Authors: Danielle
“Over here, over here!”
Dean Tenbrook and a number of armed guards suddenly slid around the corner. “Get him!” Dean Tenbrook’s face was red and a vein pulsed in her forehead. Oliver kicked back his other leg again, grazing Paul’s shoulder. He swung his foot around and crouched on the ledge.
The guards approached, five of them, with their hands at their waists. “Oliver. We don’t want to make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Get off the ledge, and there will be no need for us to harm you.” Dean Tenbrook walked forward stepped forward slowly. “We only want to talk to you.” Oliver laughed. He had had enough. A cool breeze floated in from the window, and Oliver found himself, despite the protests of his conscious, wishing hard for something. The breeze grew colder---icy, even---and the fluorescent lights in the hallway flickered twice, and then every light in the building exploded.
“Don’t let him escape.”
Dean Tenbrook’s voice came from somewhere in the blackness, shortly followed by the bang of gunfire. Oliver scrambled out of the window, just as the glass shattered.
It took Oliver a minute to realize where he was. With a shock, he realized he was standing near the admissions office, right outside the plain building he’d asked Dean Tenbrook about on the tour. Gunshots rang out once more and Oliver ran. He sprinted down the main quad and towards the safety of the dark forest before him. The gunshots continued, soon followed by the sound of barking dogs. Oliver narrowly avoided the long path of the flashlights but he looked back to see snapping German Shepherds trailing close behind. The cover of the forest was within in his grasp and within seconds he slid in, collapsing in a mound of earth and leaves. He ducked behind a tree, and silently cursed the fact that the tree was nearly barren from the changing seasons.
“We have entered the forest. I’m sending the dogs forward. Will report back within the hour.” A guard spoke into his walkie talkie, too close for comfort. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut trying to remember where exactly the pothole was. Damien’s map showed up in pieces in his mind and he desperately tried to connect the dots. A guard walked by him and he held his breath so that it, along with the cold night air, didn’t betray him. When the guard passed, Oliver darted through the trees on a path he only hoped was right. He ran until he could no longer hear the angry growls, each sound from the forest sending him scurrying deeper into the night. After what seemed like forever, Oliver stopped to catch his breath. He put his hands on his knees, wheezing, and making big o shaped steam. He rubbed his hands together, as the cold had finally gotten to him. The ends of his fingers were bright red and stinging. He reached into his backpack and almost cried with relief when he felt sheepskin gloves beneath his swollen finger tips.
Oliver looked up at the moon. It was clearly visible through the bare forest canopy. He sat down---or rather, collapsed---at the trunk of a particularly skinny pine while the previous events of the night caught up to him. He fished around in his bag and withdrew two hundred dollars, a change of clothes, a jacket, several cans and packs of food, a canteen, a Swiss army knife, and his watch. He tilted the watch towards the moonlight and read “11:42pm.” His stomach rumbled, but he put away the food. Oliver leaned his head back against the pine and curled his hands up at the base, at a genuine loss for what came next. His fingers closed around a small, folded piece of paper. He opened it. The writing was blurred by dew, but he could still make out some of the words.
“Keep going north for
another three miles. Then, east. You’ll see it.” The name at the bottom was blotchy, but with only four letters, Oliver knew that it said Owen.
He wobbled to his feet and set off again. Oliver walked and walked. The sounds of barking dogs soon became secondary to the rustling and chirping of night animals. He walked for as long as his legs would allow before settling besides a fallen log. He balled up the jacket from his bag and used it as a makeshift pillow before drifting into a sleep that was more like temporary death.
Oliver woke with a start the next day, as the sunlight poured down directly upon him. A fawn stood two trees over, watching him with large, unblinking eyes. He felt around for the note again, not sure if it was simply a mirage made up by his desperate mind, and sighed when he found it once more. Oliver peeled open his can of beans and gobbled it down, feeling a bit sad as he felt the can grow lighter.
He walked on and on, alternating between loving the silence and being afraid of it.
This was the way he told himself continuously because he liked to believe that the universe would hear him. Oliver continued on, descending deeper into the forest, where searchlights could no longer touch him. On the third day, he slept stiffly underneath a giant oak, though he was grateful for the protection from the rain. Along with him slept the creepy crawlers of the night, and Oliver awoke at least twice to find centipedes resting on top of him. Something furry ran across his foot, but he found that he was too exhausted to investigate. On the fourth day, he set a fire, warming his hands around it and watching as the sparks danced up to the sky only to be turned into steam if they got too high. His thoughts drifted to the seniors, and he wondered if the pothole led somewhere they all wanted to go, or somewhere worse. He considered leaving the fire to burn, to keep him company, but instead stomped it out as soon as he had warmed the last of his soup. The ashes from the fire fizzled out, casting Oliver back in the darkness he had come to know as a close friend.
When the pothole came into his line of vision, Oliver nearly cried. He ran up to it and hugged it like a long lost friend. Down he went, descending into even more darkness. He landed at the bottom and he stood in the middle of two tunnels.
Uncertainty rose within him, before he spotted another note on the ground near the leftmost tunnel. It was wet with sewer water and read “This way---Malachi” Oliver ran eagerly forward, splashing dirty water up all around him and never more conscious of how light his bag was feeling. The tunnel was dimly lit, the lights a sickly green color. Every so often they would flicker, and Oliver had to ask himself if it was of his own doing.
After some time, the end of the tunnel came into sight, and Oliver sped up, despite the protests from his legs. He grasped as the ladder and climbed, his elbows and knees cracking at
every moment they could. He threw open the pothole and climbed out. Before him stood, perhaps, the longest, most empty stretch of road he had ever seen. He turned left and right, and saw nothing but smooth, paved road and grass for miles. A rusty bench sat close to the highway, a little too close Oliver thought, but he sat anyway. He didn’t know what day it was anymore. Cars zoomed close by, sending his jacket fluttering but his limbs refused to move.
Eventually
, a bus rolled up to the bench. The doors cranked open, but Oliver sat unmoving. “Are you going to get on?” The bus driver yelled.
Oliver shook his head
, exhausted. “This is the last bus going west for today. Where are you headed?”
“New Hampshire.” Oliver said, realizing he had no idea where he was currently.
“The main bus station isn’t too far from here. You can connect from there. I can drop you.” The bus driver was an older man with a beard that looked like it hadn’t been combed in days, although Oliver wasn’t exactly in any position to discuss one’s hygiene.
“Come on, now. I have to keep time.”
Oliver wasn’t even sure how his arms and legs were still working at this point, but he managed to board the bus and the first seat he could find, he collapsed into it. He could feel the other occupants of the bus staring. A woman with children in the seat next to him kept sneaking sly glances, while her children simply stared outright. Oliver pulled his coat tighter. He might have asked for a mirror, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see what he looked like.
The bus pulled into a
station, filled with hordes of people and other terminals. Oliver stopped at the front before stepping off.
“How much?”
He asked.
The bus driver shook his head. “I know trouble when I see it. You don’t need anymore. Good luck, son.” He thanked the bus driver and then wandered through the crowd of people before stopping at a terminal that connected to New Hampshire.
“I’m trying to get to the Meadow Treatment Center in New Hampshire.” He told the driver.
“The hospice?”
Oliver jerked backwards. “Um. Um Yeah.” Oliver stuttered.
“Yeah, this is the bus. About a two hour drive. $35 for a one way. You need a round trip? It’s only $55.”
“No, no. Just one way.”
“Any luggage?”
“No, just this.” The bus driver narrowed his eyes but waved him onto the bus.
Oliver collapsed into the seat and slept until he felt the bus stop moving for good.
~
Oliver stood
across the street from the Meadows Treatment Center, suddenly feeling very conscious about his appearance. He sniffed under his arms and wrinkled his nose at the smell.
Well,
Oliver thought,
there’s nothing you can do about it now.
He gripped his backpack tighter and walked through the parking lot and towards the center. A few well-dressed ladies carrying bouquets walked by and immediately burst into whispers, but Oliver continued on as if he did not hear.
He had arrived inside the center soaked, smelling and paranoid.
You have to be a member of the family.
The nurse remarked, taking a long, judgmental look at his person.
I'm going to need to see some I.D.
Oliver fished his Delafontaine School I.D out of his pocket, taking a moment to gaze at his picture. He looked young, naïve even. There was so much he hadn't known. He wondered if there was a higher power laughing somewhere, as he sat on his throne made of galaxies, bemused by the happenings of the Earth below.
Oliver kneeled by the hospital bed
, hot tears rolling down his cheek. The nurse had told him that this was the room his mother would be in, but the woman in the bed was not her.
She's not even going to hear you.
The nurse said coldly, as Oliver rushed into the room. Indeed, his mother did not acknowledge his presence. The room was dark---the paisley curtains were shut, and the sun cast strange light patterns over the tile floor. The air smelled like metal and disinfectant. Oliver breathed in and he felt his lungs cringe from the dirty air. Before him, his mother lay in a crumpled heap that was barely discernible from a pile of dirty laundry. Her hospital gown was twice her size and cascaded off her frail body like waves. A mess of wires ran from her body to bags and machines behind her. There were so many wires and tubes that Oliver lost count. He reached forward to touch her, but at the last moment he stopped, and looked down at his gloved hands. Tears rushed forth and his vision became an unprepared windshield on the day of a monsoon. His mother's eyes were closed. If he had not seen her slow intakes of breath, he would have thought that she had already passed on. An ugly voice inside Oliver's mind reminded him that he was lucky that she was sedated. He hadn't prepared anything, because he didn't know how to say goodbye to someone he wasn't ready to leave. He watched as her chest moved up and down slowly, wondering if she knew.
His mother began to stir. Her hand moved slowly, followed by the fluttering of eyelids before they opened to reveal the brown eyes that O
liver recognized. Her look was vacant for a moment, before Oliver noticed the signs of recognition. Her eyes lit up and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out at an audible level.
Hands trembling uncontrollably, Oliver leaned in closer to his mother. She smelled of lavender, and Oliver wondered if she still dabbed that perfume on her neck while she was in the hospital. He wondered if the nurse did it for her, to keep routine.
"Oliver." Her voice was so soft, Oliver was afraid that if he breathed he would be unable to hear her. "You've done really well for yourself, considering everything." She whispered, and she attempted to work her face into a smile, but she appeared to have lost the energy for it halfway through, leaving her lips stuck in a sneer. Oliver shook his head, feeling like the biggest fraud in the world. She really didn't know. In her eyes, she saw her son reformed. Sent away to a private school to learn how to be a man. "I sent you letters. Did you get them?"
Oliver shook his head, sadly. "If I had gotten then, I would have been here sooner." His mother's eyes changed, a sense of
urgency overtaking her gentle gaze. "Then, I need to tell you this." Her voice grew stronger, and Oliver felt fear clutch his heart like a greedy lover. Oliver took several deep breaths, although his heart continued to beat out of control. The clock on the wall above his mother's bed ticked loudly, and it was as if each second that dragged by, it ticked even louder. "Give me your hands." Oliver reached up and laid his gloved hands across his mother's lap. "Take off your gloves." Oliver stopped short and drew back his hands sharply, but not before his mother grabbed his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. She slowly pulled the gloves from Oliver's trembling fingers and held his hands in hers. Oliver's mother looked up into his eyes, and she whispered "It’s not your fault, I was careless. I know. I always have. I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do. Go." She gripped his hand, and stared into his eyes. Oliver felt his stomach twist and then he felt nothing. It was as if something had stopped it. He looked quizzically at his mother. “The only thing I would wish for is standing right in front of me.” His mother smiled at him, and repeated in a voice so low, that Oliver wasn’t sure if he actually heard it in his head: “Go. Find it. I know there is a place for you in this world. I am sorry it could not be with me.” Oliver closed his eyes, and tears poured down his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, the heart machine was beeping at a steady pace and his mother’s eyes were the ones that were closed.