by Glen Krisch
The dozen or so riot-ready police officers continued walking by before turning up a set of stairs, ready to face whatever craziness they would find above.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes… fine. I'm fine. Thanks."
"You should get to safety. There's a curfew, you know. Eight o'clock. I'd escort you myself, but things are starting to get out of hand."
"Thanks. I'll be fine. Really."
The policeman nodded, then left, hurrying to catch up with the others.
Juliet was reenergized by the exchanged. She felt confident. Maybe not nearly to the level of the woman who had led her to the subway, but perhaps enough to allow her to get by in this world. Hopefully long enough for her to track down the only man she could ever love.
Chapter 20
When Kevin left Sophie's apartment, he had no clue about where he would go. Fear gnawed at him again, the security of his new friends left behind. He just kept moving--down Sophie's street, turning at random, zigzagging through blocks of residential homes and mom and pop businesses. He still couldn't get the image of Andrew's mural out of his head. The image of the tranquil fields was appealing. He had to get away from the city. There were too many hiding spots from which Mr. Freakshow could swoop down on him. He thought about the painting, and he suddenly knew where he should go. Instantly he understood, yet it was so obvious he felt like kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner.
Kevin was going to go home. All the way to Warren Cove, Kevin was going home.
But the logistics of it seemed far too daunting. First, he had to accomplish the simple act of finding the bus station. And then he would need to buy a ticket and ride for hours on end without blowing his cover. How he would pull off every step of the journey without Mr. Freakshow finding him, he hadn't a clue. He felt like running, but he didn't know which way to find the bus station.
He watched the early morning people as they walked by. A man shambled in rags for clothes, his scraggly beard hiding the details of his face. All Kevin saw were his dark eyes, and the uneasiness they caused made Kevin offer a wide berth. People enclosed in their own little worlds hurried down the sidewalk, on their way to work despite the curfew and increased police vigilance to track down the dreams. A mixture of spray starch, hair spray and toxic amounts of cologne trailed them like Pigpen's dirt cloud. He avoided all of these morning people. Either they were too busy to be bothered, or not busy enough. He didn't feel comfortable in either case.
At the next intersection, with the rambling L-tracks overhead, the pillars and rails blocking the sun, he came across a newsstand. Inside the wooden shed was a short man, nearly as short as Kevin, his bushy gray eyebrows like ancient caterpillars resting on his forehead. His expression was not too busy or not busy enough at all. Somewhere in between. Kevin reached into his pocket and handed over some coins for a Sun Times. Stolen water fountain coins.
"Where's the bus station?"
"Which one?" the newsstand guy barked.
"I don't know… the closest one?"
"End of block, first left, another block, turn right, four blocks down." The man sounded like he had recited this bit a thousand times.
"Okay, thanks."
The newsstand guy helped the next customer, someone buying a Crane's Business and a sickly brown banana from a wooden bowl sitting next to the cash register.
As Kevin walked away, he ran through the directions in his head and realized he had forgotten most of them. It probably didn't matter. The station was somewhere over there. It would be big and loud, hard to miss. If those office buildings weren't in the way, he would probably see it from here.
He lost his bearings more than once, doubling back several blocks in the process, but eventually made it to the bus station. It was a steel and glass structure with long corridors with Plexiglas cases on the walls with ads for the U.S. Army, and the National Bank of LaGrange. The morning sun shone through the girder and glass roof, throwing a web-like shadow across the floor. These station people seemed to be in more of a hurry than the pedestrians just down the block. A dozen people bumped him, pushed him, and griped at him by the time he reached the enormous waiting area. Row upon row of wooden benches lined the white tiled floor. Caged-in ticket windows dotted the waiting area at odd intervals. The place teemed with people, like ants scurrying over garden soil.
A policeman walked slowly through the crowd, giving people the eye. No one bumped into him, or griped at him about how slowly he walked. He moved at his own pace, scrutinizing everyone in his path. Kevin imagined the police department having a sketch of him, that they had put out an APB on him, whatever that was, all because he stomped on that policeman's foot yesterday. He spied an open spot at a wooden bench and sat down quickly. He opened his newly bought Chicago Sun Times, and waited for the heat to blow over.
He figured it would be no time at all before the cop ripped the newspaper from his hands and cuffed him. But nothing happened. The young couple next to him stood up to leave and a woman with three kids filled the empty spot on the bench. She swayed a bundled boy in her arms, trying to calm his cries. Kevin tried to ignore his new bench neighbors. The headline from the newspaper caught his attention. Actually, he was surprised he hadn't noticed the huge block letters before now.
A CITY TERRORIZED!
He didn't read beyond the headline. Didn't want to. Lucidity was on the other side of the city, yet he could still sense the tension in just about everyone he came across. Since he left Sophie's apartment, he'd overheard people mumbling about riots and random violence, of dream-creatures attacking people, and people banding together to fight back since it seemed like the police didn't know what they were doing.
All because of him.
He folded over the paper quickly, as if trying to capture a cockroach, and the woman next to him gave him a dirty look for further upsetting her crying child with his noise. Kevin gave up his spot and went to the nearest ticket window.
"One one-way ticket for Warren Cove."
A sleepy-eyed ticket agent looked down at him. "I.D. please."
"What for?"
"Security. You're too young to buy your own ticket."
"I don't have I.D."
"No I.D., no ticket."
Kevin could see his plan crumbling before his eyes. If he couldn't take the bus to Warren Cove, how was he going to get home? An idea popped into his head.
"Mom sent me to buy the ticket because she's kinda got her hands full." Kevin pointed behind him, indicating the woman with the crying child. "Believe me," Kevin's eyes went wide and he lowered his voice, "You don't want to mess with my mom. She's got PMS." He hoped he had his terminology right. From what he saw on T.V., women just get angry sometimes, terribly angry, for no other reason than PMS. Whatever that was.
The sleepiness lifted from the ticket agent's eyes. He leaned forward, giving Kevin a knowing look. He watched the woman holding the child, and he shook his head. She was bouncing the baby in her arms, a little too roughly, while staring daggers at Kevin. Obviously, he ruined her day by ruffling his newspaper. The other two children, boys or girls, Kevin couldn't tell by their neutral clothes and blunt haircuts, were dancing in a small circle, one of those square dance routines Kevin remembered having to do in gym class.
"Should I get her to pay for the ticket?"
"No, I guess if she's right there. We don't want to bother her. Warren Cove, right? That'll be $23. Bus boards in… let's see, twenty minutes."
Kevin pulled one of Sophie's crisp twenties from his pocket, along with three dollars in quarters from his water fountain treasure.
The ticket agent gave him a too friendly smile and slid him the ticket.
Kevin felt empowered holding the ticket. He didn't know he could think on his feet so quickly. He held the ticket in his hand, not trusting it out of sight, and walked back toward the woman. He stood just behind her, close enough to appear to be her son, far enough away that she couldn't swat him with an angry paw. The ticket agent watched him before
helping his next customer. The man still shook his head sympathetically, and then the shifting crowd swallowed him from sight.
Kevin scanned the ticket for his departure gate. He left his bogus family and sat on a wooden bench closer to where he would board the bus.
He ate five of Sophie's cookies while waiting for the departure time. As people began to board, he dusted the crumbs from his lap, lifted his backpack to his shoulder, and waited for the line to thicken. He thought the bus driver would challenge him as he came aboard, but she didn't even give him a second glance. The driver was middle aged with greasy blond hair plastered to her head. From the narrowness of her head, she widened all the way to her waist, until her ample thighs overhung the plush captain's chair. She smelled like fast food chicken, and Kevin was glad when she handed him his ticket back. Another step taken. A few more steps, and he would be home.
The people boarding were anxious, eager to be away from the city. Just to complete his playacting, he stopped and waved to a couple sitting on one of the wooden benches. They looked to be about his parents' age and they gave an indifferent wave in return. He turned and made his way to the back of the bus before he drew any attention.
The bus jumped as it started and kicked into gear. The people crowding around him took out headphones or crosswords or paperbacks to wile away the time. Kevin was antsy. He had nothing to do to ward off boredom. Or fear. He was buzzing off the sugary cookies he'd just eaten, and needed to take a leak. The door for the restroom was nearby. He stood, taking his backpack with him.
He realized he was going to finally take a leak on a bus. Just what his dad wanted him to do in the first place. If only… if only.
Kevin stayed in the cramped restroom long after he had flushed the stainless steel bowl, his urine mixing with the mysterious blue fluid, dropping into some holding pod. To help dry up the tears that flowed as soon as he entered the restroom, he thought of aimless stuff--T.V. shows and comic books and his new school. But what lingered after everything else drifted away was feeling of responsible for the death of his dad, that he had somehow killed him. He knew he would never be free of the thought. He wiped the few tears from his eyes with a gritty paper towel before returning to his seat.
The engine roared beneath him, and it was easy to let it lull him to sleep. As he closed his eyes, he hoped the next time he opened them he would find himself looking at the arching sign of his hometown bus station. Warren Cove: pop. 7220.
When he woke groggily, he looked out the window. The driver had stopped the bus, and the folding doors at the entrance were open to the chilly dusk air. He saw the bus driver wobbling back to the bus after purchasing a fill up of gasoline. Held in her meaty arm were at least three packs of Zingers and a two-liter of cola. A couple of passengers came aboard after finishing off hastily smoked cigarettes. In no time, the bus was moving again with night rapidly descending. Kevin had no idea where they were or how soon he would be home. He was chilled from the cold air coming through the open folding doors. He unzipped his backpack to take out his windbreaker, but it wasn't there. He could have sworn it was in the main pocket. It wasn't in the medium sized pocket, either. He must have lost it.
He thought back on where he could have left the windbreaker, tried thinking of the last time he had it. The last day or so had been relatively warm, so shirtsleeves had suited him fine.
The water fountain. It was the last place he could remember having it. He had taken it off so he could fish out the change. His mom would be so pissed if she found out he'd lost it. The bus rambled on, and Kevin tried to block out the thought of his mom. He no longer had a mom. If he had a mom then she would be in danger by association. Goosebumps danced up his arms, over his shoulders and across his back. He pulled the fabric of his gym shirt tighter, knowing that as he got closer to home, he still didn't know what he expected to find there.
When he opened his eyes, it wasn't to the familiar Warren Cove sign or the bus driver stopping off for more gas and junk food. A terror-filled shriek tore at his eardrums. He snapped awake, as did everyone else aboard the bus. The driver slammed on the breaks, the wheels skidding along the gravel-littered blacktop. As the bus came to a stop, the shrieking also stopped abruptly. An eerie silence filled the bus.
A man seated halfway to the front called out, "Did you hit someone? Maybe we should check…"
"I didn't hit nobody. I never hit nobody in my life," the driver shouted back.
Passengers peered out windows, everyone keeping their ears perked for that stomach-turning shriek. Sure enough, it started again, crying out in fear, pained to the point of near-rapture, and the shrieking became louder with each passing second. Kevin gathered his backpack and readied himself for the unexpected.
Quite suddenly, the roof of the bus came crashing in, bringing the shrieking in with it in the form of a woman. The passengers pushed away from the crumpled body. Shattered bones stuck through skin, and the body was doubled over at a weird angle as if it had no spine. Kevin pushed along with everyone else as the bus emptied. He had to duck under the caved-in section of the bus roof, and as he lowered his head he saw her smashed face and that she was still alive. She was, in fact, smiling. As he tried to walk by, she reached out for him with an arm that had far too many joints. Her blood-thick laughter carried with him as he exited the bus, the cold wind ruffling the thin cotton of his shirt.
"Dear mother'n Jesus. JesusJesus," the driver spouted at Kevin as he walked past her. The passengers formed a small circle outside the bus, rubbing their arms for warmth, hugging one another, scared out of their minds.
"What the hell is that?" one passenger asked.
"What do you think? It's a dream you dumb ass. You think a woman falls through the sky, comes crashing through the roof of a bus moving through corn fields could be anything else?"
"Well, maybe…"
"Haven't you read the news or seen the T.V.? Have you had your head stuck up your ass the last three days?" The man was livid. His wife took hold of him, burying her face in his chest. "God damn it! What a fucking world we live in."
"What do we do now?" a timid-looking woman asked.
"I don't know, but my cell phone doesn't work out here."
"I'm not getting back on that bus, not with that… that thing in there."
Kevin folded his arms across his chest, not sure what was going on.
The falling dream's laughter became louder, a wheezing liquid-sick noise. Something crashed within the bus, and looking through the windows, Kevin saw the dream-woman walking down the aisle, toward the front of the bus.
"Hell with that. Damn bus company can get their damn bus," the bus driver said. "Next town's just up the road. I'm gonna huff it, find a motel." She was opening a pack of raspberry Zingers as she walked away toward a low halo of light just over the horizon.
"Hey, what's the next town?" Kevin shouted.
"Podunk piece of shit. Warren Cove," the bus driver called out over her shoulder.
The falling dream tumbled down the bus steps, her shattered limbs unable to carry her weight. She was a broken bundle of twigs, blood dripping over her denim clothes looking like black syrup under the light of the weak moon.
The crowd of passengers scattered. Kevin didn't need to be told twice. His hometown was just over the hill. He started sprinting, quickly leaving behind the other passengers, passing the bus driver as she bit into a Zinger, an indulgent look on her face. He took a quick look over his shoulder before he lost sight of the stopped bus. The falling dream writhed on the gravel shoulder, writhed under the pain of her wounds. Somehow she still laughed, coughing up convulsive mouthfuls of blood. But she started to fade and soon disappeared altogether. As Kevin crested the hill, he saw the outskirts of Warren Cove, saw the abandoned and familiar Michael & Son's Service station (where he used to buy his baseball cards before it closed a year ago).
Kevin heard the falling dream's shriek. Somewhere high up, far away, falling through the air, enraptured by the thrill of fallin
g, frightened by her impending impact, the falling dream carried on her cycle of life and death.
Kevin slowed as he reached the service station. It looked run down, more so than when he left Warren Cove at the beginning of the summer. Plywood boards covered the windows now, and they had graffiti decorations. Drew luvs Emily, one read, with a big black X through the Emily. Below it, another name, Taylor Swift. Kevin didn't need to think about it. Right away, he knew who Drew was. Drew Johanson had bullied him last year, had punched him in the face at the bus stop the day Kevin wore a new pair of Nike's. Emily what's her name--she was some cheerleader from Harrison Academy in Claremont, the next town over. After coming home with a fat lip, Kevin's dad had a little talk with Drew after school the next day. He had taken off early from work, had stopped Drew outside the school, and pulled him aside to where no one could hear or see them. By the end of the conversation, his dad had Drew crying. The big bully was crying. To top it all off, his dad drove the bully home.
That night over dinner, his dad told him that Drew Johanson was someone to feel sorry for, not fear. While blubbering to his dad, Drew mentioned his clothes were from the Salvation Army because his family had no money. His dad drank his paychecks and his mom worked all the time. While telling Kevin this, he put his strong hand on his shoulder, gaining his full attention. He told him that humiliating Drew by letting him ride the bus with his eyes all puffy from crying would only make him strike out at some smaller kid again. That's why he drove Drew home while Kevin had ridden the bus that day.
At first, he was mad at his dad. Kevin had wanted him to punch Drew's lights out. But as time went on, Kevin had gained a deeper appreciation for his dad. Not only that, but Drew Johanson had left him alone.
Kevin thought of all this when he saw that one spray-painted plywood board at Michael and Son's service station. His memories of his hometown came flooding back, seemingly with every step he took closer to his home.