His gaze never falters, so I push off the glass, grabbing my coat as I stumble down the stairs. Fumbling with the locks on the door, I finally managed to jar it open.
Fuck It’s cold.
The man is halfway down the street before my foot makes it past the welcome mat. I call out for him to stop. When he doesn’t react, I follow. In my pursuit, he manages to look over his shoulder, his body nothing but a silhouette against the streetlamps.
Who is he?My view is obstructed by a vehicle rounding the corner. The car pulls away, and I am left speechless—he is nowhere to be seen.Did he get in?He vanished as if he were a ghost.Have I met him before?My thoughts wander as I try to discern his identity. Reality brings me back as my mother’s black SUV approaches from the opposite direction. I swiftly return to the mailbox to retrieve the letter and hurry to my room. I close my door the same moment the front one opens.
I can hear my mom's laughter from downstairs. Knowing she was content is a pleasant change. The man's voice is quiet as they exchange a few words. After listening for one second more, I could tell it was Peter. I look back at the parchment in my hand, breaking the seal. A waft of Whiskey, Honey, and a slight tinge of smoke tickles my nose—a scent I won't soon forget.
Retrieving the letter from within its wrap, I allow the packaging to drop to the floor. Suspense builds as I unfold it, then begin to read:
My Dearest,
I hope this message finds you in good health. You and your sister have always meant so much to me. I would like to speak with the two of you if allowed the honor. My home address is featured below. Stop by anytime.
As I read the words on the page, my face distorts. Confusion builds inside me, a Trojan horse presenting itself with innocence.
Who is this guy, and how does he know my sister and me?
Further down the page, the address shows he lives in Owings Mills, Maryland. That’s a twelve-hour bus ride if planned right—a choice I would have to make since my car was totaled. Also, Evelyn’s rehab center is somewhere around there. Glancing at the bottom of the letter, I see the name of the sender:
Sincerely,
Alfred Tobias Selby
My heart drops, and I can feel liquid pooling in my eyes.Daddy?Haziness eclipses my vision. Blinking away a single tear, I allow it to cascade down my face. My father was everything a child could ever ask for. When he left, our hearts were shattered. I stare at the calligraphy on the page until my mind transfigures it. A tidal wave of reminiscence crashes down on me, while a tsunami of emotions rushes through my senses.
Before I can register what to do next, the house phone chimes. I can hear my mom's voice as she addresses the person on the other end. It could just be the note, but as she starts to speak, a pit forms in my stomach—a sudden feeling that my entire world is about to change. That gut retching twist you get when the vibe feels off, or even the angry butterflies that start in your belly and travel upward, trying to burst from your throat as fear takes hold of you.
Her voice is muffled as it travels through my bedroom door. Growing louder, providing little assistance in the clarification of her words. Sneaking into the hall, I hear her hang up, aggressively, I might add. The familiar sound of the phone slamming against the receiver repeatedly indicated it wasn't a good call.
Sobbing filled the house alongside an occasional scream. When she spoke, her speech was incoherent, broken, and shaky. “W-Why! Not m-my baby! W-What am I g-g-going to do... what am I g-going to say? H-how will I t-t-tell her s-s-sister! I got to go, I must go!”. All is quiet for a heartbeat. “I can’t be here right now,” she breathes.
The change in her voice was petrifying. One second, she is screaming in defiance. The next—she sounds defeated. Peter whispers, his voice barely audible over her lamenting. “Shh-shh-shh, we will figure this out together. Just breathe.” The front door opens, then shuts again. I watch from the top of the stairs as the headlights signal the car pulling out and leaving.
What did she mean?
“What did she need to tell me?” I choke on the words as they escape my mouth. Thoughts of my sister flash before me. They range from memories we shared to the number of horrible things that may or may not have happened to her. Visions of us making mudpies and swinging at parks morph into her slumped over in an alley. My face burns red-hot--a kaleidoscope of imagery goes from light to dark, happy to sad, pink to blue. Before I know it, my hands and knees hit the floor, and I am drenched in tears.
A sinking feeling hits me, and suddenly, the presentiment of something bad happening becomes more inevitable. I inspect the letter clutched in my fist—an idea molded in my forethought. I gave myself little time to contemplate the drastic plan before I was out the door to the bus stop, annual membership in hand. I waited for the bus, and as it neared, I glanced in the direction of my childhood home, then climbed aboard.
∞∞∞
The doors close behind me, sealing the chilly air outside—a small draft touches my back through my coat as the doors meet. I insert my bus pass into the machine, experiencing a mix of emotions. Waiting for the green light, but nothing happens. The bus begins to move.No light?I must have missed it, or the ticket machine is malfunctioning.
As I continue to the rear of the bus, I observe the remaining seats along the way. It is quite empty, due to the late hour. I focus on my intended destination—typically, this section remains unoccupied until now. A man, attired in vintage clothing, extends over the back seat. He appears to be one of those cosplayers I have heard about.
His fancy clothing is reminiscent of the characters from the series "Peaky Blinders". A Newsboy cap conceals his face entirely, casting shadows and warding off the light—complete with a dark trench coat that covers his three-piece suit. I have always considered such attire to be both elegant and attractive.
I locate a seat near the middle of the bus and sit down, leaning into the fabric. The bus departs as I peer through the window, my eyes swollen from crying and my body fatigued. Eventually, I fall asleep, but it was interrupted by a recurring nightmare that is deeply ingrained in my mind. I am jolted awake just as the bus screeches to a halt, and the driver's voice interrupts the silence, announcing our arrival. I nearly miss it before his words register. The individual, seated at the back of the bus, appears to have disembarked as the seat is now vacant.
As the bus begins to pull away, I scan for a rest spot. Then, looking at my phone for the first time since I started this journey, the reality of it all hits me, so I settle on a bench, mere feet from where I stood—pulling my backpack into my lap and digging around for some much-needed snack-age. A shadow catches my attention, flickering in my periphery, as I finish the rest of my beef stick.
My heart begins to race, pounding so hard I can hear it—my very own horror movie soundtrack. Before I can investigate, I am distracted by the squeaking brakes as the next bus appears. I slink over and give one last look behind me, adrenaline fueling the fear that I might see the mysterious shadow again. Instead, I am face-to-face with the guy from the first bus. His Newsy is tilted slightly to the right, hovering over his cornflower blue eyes, darkened by the deep gray handkerchief that covered the rest of his face.
My head falls back, resting on my shoulders, as I gaze up at this tower of a man, and his chiseled features—like some marble statue from the Greco-Roman era. Catching myself standing there, mouth wide open, I force my petrified body to react by giving it a little shake. Upon boarding the bus, he sits in the front, as I head toward the back, halfway to the finish line of my repetitive process: Scan my ticket. Take my seat. Settle in. Fall asleep.
∞∞∞
