless.
I respected the person I had become; I was better equipped to live in the world around me, as well as survive its challenges.
The remainder of my night was restless despite my fatigue, and I slept very little.
The next morning, I undertook a bus trip to East Aurora, the historic township where Millard Fillmore and his wife had lived in the 1920s prior to his ascendency to the presidency.
Only a history nerd like me would appreciate that veritably forgettable moniker.
The journey permitted me more time to contemplate my life with, and lately without, Kat.
East Aurora was quaint and I availed myself of a cozy café with public Wi-Fi to send a message to Kat, Paige, and Alton to tell them that I was safe and would be in touch again soon. I kept my notes brief while trying not to dwell on the emotional, bordering on furious, emails from each of them. There was even a message from Roman in which he threatened to beat my ass when he saw me next.
It was nice to know he cared.
I lingered long enough to take in some brief sights and eat lunch before returning to Buffalo. From there, I took a train to Silver Creek, right off the shores of Lake Erie. Afterward, I went all the way to Cleveland, Ohio where I killed some time and awaited another train departure.
My life came full circle as I contemplated an emotional selection for my next destination.
Columbus, Ohio.
I was born and raised there.
When I was only a boy, my abusive alcoholic father died there at Katrina’s hands; a memory only recently returned to me thanks to the hypnotic ministrations of a London-based vampire psychiatrist named Dr. Roehl Guilhelm.
Perhaps the worst memory was that my mother died of cancer in Columbus while I was still in college.
I had many demons to exorcize there.
Night had fallen once my train pulled into Columbus. However, I remained in town and avoided a taxi ride out to my old childhood home on the outskirts of the city.
There might be demons, but I wasn’t in the mood to be a demon hunter quite yet.
Instead, that night, following a quick meal, I decided to pick someplace restful for further contemplations.
I selected Ohio’s Tar Hollow State Park, located just south of Laurelville on state highway 56. There were over sixteen thousand acres of forest woodlands to lose myself in. It was a scenic location that I’d briefly visited while growing up
It seemed absolutely ideal.
I was pleased to find that Laurelville actually supported an infrequent bus route, which I quickly secured passage on.
The road trip was restful and there weren’t many people on my bus, so it was relatively quiet. Every time I tried to think about Kat and the issues that inspired me to run away, my mind rebelled. Instead, I morosely stared out the window at the passing landscape.
What was I going to do?
I couldn’t just keep running away. My available timeline wasn’t limitless.
Was it?
Chapter 12
Caleb
When the bus pulled onto Main Street in Laurelville, I thought we’d landed in the midst of a cliché.
I had the distinct impression that the town might fit into the back of two semi-tractor trailers. Heck, for all I knew, the townspeople might all fit into the Greyhound bus that had brought me there.
I was the only person exiting the bus, and as I watched the bus pull away, I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me. I spared a few moments to scan my surroundings.
It looked bleak and remote. The nearest homes that I could see looked as if they’d been built decades before I was born. The place seemed wholly removed from modern times; an anomaly stuck in a time pocket.
Had I just stepped into the Twilight Zone?
“God, I’m so screwed.”
I hoisted my backpack over one shoulder and walked just up the street to a small diner called Cooper’s Cafe, conveniently placed directly across the street from Laurelville Feed and Seed.
As I crossed the café’s threshold, the half dozen customers turned to look at me.
“Just sit where you’d like and I’ll be right with ya,” said a waitress standing behind an old-fashioned counter.
“Sure thing,” I said, making my way toward an empty booth situated before one of the front picture windows.
The other patrons quickly dismissed me and returned to their meals.
As I sat and perused the crumpled single-sheet laminated menu, the waitress arrived at my table.
“Hi, I’m Bel. Can I get you something to drink while you look at the men
u?” she asked.
What an unusual nickname. Or is that her actual name?
“Um, iced tea, I suppose.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Oh, and our special today is fried catfish.”
Minutes later, after looking over the menu and sipping some tea, I took out the brochure about the Tar Hollow State Park cabins.
“Tar Hollow, eh? Sort of missed the season, didn’t you?”
I started slightly as I registered Bel’s proximity.
“Probably, I really just need to find somewhere quiet,” I said. “Seems nice and quiet here. I can probably still catch a few fish, too.”
“Well, it’s pretty dead in the off season,” she said. “But if it’s quiet you want, this is the place. This time of year, you’ll have your pick of cabins at Tar Hollow. And yeah, any fisherman worth his salt can land some bass and crappie.”
“Thanks for the info. So, how’s the chicken fried steak?” I asked.
“Award-winning, just like the menu says.”
I noted the wry expression on her face.
“What award did it win, exactly?”
“Blue ribbon at the Hocking County Fair.”
Then she smiled. “Back in 1959.”
Somehow the year 1959 seemed fitting in more ways than one for anything I had already seen in Laurelville.
“Do they use the same recipe today?”
“Oh, sure. But then, I think it’s prepared by the son of the recipe’s cook, too.”
I chuckled. “I’ll take it, mashed potatoes and all. Oh, and ranch dressing, if you have it.”
As our eyes met, I thought that her hazel eyes practically twinkled.
“I’ll fix you right up,” she said. “I’ll bring your salad out in a few minutes.”
“Order up, Bel!” yelled the cook from the back kitchen area.
“Coming, Jim!” she yelled back. “Old fart.”
I stared out the window at the town beyond and watched only a couple of vehicles pass by before my meal arrived. Fortunately, my food tasted much better than I expected.