The Quest part 4

it is coming into focus

 

      To get to the next town over I needed to take Hwy 5. It is a small unimportant roadway, with little traffic and no shoulders. For all the things it doesn’t have, it is loaded down with hairpin curves and front row views of the foothills. This time of year, is grand with each passing day the fields are just a little greener and the sky filtering from tones of chilly grey to various shades of island blue. Dogwoods and redbuds are generously bejeweled, not to mention a cherry blossom here and there.

 

      My old charger was built to corner, but I have lots on my mind. As I sort the facts and proceed ahead with ease I study how this will turn out. I’m not sure if a person can consider a vision a fact, but I’m certain of its truth. Now the question is what will I do with this information. I come to the only three-way interest on this stretch of road and keep driving straight, only ten more miles to town.

 

     My headache will not let up. I roll down the window for a spot of fresh air. Up ahead I see a small gas station, I pull in for a coke and aspirin. As I walk in I immediately  notice the woman behind the counter. I smile. Even though it is a lovely day she is still bundled for winter; turtleneck, sweater and scarf. “A little under the weather, are we?” she asks louder than my pain threshold liked, and I stifle my grimace.

 

     “Yes, ma’am.” I smile as I speak and quickly pay her and retreat to my car. Out of a very old habit, I tab the top of my coke can before I open it. The sound of it opening opens my imagination and I see the hooded man holding a freshly opened beer. He is reading the article about the Bogart’s. They were not a random choice. He knew them, no, not them, he knew her. She was his fourth-grade-teacher. All those years ago seem like yesterday to him. At the end of the school year, she had told his mother to keep a close eye on Pete. “His name is Pete”, I mumble.

      “Your son is headed for trouble.” Mrs. Bogart had said in my vision the woman sat in some chairs. Mrs. Bogart seemed very intent on conveying her message. Pete was just outside sitting in the hallway.

 

     I don’t know how I am able to fill in the blanks, but shortly after that meeting, his mother died. He could not forgive the old woman. His mother died thinking he would turn out to be no good. “How’s that for trouble,” he snarled as he tossed the paper into the trash. My visions were more connected and no longer foggy. The man looked up and for a split second, it felt like he was looking straight into my eyes.

 

     Out of fear I gasped and dropped my bottle of aspirins. Quickly I took a drink of my soda and started the car. For no reason I turned right on the Hwy taking me back toward the three-way intersection.  I took the right onto Junction B then I stopped in front of Goodnight Lane. I slowed the car and placed it in park. I stared down the road. I had a slight tremble in my hand and to settle my nerves I lit a cigarette. In my mind I could hear him (my old Shade, that’s making me crazy). “He lives down that road.” The voice in my mind said.

 

      Without even thinking I turned down the lane. Right there it was on the left-hand-side of the road, an old chrome single-wide trailer. The mailbox read Pete Miller Route 4. Panic washed over me, I turned around on the road and headed back toward town. I didn’t mean to kick up dust as I speed away, but I did. So much for being sly.

 

     Little pieces of my memory would be lost once the angel would begin to speak. As my mind cleared I found myself sitting in front of the address from my vision. I was gripped by fear. The need to remain anonymous washed over me. I took out my notepad and began to write.

 

 

Hello,

I am sorry to leave you such a cryptic note, but I believe a man named Pete Miller is going to try and burn your house down tonight.

 

 

     My sketcher’s felt more like concrete lined galoshes rather than the air-glides that they were. With the note in hand I headed to their screen door. A knot in the pit of my stomach was teetering on the verge of exploding. All I had to do was secure the note and hurry home. I stepped up on the landing but before I could slip the note inside the screen the front door swung open. Pete, opened the door. My back foot not quite on the ledge lost its balance. I tumbled to the ground, turning my ankle and like a paper airplane my note took to flight.

 

     “Oh dear,” he shouted. He sounded more angry than worried about my health. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”

 

     I am a fool is what popped in my head no one on earth knows where I am. Well no people anyway. “I’ll be alright. I just hurt my pride and possible sprang my ankle.” I jumped to my feet before he could open the screen door and grappled for my note. Thank goodness it was folded but with ease, he beat me to it.

 

     “Here let me help.” He handed the note to me. I tried not to overextend my hand and remain casual. “What brings you here? I don’t think I know you.”

 

     “A, I’m,” I brush off my clothes as I try to think. “with Avon. I sell Avon.” What kind of excuse is that I yell at myself. I don’t even wear Avon and haven’t seen an agent since 1991.

 

“Well my sister isn’t home right now.”

“Your sister!” I blurted out.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll try and catch her later,” and I turn to go.

“Hey, do you want to leave her a book?”

 

     You’ve got to be kidding I think. “No, not right now I want to get some ice on my ankle.” Quickly I hobble to my car and drive away.

---

 [MP1]

Reviews

[Neville]

So glad the quest is still on Cherrie, we still need more though..ya can't just leave it like that....

[genocide]

the quest does this mean that this person is searching to find out who they really are

[Cherrie Palmer]

the title will change once I'm done. but i don't know what it will be yet.

[genocide]

cool hey I need a favor I need a review for the united states of darkness suggestions improvement suggestions for this story

[genocide]

this is written very well great sentence sturtuce and great spelling I wish I could write like that

[Cherrie Palmer]

Thank you, but you know I am the Queen of typo's :)

[genocide]

yes you are my dear I hope I can become as good as you grammer is not my strong point