Acceleration

by Lin Larson

  Finally, Martin relaxed and settled back to read the letter.

  Heather took a bite of her food and then lost her appetite. She watched her mother’s face carefully as the pages were slowly turned. The ending finally came. Heather and her mother sat back almost simultaneously.

  “Well?”

  “It’s terrific fiction. I always did think Stone was a good writer.” Martin stuffed the pages back into the envelope. “Do you really expect me to believe this and print it? I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Mom, he’s not a fool, he’s a famous man. Why would he make it all up?”

  “To cover his tail. He committed murder. Why, no one knows. He killed his brother and a hospital full of patients.”

  “Mom, who’s the fool now? Did you ever ask why? And what kind of patients?”

  “It’s hard when the records were destroyed?”

  “Were they? The key is Jensen. Do you trust him?” Heather asked.

  “No, but that’s beside the point. I don’t have to like a man to believe him?” said Martin.

  “Heather was adamant. “I didn’t say like him, I said trust him?”

  Martin leaned back in sudden awe of her forceful daughter. “You really believe Stone, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. Mom. His stepdaughter, Sarah, has been given the drug. Jensen fed it to her. She is six-years-old and dying from old age now.”

  “You saw her? What hospital?”

  “Mom, if I tell you, you can’t let him be caught.” Heather put her hand over her mother’s hand as she pulled out her notepad and pen.

  “I won’t, if he’s innocent.”

  “But you think he’s guilty.” Heather said, as she shifted her position in discouragement and put down the pen.

  “I’m a reporter, Heather. I regret to say that we always go for the guilty verdict until proven innocent. It’s a fatal flaw, probably in this case. Okay, for the sake of argument, suppose this fantastic tale is true. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just print his side for now. It should stir up the soup. It might prove exciting, Mother. You also might just have the story of a lifetime.”

  “Where did you learn to be so convincing?” Martin smiled genuinely.

  “I watched you carefully because,” Heather paused, “because I always wanted to impress you.” Heather bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to sound so maudlin.”

  “I rather like it, Heather. By the way, I always was impressed with you.” Martin did love her daughter. “I guess I tried too hard to compete in my job. I forgot sometimes that I have this wonderful kid. How about a hug. I’m sorry.”

  “Sure.” Heather stood. “In front of everyone.”

  “Why not?” Martin stood, embraced her daughter, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “But perhaps we shouldn’t overdo it, or people will talk.” She laughed.

  “I’m glad I had this excuse to see you, Mother.”

  “Me too. So now, introduce me to the elusive Mr. Samuel Stone. Is he here? Why didn’t you bring him?”

  Sam rose and stood before her. He extended his hand. “She did. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Martin.”

  Martin was truly stunned. “And I you,” She stumbled to her feet. “Please, sit down. I hate looking up to a wanted killer.”

  Sam frowned and still stood.

  “You are too old for my daughter, you know. I do see her fascination, however. It must be the disguise. She always did like a good mystery, but I hope she didn’t overbite here.” Martin scanned Sam thoughtfully. “I need to call my editor and tell him that I will be late. You may take longer than this pastrami, Mister.” Martin adjusted her elegantly tailored suit. “Excuse me.”

  When her mother was out of site, Heather cleared her throat. “What do you think of old mom?”

  Sam picked up the checks from both tables and aimlessly laid down bills. “She’s a strong lady, Heather.” He couldn’t seem to put down a foreboding, however. The minutes ticked by, Sam got more restless. Then all hell broke loose.

  Sam saw the cop car and bolted for the back door. He wasn’t sure which way to go, but it was definitely not to the front. He crashed into a waiter and sent the plates upside down on a group of businessmen. He plowed through a service door and slid on the kitchen floor. He’d never had people terrified of him before. He hated the sensation. Sam burst into the alley but ducked down at the scream to “freeze.” He pushed over a barrel of trash and seized a fire escape. The bar chilled his fingers, and he knew he was being followed. This can’t be happening. Thoughts raced through his head. This was real. He’d been betrayed. He had trusted foolishly. Keep running.

  Sam tore up the ladder and across the roof to the edge. The distance to the adjacent roof was a good four feet. He doubted he’d make it, but what was the alternative? He took a running start and hurled his body across the yawning cavity. He landed near the edge and lost his footing. Sam grabbed with his fingers and clawed his way back onto the flat cold haven’s surface.

  He gasped and clung only a second, then sprang to his feet. A gun cracked in the wind, and Sam felt an intense burning in his arm. He was hit, but he’d been through worse. Then he felt himself thrown forward as a second shot skimmed his skull. He didn’t have time to feel his head, only to get up and leap for the second roof. He would make it; he just knew it. He wasn’t finished.

  Shit. Life was hard sometimes, and it just seemed to get harder. He sprinted the third roof. That’s it. He wouldn’t tempt fate on a fourth. He yanked on the roof door. It wouldn’t budge. He took out Heather’s gun, which had rested so long in his pocket and thankfully not fallen out. He blew out the lock, and it moved easily. He was vaguely aware of a throbbing and dizziness rising and falling in his consciousness, but he hadn’t the time to dwell on it. He buried the gun again in his pocket and leaped down the stairs.

  Sam reached the street and mingled in the crowds. No one saw the tall lean man, with blood on his face, pulling up his jacket collar and heading into the wind. No one really cared. The few people who stopped the flow of their lives were interested in the mass of police that had surrounded a restaurant. The glitzy lake front establishments did not recognize figures that weren’t their own. Certainly criminal elements would be caught and sent to the other side of the city. That did not concern them. Sam kept walking and walking.

  The distance from the restaurant widened. Sam slumped on a park bench. He needed to think and gather his strength. He didn’t know where he was going, and he needed to rest. His hand went to the side of his head. He felt a crusting of blood, not too serious, but it sure carried a headache. He eased his aching arm from the sleeve of his jacket. He jerked off his tie and bound the bleeding extremity. He knew the tie was good for something; it sure didn’t impress Elizabeth Martin.

  Poor Heather, he thought. She’s probably mad as hell. He was too tired to be angry at her mother.

  He would have to lose himself in the city. He hoped it was possible. He would go for his car later. Now to find a place to crash. He headed away from the posh and towards the real people of the city. He could belong, if he could just think clearly for a little longer.

  CHAPTER 27

  Sam paid the chubby ruddy-faced man for two days. He had stumbled on the steps of the sleazy hotel. He hoped that the desk clerk would think him drunk. The man had grunted an obscene order about not throwing up on his carpet. Sam figured the place had been through too many sick men and women. Who would search for him here? No one, and that was good, sort of.

  Sam climbed the steps to the room. He didn’t care what it looked like. He would take a hole in the ground as long as it had a bed and was warm. The room almost fit the technical requirements. Sam banged on the heater which managed only a faint glow. He flicked on the light, and roaches scampered to their respective walls.

  “Sorry fellows,” Sam tiredly stared at the insects. “You gotta share this place. I paid, you are freeloaders.” Sam fell across the worn sheets of the murphy bed. “Stay down
bed.” He muttered. “I really don’t want to bounce up and join the insects in that wall.” He couldn’t stay awake for any more casual conversation with the pesky inhabitants. His arm had stopped bleeding, although it still held its deadly bullet. He would attend to it later. If he could just sleep first…Sam passed out.

  #

  “Mother, I trusted you!” Heather sputtered with anger.

  “Quiet, dear; it’s time for my broadcast.” Martin turned to the camera and gave her hair one last pat. Snow had begun to shower her with white flakes. She did not belong in this wonderland, and she obviously wasn’t enjoying it.

  Neither was her daughter. “Mother, don’t call me dear, not after what you did!” Heather tossed the paper cup with its brown liquid at her mother’s rich grey suit. “My coffee’s cold.” She started to flounce away but stopped. “Mother, when did you get to be such a bitch? And, when did a story become more important than the truth?” Heather grabbed Eddie’s arm furiously. “Eddie, I have to get away from here.” Heather couldn’t see now; tears were flooding her vision. She swiped at them and pulled Eddie away from the film crew and leaned against the building. She could hear her mother’s voice proudly snapping out her story.

  “Sam Stone, the writer and fugitive has been sighted here in Chicago. He has given me a fantastic story of government cover up. Is it fact or some of Mr. Stone’s exciting fiction? We have not verified his claims so you, the listener, must consider that. He is also a wanted criminal, perhaps wounded and hiding in the streets of this city. A heavy storm has begun to pound on this windy city. Will he survive it? This reporter will bring you reports, as they come in. We do know that a beard covers his features; here is our artist’s conception. Any information on his whereabouts will be rewarded by this reporter and the network. We are committed to learning the truth, be it fact or fiction. Here is Mr. Stone’s story, as he revealed it to me not two hours ago.” The polished Ms. Martin read the contents of Sam’s letter.

  Heather listened intently from the distance. She could remember his voice and the words. Sam’s story was being told, at least her mother hadn’t discarded it. Soon the real news vultures will cut loose. They will devour and dissect the story. Truth will come out, somehow. Heather had to cling to this hope.

  Heather thought of Sam, she huddled deeper within her fancy fur parka. He was hurt, and they had his picture. “Eddie, what do we do now?”

  Eddie must be thinking her same thoughts. “The car.”

  “The car.” Heather chimed in, simultaneously. “The police may not know about it. Do you think Sam can get back to it?”

  “Yeah, eventually.” Eddie said. His eyes peeked through his wire rimmed glasses. Snowflakes melted on the glass, and he smeared them with his coat sleeve. “It’s the eventually that worries me. We may have quite a wait. We could take shifts.”

  “It’s going to be cold in that car.” Her eyes suddenly got wide. “Eddie, do you think it’s locked?”

  Eddie was having trouble seeing now. He took off his glasses, buried them in his pocket, and squinted at Heather. “I have an extra key. He gave me one just in case there was trouble. He told me to take you home.”

  “No way, we are sticking together. This is too exciting. I’m not a helpless female,” she said proudly, “in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Eddie, can you see without your glasses?”

  “Not really.” He shrugged and put them back on.

  “Here,” Heather reached out and eased them from his hands. She pulled out an exquisitely painted scarf and wiped his glasses. “I bought this for my mom, but she doesn’t really need another scarf. She doesn’t need anything, and she sure doesn’t want me. Let’s go friend.” She handed Eddie back his eyewear.

  Eddie fumbled with the glasses. Heather took them back and perched them on his nose, for him. She gazed fondly at the gawky youth. Snow had plastered his hair and he looked bedraggled, but he would someday be a fine looking guy. He just needed a little more time to find himself, Heather thought. She kind of liked him this way anyway.

  “Come on, where’s that car? All the streets look alike, they’re all white,” Heather said.

  “Snow does that.” Eddie said seriously.

  “Hey, don’t look so glum, we’ve got a plan.”

  “We do?” Eddie said in confusion.

  “Yep. The car is a good start. We’ll figure out the rest as we go along.” Heather grabbed off Eddie’s knit cap and raced ahead playfully, as the huge fluffy wads of snow continued to blind and conceal the dirty streets.

  CHAPTER 28

  Sam’s delirium struggled to rip down the heavy dark curtain that seemed to be smothering his life and his memories? Why couldn’t he see faces? Were they to forever be forgotten? Was he dead? Had he slipped into a void? No, he lived, he suddenly felt pain. He was relieved. He could see now. He could watch the small little forms scooting around and exploring the floor near his bedtable. He was lying on his stomach with his clothes still soiled in his blood. The heater must have come on in the night because at least he and his crawly friends were warm and toasty. He boosted himself into a sitting position. His body ached, but it would pass. His arm was a problem, however. He examined it closely and grimaced. He knew he would have to dig out the bullet himself. The thought didn’t exactly elevate his situation. He would need more than was in this stark room to even inadequately complete the butchery. Sam grabbed his key and struggled into his coat.

  He felt the eyes of the desk clerk on his back and turned.

  I really don’t feel like dealing with the storm. Could I buy a bottle of booze and a knife from you, mister? Sam said in his best drunk imitation.

  “You going to carve up a body and eat it with your booze, wino?” The skinny clerk simpered. “How much you pay?”

  “Twenty bucks is all I got? I ain’t going to cut anybody. I got me a little bread, and I want to be dainty when I eat it.” Sam was enjoying his acting part. “I’ll give back the knife afterwards, you’ll see. I ain’t no liar.” Oops, he thought. A double negative in grammar. This would be more fun though if his arm weren’t throbbing so badly. Sam lowered his head subserviently. “Please, mister?

  “Okay. But you give the knife back.” He took a swig from the bottle of cheap whiskey that he pulled from under the counter. “You can keep the bottle,” the man said as he leaned into Sam’s face and exhaled a foul odor.

  “Thanks,” Sam choked and grabbed the half empty bottle. It would do. “The knife?”

  He added.

  “Sure?” The weasel waved the point toward Sam. “Don’t cut your ugly self.”

  Sam carefully unwrapped it from the clerk’s fingers and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll be careful,” he replied innocently. Sam returned to his room.

  He poured the whiskey over the knife and unwrapped his arm. He gulped twice on his drink, then soaked his tie and dabbed at his wound. It definitely burned. He gathered his courage and grasped the knife.

  “Oh boy, I know I’m going to hate this.” He gritted his teeth and dug into his injured arm. Red blood flowed freely onto the faded sheet. He paused.

  “At least I still have lots of red blood left. One more time, you masochistic bastard!” He jammed the knife into the throbbing arm again and pulled out the offensive bullet. He poured the remainder of the bottle into the wound and cried out. “Shit, shit, shit, that hurts!” Sam hurled the knife against the wall. “Damn you, Jensen! It’s your fault, all of this.” He collapsed on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. The pain eased slightly. He rose and removed a sleeve from his shirt, then the other one. He shredded them into strips and packing and bound his arm. Now if it doesn’t get infected, he’d be fine. That is if he lived that long to find out. He didn’t plan to stay here forever. He would kill Jensen and his buddies, all by himself. He laughed at the absurdity of his vow. Maybe I’m getting to be as crazy as he is, Sam thought.

  He leaned back. He would wait out the st
orm for one night. Then tomorrow he would seek his car, if they hadn’t impounded it. There were a mighty lot of ifs. But Sam slept.

  #

  Heather had just approached the old Chevy with her bags of donuts and coffee. They were deep in conversation over their salivary preferences, when Heather felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around to give a tongue lashing to the annoying bystander. She gasped, and suddenly her face beamed at the sight of Sam.

  “You’re alive!”

  “In the flesh,” Sam said. He reached out and drew her towards him for a hug. “I missed my partners.”

  “Mr. Stone, we worried a lot.” Eddie bounced in excitement.

  “Let’s get into the car and get out of here before anyone important, like cops, see us.”

  “A good idea, sir.”

  Sam slid behind the wheel. It felt very good to his touch. Heather and Eddie scrambled to their respective places. No one breathed easily until they were on the interstate headed east.

  “Mr. Stone, where are we going?” Eddie piped up.

  “I think it’s time you called me Sam.”

  Eddie bounced his head in agreement.

  “Sam, sir, are you going to tell us?”

  “Young man, no one will ever accuse you of being impolite. Yes, I am driving to Washington. Do you want to come too?”

  “Yes,” Eddie nodded at Heather, “but why?”

  “To see the President,” Sam smiled broadly.

  “To see the President!” Eddie nearly spilled his coffee. “You mean of the United States?”

  “That’s right, kid. Let’s go straight to the top.”

  “Wow, yeh, why not? Eddie settled back in his seat. Heather smiled and nestled her head on his shoulder. They rode on and on.

  #

  Sam watched row after row of ice-covered trees spin by. Hours whirled into days. They stopped only for gas, food, and to switch drivers. He ignored the pain that occasionally shot through his arm. He refused to acknowledge the building fever it caused. Heather argued once for proper disinfectant. So they stopped. He bought disinfectant and a newspaper. Sam’s face jumped from its pages. He quietly entered the washroom and disposed of the beard. He kept the moustache. He hoped he would soon have no need for it as well.