“When are you coming back?” Reyn asked.
“That’s one of the things I’m calling you about.”
There was no bus station in town, but the sheriff had pointed out to him a bench where the Greyhound bus from Clovis to Bernardo stopped each afternoon around one o’clock to pick up any passengers. Gary told this to Reyn, who promised to go online, arrange with Greyhound for a ticket, somehow get him to Albuquerque and then book him on a flight back to Los Angeles.
“I thought your card was maxed out with the water pump.”
“Stacy,” he said.
“No. I can’t—”
“Don’t sweat it. You’ll pay her back, right? Besides, you need to get your ass back here ASAP.”
That was true, but Gary sensed an additional urgency in his friend’s voice. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“You’re right.”
He waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. “Well?” he prompted.
“The phones might be bugged. I’d rather tell you in person.”
“Then call from your cell. Or go somewhere else—”
“Not here. There.”
“The phones here?” Gary said incredulously, looking around at his drab surroundings.
“Yes.”
The confidence with which the word was spoken made Gary suddenly feel very vulnerable. He’d thought, after everything he’d gone through, that it would be hard to rattle him, but he suddenly realized how exposed and on edge his emotions really were. Already, his mind was racing, trying to figure out who, what, where, when and why. And how had Reyn found out about it?
They said good-bye, awkwardly, stiltedly, and Reyn took down his number and said he would call in the morning with all of the scheduling details for the return trip.
Gary hung up the phone and moved around the motel room self-consciously, wondering if he was being monitored. Reyn had hinted at no such thing, had only been wary of the phone, but Gary’s mind had expanded the paranoia so much that, despite the fact that he was filthy and sweaty and hadn’t bathed for two days, he was afraid to take a shower. Someone might be watching. Hell, naked photos of himself could appear on the Internet and haunt him for the rest of his life.
He used the bathroom only because he absolutely had to.
He went to sleep just after six and dreamed that he was back at UCLA. It was a Monday morning, and he was sitting in his European history classs—where Dr. Bergman was standing behind the lectern wearing brown burlap clothes and moccasins. “To become an Outsider,” he was saying, “one must—”
Gary jumped up from his seat and ran across campus to Reyn’s room.
Where Reyn and Stacy, wearing peasant garb, were rolling up tiny little scrolls. “You’re just in time to help us,” Stacy said cheerfully.
Gary took off, running through the streets of Los Angeles to the airport, noticing as he drew closer that more and more people on the streets were wearing drab, primitive, homemade clothing. He managed to avoid these people, all of whom seemed desperate to talk to him, dashed into the airport terminal, where he was the only person in sight, and was miraculously allowed to buy a ticket for a dollar and immediately board the plane. Seconds after strapping himself in, they landed in Ohio. His parents were waiting for him in the terminal—and they were wearing simple, hand-sewn clothes. “There’s something we need to tell you, son…” his father said.
Gary turned to run away, not wanting to hear it.
And the burly, bearded mechanic was standing there with a bloody lug wrench, grinning.
In the morning, he awoke feeling stressed and still tired. His neck was stiff, and with every movement he was conscious of the fact that he could be under surveillance.
Reyn called while he was having a breakfast of tap water to confirm that bus reservations were in place.
“What about the plane?” Gary asked.
“Well… that turned out to be a problem. Your wallet was stolen, so you don’t have any ID. I could’ve bought a ticket, but they wouldn’t’ve let you on without at least two forms of ID. Same thing for the train. So you’re transferring at Bernardo, transferring again at Albuquerque, but basically, you’re on a bus for nineteen hours. I’ll be meeting you at the downtown bus station in Los Angeles about this time tomorrow.”
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” Gary said. “And thanks for everything you’ve done. Really. This is above and beyond. You and Stacy. But the truth is, I’m starving, and I have no money to buy food. I could pass out from hunger somewhere in Arizona.”
Reyn laughed. “Your tickets include meals at the bus stations in Albuquerque and Flagstaff. I know that first leg of the trip’s going to be long, but when you get to Albuquerque, stuff yourself, eat as much as you want. It’s all taken care of.”
Gary used the pen he had gotten from the sheriff’s office to write down the details of the bus transfers, including the numbers and times, on the back of the grease-stained bag that had held his dinner.
He was supposed to check in with the sheriff, and he did so after nine, explaining that he was leaving that afternoon on the bus and heading back to California. The sheriff said that they had his phone number and address on file, and that if anything came up or they needed any additional information, they would contact him. The sheriff, his deputies and his secretary seemed no different than they had yesterday, but Gary wasn’t about to trust anyone in this town. He left as quickly as he could.
The morning crept by. He returned to his motel room to watch TV, but he had to be out of the room by eleven, and the bus didn’t arrive until twelve forty-five. He would’ve liked to eat lunch—he’d had no breakfast other than water, and it was four hours to Albuquerque—but he had no money and didn’t feel comfortable going back to the sheriff’s office and asking if he could borrow some. So he kept moving, walking past the storefronts of Larraine’s small downtown, looking suspiciously at the people who drove or walked by. He sat for a while on a bench in a small park, walked through the stacks of books in the library, but he was at the bus stop by twelve thirty. It was early, but he couldn’t afford to miss the bus, and when it arrived five minutes ahead of schedule, at twelve forty, he was glad that he’d decided to wait there.
As Reyn had told him, all he had to do was tell the driver his name. He was given a ticket in a passbook envelope, and he walked to the rear section of the bus and found a seat next to no one. The seat was comfortable and soft, the back high and supportive, and he settled into it, feeling grateful. Moments later, the driver announced that they were leaving, the doors closed with a pneumatic hiss, and they were off.
Gary looked out the window as the bus passed a hair salon, a thrift store, a hardware store, a church, as the entire town of Larraine passed by. Then he closed his eyes and smiled.
He’d made it.
Fifteen
Reyn was indeed waiting for him at the bus station, as was Stacy. Brian had a class. Both Reyn and Stacy looked tired, but they were happy to see him. Reyn grinned as Gary stepped off the bus and said, “About time,” while Stacy threw her arms around him and gave him a rib-crushing hug.
He hadn’t thought he’d be able to do so, but he’d slept on the trip back. A lot. The stress and trauma of the past few days must have caught up with him because although he’d remained awake for the first leg of the journey, he’d slept for six straight hours between Albuquerque and Flagstaff, and then for almost the entire time between Flagstaff and Los Angeles. Although he didn’t feel rested, he didn’t feel tired, either, and the first thing he asked was whether there’d been any news about Joan. He didn’t expect any, but was still filled with a deep and painful sense of disappointment when he was told that Reyn had checked this morning and the police had nothing to report.