Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2007 22:29:03 -0700 (PDT) From: Matt Wess Subject: Michael: Part Nine At seven Adam managed to get all of them out of bed, and one by one they used the shower, packed back up and were on the road by quarter to eight. Chilled morning skies lay over the city, above rows of houses in the western suburbs, backyards were moistened from last nights rain. The four of them traveled single-file across the overpass; Adam was leading the way as usual, followed closely by Michael, Macy, and then Dylan. Michael purposefully allowed a person to always be in between him and Dylan. Though last night before they fell asleep in the motel was pleasurable, it was only not awkward to an extent. They passed that line when Adam shook them awake this morning. They hadn't been in any kind of position that would be thought of as uncanny; in fact during his sleep, Michael had rolled to the complete other side of the bed. Still, Michael almost felt shameful and he had a feeling Dylan was thinking along the same lines. So it was better that Macy was in between them in their journey west. Adam told them a story at one point as they descended down from crossing yet another overpass. Try and picture him-yawing, but coherent enough to talk consecutively. He paused at the edge of a curb, waiting for the light to turn red and once it did they crossed listening intently to him. "It happened at a time when I was far from sober. You know what that is like - how damnable, that a man of refinement should be in such a state," (at these words Macy rolled her eyes to the high heavens) "but the thing was, it was only two in the afternoon. I hadn't been drinking, just still madly hung over. You see, the night before I had drunk so late into the night that I didn't arrive home until six in the morning." He craned his neck around to look at Michael. "I think you were with me that night, if memory serves me correctly." "I vaguely remember," Michael said, kicking a rock along with him. "Well, in any case, I'm still drunk during the afternoon, I wake up, and head downstairs and there in my living room was my mother's friend. Both of them are dressed extremely nicely and I'm in my goddamn sweat pants, t-shirt, eyes blood-shot, hair skewed. I had completely forgotten that my mother's friend worked at the office of admission at James Madison University and was suppose to interview me. So I shower in lightning speed, dress in slacks, a shirt and tie, and then have the interview, but I could tell she was no longer interested. After she left I certainly got a scolding, my mom claimed that she could still smell alcohol on my breath." "What was the point of that story?" Dylan interjected, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets. Adam frowned, as though perturbed that Dylan hadn't found the story interesting. "There wasn't a point; it was just to kill time." He gestured upwards. "Look, we're already at our destination." All four of them looked up in unison. "Adam," Macy asked slowly. "Why are we stopping at a hair saloon?" "Time to change identity," he responded casually. Without acknowledging Macy's flabbergasted facial expression, he pushed through the front door. Somewhere in the store a bell rang, announcing their arrival. A young lady, probably in her early twenties, emerged from the front door. She had long, red fiery finger-nails and a cool-cat attitude. "Good afternoon," she addressed the four of them. "Welcome to Jenkins Beauty Saloon, do you have an appointment?" Her eyes lingered on Dylan for a second, but averted quickly to Adam when he spoke up. "I do. It's under the name Joseph Cataract and is it at all possible for my friends here to get an appoint, as well?" About an hour and half later the four of them were staring questionably at their new self. Macy had to admit the logic of this, but a flicker of distrust stayed in her eyes. She ran her hand through her now dark, red hair. Trying to do something to style it, but all in all it didn't look half bad. Adam had bleached his hair, Dylan's was now a chestnut brown, and as for Michael, his hair color was night-black, which contrasted deeply with his blue eyes. "That should throw off the cops for the time being," Adam commented. There was one thing that Michael had been musing over. Apparently Adam had anticipated being in this location at this time or else he wouldn't have made the hair appointment. So how long had Adam planned on running away? They were now traveling casually through a quaint town. No bystanders paid the least bit attention to them, despite their large bruises. Old cafes and shops stood side-by-side in a vertical row-boat manner, occasionally Macy would be mesmerized by the items in the window and drift inside. To get her out of the stores Adam would usually put his foot down firmly and insist that they leave at once. "I'm not sure what the big deal is," Macy remarked. "You said yourself that the cops should be thrown off by your ingenious idea." "Yes, but the more shops we go into, the more our identity will be made public." She placed a hat back on the rack, and stopped abruptly at his last remark, holding her coat tighter around her, an inquisitive look on her young face. "Is that the police across the street?" Adam, Michael, and Dylan whirled around. Sure enough a few policemen were emerging from the store that they had just been in, carrying a note pad and heading directly for the store they were presently standing in. Adam cursed heavily under his breath. "Shit-shit-shit," he pushed them all forward, towards the back of the store. The store owner looked at them suspiciously. "May I help you?" he asked, popping out from behind a rack of clothes. The policemen were advancing closer. Michael had a feeling that their new hair-do wouldn't cut it. They still had the same face profiles. "Do you have a bathroom?" he asked hurriedly. "Why yes, we do, but it's a one person bathroom." "That's okay," Macy said, hurrying forward, "we just need to wash our hands." They disappeared in the back of the store just as the front door opened with a jingle. "Hello there, officers!" Michael heard the store owner saying out front. They were currently standing in the middle of a large storage area. To the right was the bathroom, but nothing else. So they took off in the opposite direction, this time Dylan was leading the pack. They weaved frantically through shelves of random objects in enormous boxes. There was a pause once they hit a dead-end, then from the front of the store, suddenly: "It just so happens that four teenagers were just in here, officers. Though they didn't have that color hair. Let me go check for you." The four of them stopped breathing, and watched the store owner enter the back. They could only make out his feet through spaces on the over-crowded shelves. He headed towards the bathroom, paused, then shuffled back out to the front. "Go!" Adam hissed. "Towards that window!" They scuttled down the narrow aisle of packages, being as silent as possible. Michael's heart was beating twice its normal rate. He couldn't imagine how the police had picked up on them so quickly. Once they reached the bottom of the window, they stacked a few boxes on top of each other, pausing only once in fright when the police entered the back of the room. Dylan made his way to the top and noiselessly pushed the window open. Meanwhile, Michael was bringing up the rear and kept on checking behind him to make sure the police were there. As far as he could tell, the officers were still making their way through the labyrinth of shelves; he could hear the soft rhythmical tapping of their footfall. One-by-one they slipped through the small open window. Michael checked behind him once more-the aisle was still empty. There were the large boxes and random paraphernalia, but this time the footsteps were much, much closer. In fact it wasn't until he was scaling the boxes that he realized the officers had only been an aisle over. Michael landed on the ground outside with a thump. From the inside he could hear the crackling police officer radio. One of the officers was talking into his radio, "I think we're on to them." "Absolutely fucking impossible!" Adam said in an outraged tone an hour later. "How could they have caught on this quickly?" The moment they escaped from the shop they ran like hell. Now they were way far away from the town and seated around a table at McDonalds and for the most part away from the officers, but the sense of paranoia was spreading through all of them. Every other second one of them would check over their shoulders. "Good thing we dyed our hair, huh?" Dylan said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. "This whole trip has been one joke after another. I bet you didn't even have a bullet in that gun you pointed at me." "Would you like to go out back and run that question by me again?" Adam scowled. "Alright," Michael interrupted. "Enough. It doesn't matter if this trip is a joke or not, the point is that we're too far in to turn around. The police are on our tail. Once we get to Ohio we'll use my mom's house as a safe haven." Nobody rebuked his idea. Reason being, they didn't have any ideas of their own to offer. Macy tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, and nodded her head. "I also think we should keep a low profile. We've been to too many places, that waitress last night, the guy at Motel 6, the hairdresser, the store keeper. That's probably how the police caught up with us. It doesn't take much to interrogate somebody and find out answers. So maybe from here on out we should travel by night." Looks of skepticism ran around the table. "Because that's not dangerous," Dylan finally spoke up. "It's less dangerous than walking around broad day-light where we will be noticed by anybody. Also," she dropped her voice. "The police will be less inclined to search during the night." "She has a point," Michael agreed, finishing his chicken nuggets. He glanced to the left outside the window, where the sun was already setting. Long shadows were cast across the landscape and somewhere in the near distance he heard the steady rumble of trucks on the highway. They had been traveling nearly all day and his feet were thanking him for it. It was a change of pace; and Michael could not but sigh over it and wish for impossible things. A lull in action came - a gentle lull - but not at all in the shape of any disagreeable consciousness. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived; that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with him. Michael was becoming increasingly tired as they trudged through the underbelly of New York's suburbs. His eyelids became heavy with the burden of keeping up their quick moving pace through the still night. Every so often they would pass another crummy motel and Michael would be the first to suggest that they stop for the night, but every time his suggestion was vetoed. Finally, around two in the morning, Adam stopped short on the sidewalk, apparently his feet could not longer continue. A cold nocturnal passion of uprising winds swept down the deserted street of a random town they were in. The town was a slum, there was no denying that, but Michael had a feeling they were close to the border of New York and Pennsylvania. They had to be - especially after the long, strenuous hours they just traveled by foot. Adam rubbed his hands together vigorously and blew warm air on them. "Why don't we find a place to stay now, eh?" He struck a match and lit a cigarette and offered cigarettes all around, but nobody took up on his offer. He shrugged and dropped the package in his back pocket. "See any Holiday Inns?" Macy inquired, peering up and down the street. "Come off it," Adam replied in annoyance. "Even if there was one right in the middle of the fucking street we wouldn't stay there, because we don't have enough money." A doorknob rattled behind them and a door creaked open. All four of them jumped, completely taken aback, as a woman emerged. Adam placed his hand on his book bag, feeling for the gun. The stranger introduced herself as Jenna Kloves, she looked sensible, and was a very old and sturdy character. She lived above the bakery that they had been standing outside of and was a little bit more welcoming than what is expected in human nature, which put Michael on the paranoid side, but who could be cautious of an old woman? He realized that she had been addressing them in her feeble voice. "- I couldn't help to over hear your conversation." "What do you do, stand with your ear up against the door all night long?" Dylan asked, scrunching his face up with disbelief. Jenna cackled. "Oh goodness, no, I only have so many hours left on this earth do you really think I would spend them in that manner? I should say not. No, I'm the owner of this bakery shop," she hitched her thumb over her shoulder. "And I was just locking up." "At two in the morning?" Macy asked, cocking her eyebrow. "I close at midnight today, because I had a sale. The store is still a mess even after I spent two hours cleaning it up." She shook her head, her wispy gray hair falling from its tight bun. "In any case, I was heading back up to my place and I overheard your conversation and I'm willing to help you." "That's very kind of you ma'am, but we're perfectly okay with staying in a hotel." Adam said curtly. "The next hotel isn't for miles," Jenna responded, fixing her hair. "Listen, I'm not a serial killer, or a rapist, I'm just an old lady who is out reaching towards the public - but if you're not willing to accept my help, just be careful on these streets at night. Goodnight." She turned around and retreated back indoors. "Adam!" Macy whispered harshly, "why don't we accept her offer? We haven't got a place to stay!" Adam tossed his cigarette angrily aside, saying: "No! You said yourself that we should keep a low profile and staying with a random stranger isn't what comes to mind. We'll find a hotel and stay there until tomorrow night." "She said there wasn't a hotel around for miles," Dylan pointed out. "I say we stay with her." Michael joined with the consensus of both Dylan and Macy and was already a step ahead of everybody else. He lifted his fist to knock on the splintered door, but it swung open on its own. A dank, musty smell filled his nostrils. The four of them stood at the landing, looking up a narrow stand case. The only lighting was the dull light shining from Jenna's apartment upstairs. "Jesus," Adam muttered. "Michael, think through this. We blow this wretched place and head forward to find the nearest inn." Michael shook his head; he had a secure feeling about this place. One step at a time he ascended slowly, the wooden steps creaking heavily under his weight. He was followed by Macy, Dylan, and then Adam hesitantly followed pursuit. Michael reached out and gripped the wooden railing, guiding him upwards. However, he stopped abruptly when he felt the sharp intake of a splinter sliding under his skin. "What's wrong?" came Macy's voice from the dark. "Nothing, just a splinter," Michael said, shaking his hand, as though attempting to shake it out. He continued his way to the higher landing. From behind the door he could hear the sound of a television and the smell of coffee brewing. With little hesitation he pushed the door open and felt like he was entering a whole new realm. He emerged into a living room that was filled with plush furniture; several hundred framed pictures lined the walls; a ceiling fan twirled lazily above them. There was a strong contrast between the blackness of the stairwell and the vibrant colors of Jenna's living room. It felt like daytime. "Mrs. Kloves?" Michael called out, taking another step forward. "In the kitchen, dears!" her voice rang out. The kitchen ran adjacent to the living room and was even more abnormally bright with yellow ceramic tiles, yellow cabinets, and numerous daisies placed strategically in Lenox vases. In a brighter light Jenna Kloves looked perfectly harmless. She was pudgy, well-rounded, and every wrinkle on her face indicated where smiles once were. "I made coffee for the girl. I can always spot a coffee drinker," she reported, lifting the kettle off of its rosy coils on the stove. She poured a mug for Macy. "Could I ask why you invited us in? Do you do this often?" Michael asked, settling down at the kitchen table. He watched as Jenna bustled to and fro, explaining herself. "No, truthfully, I don't do this at all." She set out four plates on the table and took a box out from one of the cabinets. "Pastries made by yours truly," she smiled. "In fact, I usually don't trust society enough to let a stray dog in. As you can see my place is held up to pristine conditions, but I do watch the news and very few people pass through this town, unless they live here. So even late at night the four of you stick out like a sore thumb." "We're on the news?" Dylan asked, picking out a hefty size donut. "Not a whole lot, but it was mentioned that four teenagers are being hunted down for the murder of a police officer. I won't ask what the story is behind that situation. All I knew is that when I saw the four of you I knew I'd better get you before anybody else does. You really ought to be more careful." Adam didn't accept a pastry. "How do we know you aren't going to turn us in? Did you lie about the sale?" Jenna continued to smile. "You're the stubborn one; I knew that from the moment I saw you. I won't turn you in, because I'm simply not like that. Listen, you don't have to stay here. If you don't trust me enough to believe that I did actually have a sale that lasted until midnight, then you won't trust me when I say I won't turn you in." She untied her apron and set it outside. "I'll let you make up your minds." Michael observed his splinter at length, while considering the situation. She really did seem like an innocent lady who could be trusted. After a period of silence, except for the noise of the television in the other room, Adam let out a heavy sigh. "Fine, as long as I don't have to sleep with Macy again."