Cards in the Cloak

by Jeremy Bursey

  Chapter 17

  “Destination”

  Norman pointed at the side street that he thought was his, and the groundskeeper’s son dropped him off at the corner. Then the biker saluted him and thundered out of there. Now he was alone standing on a sidewalk, watching traffic coast by, hoping that he had picked the right street.

  It had been years since he’d last seen Daytona, and he was worried that the landscape had drastically changed. But his memory still held onto the basic blueprint that he knew back in the sixties and seventies. He remembered A1A, and how it provided access to every beach in the area. He remembered that it had side streets cutting between hotels to allow for better parking conditions. He hoped he remembered the right side street to get him to the beach house. But, as he looked around, he wasn’t so sure he knew anymore.

  He shuffled up the street where the biker had dropped him off and checked for familiar surroundings. Because his mind was so stuffed full of images consisting of empty rooms and cold corridors, he was having trouble recalling the details that could confirm his location. The only thing he really had locked in his memory was the shape of the old beach house and the landscape. He was confident that he would recognize it once he found it. If he found it.

  He’d gotten to the end of the street when he realized he was on the wrong one. So he shuffled back to the main road and tried the next one south. Horns honked at him every so often, and one motorist even pulled to the side to see if he was lost. Fearing a return to the nursing home if he’d gotten into anyone’s vehicle, he simply replied that he knew exactly where he was and where he was going. Then he’d secretly hope he wasn’t lost once they’d drive away unsatisfied.

  Eventually, he did find the right street, though he’d lost count of how many he had to check before finding it. What mattered now was that the house was still standing, and that it still remained mostly unchanged. It also mattered that he was finally here.

  He didn’t have a key anymore—in fact, he’d never actually held the key in his hand, thanks to his family transitioning him to St. Joseph’s Village before it had ever arrived in the mail—but he knew the property was still registered in his name. Breaking in would’ve been legal, as far as he knew. But, he didn’t want to cause the house any damage, especially since he was too weak to pick up a rock heavy enough to break the sliding glass door, so he knocked on the front door instead. Nobody answered.

  When an hour passed without response, Norman decided to head to the neighbor’s house to the west to introduce himself. When he finished his idle chitchat with the elderly couple who lived next door, he asked them for a scrap of notebook paper and a pen. Then he wrote a message for his son:

  Randall,

  It’s your father. I escaped from that awful facility, and I have no plans to go back. Just letting you know I’m out back on the beach, so please come get me. I want to see my beach house.

  -Your father

  P.S. If you have any relics leftover from the previous owner, I want to see them.

  He asked the old couple for some tape, so he could secure the note to the beach house’s front door.

  Then, once the note was fastened just under the knocker, he took a breath and coughed. All he could do now was wait.