Delirious

by Daniel Palmer

  The BMW came down hard onto Ocean Avenue. The car’s low suspension was entirely unforgiving. The car skidded out into the middle of the road and came to stop parallel to the oncoming traffic closing in fast. It had stalled.

  Charlie looked left and saw the fast approach of oncoming traffic. He turned the ignition again, depressed the clutch, and pressed hard on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, screaming toward the median between the two main boulevards fast enough to leave a pit in Charlie’s stomach. The cars traveling south on Ocean Avenue were easily going forty miles per hour and had little time to react to a BMW surging parallel to the flow of traffic across the three-lane road. No more than fifty feet from Charlie’s car, the driver of a red sedan slammed on the brakes and fishtailed, too surprised by the sudden appearance of the BMW to have even blasted his horn.

  The cruisers elected to take the parking lot exit, rather than follow Charlie’s improvised route over the grassy strip. If they wanted to give chase, they’d have to either take the risk of driving the wrong way or make for the turnaround south on Ocean. Their need to protect public safety was what he was counting on. A smile crept across his lips as he saw them turn right and drive in the opposite direction. Precious seconds perhaps, but that might make all the difference.

  The oncoming traffic parted for Charlie’s BMW as if jerked to the side by some magnetic force. As he passed one car, Charlie grimaced at the sickening crunch of metal, which blended with the shrieking sounds of police sirens from behind. Allowing himself only a quick glance in his rearview mirror, Charlie noticed that one of the cars he had narrowly missed was now turned completely around. Another had jumped the median and crashed sideways into one of the many trees planted along the strip. Up ahead he could see the turnoff onto Shirley Avenue. It was no more than five hundred yards away.

  Car horns blasted him. Most of the cars in his direct path pulled to the right and came to a safe stop alongside the cars parked curbside. A car that was already too far left to get out of his way made a reactive choice to hit the median rather than risk a head-on collision with Charlie. Through the rearview mirror, he could see that the distance between his BMW and the police cars had narrowed considerably. Driving with the flow of traffic, not against it, allowed them the necessary speed to catch up and keep pursuit. Still, they were separated by an impassable median.

  Charlie slammed on his horn and pressed the gas with as much force as he could generate. He had to extract every bit of juice from the machine that he could. He drove headlong down the middle of the road, praying he gave drivers in both the left and right lanes equal chance to react and avoid a collision.

  As he neared Shirley Avenue, Charlie drifted the BMW into the far left lane. The police were only a few hundred yards behind him now. He spun the wheel clockwise and at the same time downshifted from fourth gear to first. Charlie hit the brakes and shifted his body weight against the driver’s side door as the car listed right. The screech of tires was deafening; the air was now heavy with smoke from burnt rubber. For a moment both driver’s side wheels hung suspended in midair. The BMW then crashed down onto the road, leaving behind a spiderweb crack in the front windshield. Charlie’s seat belt locked him in tight.

  Keeping one hand on the horn, Charlie shifted into second, then third as he fishtailed the car onto Shirley Avenue. To his right, Charlie saw the MBTA logo of Revere Beach Station as he drove the car onto the sidewalk. Simultaneously, he pressed the call button on the InVision touch screen dashboard with his free hand.

  “Call Joe!” he shouted loudly.

  “Command not recognized,” InVision responded.

  “Call Joe!” he shouted again.

  “Command not recognized,” InVision said again.

  Charlie couldn’t concentrate on both his driving and the call. He had taken his eyes off the sidewalk for no more than a second. When he looked up again, he was only a few feet from a concrete support beam that was part of the Revere Beach Station’s entranceway. Risking a glance at the dashboard, Charlie realized, with some alarm, that he was traveling almost thirty miles per hour. Next he heard the screech of his tires as he applied his brakes. He swung the wheel counterclockwise to avoid a front impact. It was the best option available given the lack of reaction time. Charlie’s head snapped left with enough force to crack the driver’s side window with his skull. What followed was a horrific crunch of metal on concrete, accented with the sound of shattering glass. The middle of the car wrapped around the concrete support beam like a steel ribbon. Having taken the brunt of the impact, the passenger-side air bag deployed with a thunderous burst of air.

  The first sound Charlie heard as his consciousness slowly returned was police sirens. Unbuckling his seat belt, Charlie opened the driver’s side door, which wasn’t damaged in the crash. He looked behind and saw the cruisers making their turn onto Shirley Avenue. He had only seconds left to escape. He felt no pain, only the rush of adrenaline. Barreling through the entrance doorway, he sped past an elderly station attendant. Then he slid onto his belly and underneath the turnstile’s plastic doors.

  The way the station was laid out, the station attendant wouldn’t be able to tell the police if he had gone inbound or outbound. Charlie wasn’t certain which way he’d go, either. Then he heard a buzz that he knew signaled a soon-to-be departing train. It was coming from the outbound direction. Charlie took the subway stairs two at a time, falling more than running down the fifty-some-odd steps to the bottom. He reached the train just as the doors were closing. Without hesitating, he shot his arm forward between the black rubber stoppers on the sides of the doors. The safety catch clicked, and the doors automatically reopened. Charlie slipped inside the empty train and looked out the grimy subway car window to see if anyone had followed him down the outbound stairwell. As the train pulled away, the only sight he saw was the lights from Revere Beach Station dimming in the distance.

  Chapter 55

  “Wonderland. Last stop on the train. All passengers please exit at this time.”

  The hollow, nearly unintelligible voice of the PA announcer reverberated joylessly throughout the empty subway car. Charlie was already at the car window, peering out at the station platform as it came into view. He half-expected to see the platform swarming with police. Then again, the time it took for him to travel between Revere Beach Station and Wonderland was less than three minutes. It was doubtful the police would have had enough time to mobilize a force. Doubtful, he thought, but not out of the question.

  He exhaled as the train slowed to a stop. In the reflection of the train’s window, Charlie took stock of his injuries. With the adrenaline from the chase wearing off, his body had time to ache and throb. Surprisingly, there was no blood or open wounds, only aches and pains, which were certain to become more intense as time went on.

  The platform on the outbound side was blessedly deserted. The inbound platform was crammed with morning commuters. Wonderland, unlike most MBTA stations, was an outdoor station. The platform area was easily accessible from a twenty-five-foot concrete ramp that rose at an almost imperceptible incline to the tracks five feet above ground level. The front of the station was a vast parking lot, already filled to near capacity with commuter cars. This station in particular was a haven for commuters who enjoyed the easy access to Boston, as well as for the dog race lovers, who flocked to Wonderland Greyhound Park after which the station was named.

  Charlie scanned the parking lot, watchful for any signs of a police presence. Cars were still entering the lot, searching for the few remaining spaces. He needed to get to a phone but couldn’t risk the exposure. Descending the concrete ramp to the parking lot, Charlie continued his vigilant lookout for the police. Their arrival, he knew, was imminent. But Charlie’s appearance played in his favor. Because he wasn’t visibly injured, he shouldn’t raise suspicions with the commuters. He stood in front of the entrance to the inbound platform and approached a man buying a copy of the Herald from a metal dispenser. The man was heavyset
, dressed in jeans and a beige polo shirt. His mouth was accented by a thick black mustache that matched the wave and body of his hair. Charlie spotted a cell phone clipped to his waist.

  “Pardon me, sir,” Charlie said.

  The man, bent over, took out the paper, and then rose to look at Charlie. At first he seemed annoyed, perhaps thinking Charlie was another panhandler. Then he softened.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I seem to have left my cell phone at home. I was wondering if I could make a quick call to tell my associate where to meet me in Boston.”

  The man hesitated just a moment. Then he reached down and pulled the phone off his belt. “Sure thing,” he said. “I guess I can spare a minute or two,” he added with a chuckle.

  Charlie thanked him and dialed his brother. Joe picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello?” Joe asked. Charlie guessed that the unfamiliar phone number had confused him.

  “Joe, it’s Charlie,” he said. Charlie kept the phone pressed tight to his ear so the man whose phone he’d borrowed wouldn’t hear Joe screaming on the other end.

  “Charlie! Charlie!” Joe shouted. “Where are you? We trailed your car to Revere but lost the signal a few moments ago. We’ve been driving around looking for you. The police are swarming all over the place. What’s going on?”

  “Right. Sure, I’ll wait here,” Charlie said.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Joe screamed into the phone.

  Rachel added, “Charlie, you have to turn yourself in. Now!”

  “Not a problem. Why don’t I just wait for you at Wonderland? Sure, that’s easier,” said Charlie. “I may still be reading that report. Although that policy is really too far right in my opinion. Too far right and away from the mainstream for me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joe said.

  “Make sure you get my attention, because I’ll be deep in thought. Three beeps and wait. See you at Wonderland.” Charlie hung up the phone and handed it back to the man. “Thanks,” he said.

  The man smiled, arching his mustache, which looked like a bushy caterpillar crawling across his lip.

  “Anytime,” he said. “Anytime.”

  Chapter 56

  Charlie kept an even pace as he moved away from the platform and, more importantly, from the commuters. There was nothing worse than feeling exposed and vulnerable. The good news, as much as good news was possible, was that the police had not yet secured the station area. The respite wouldn’t last much longer.

  The call he had made to Joe was necessary, but it was also costly. He had lost valuable time, not to mention creating a witness for the police. If the police questioned the right man, somebody would have no problem placing Charlie at Wonderland.

  From behind, Charlie heard the rumbling of the inbound train as it made its arrival. The air-pressured doors opened with a swoosh, which was followed by the dance between those entering and those exiting the train. It was another bit of luck. The only person who could positively ID Charlie would be gone in moments.

  The parking lot offered little in terms of good hiding places. It was a vast expanse of asphalt with row upon row of cars, trucks, and SUVs. There were several stores nearby, many in adjacent lots, but those would have security cameras, not to mention more potential witnesses. If luck continued his way, he wouldn’t need to hide for long. That, of course, depended on Joe having understood their brief phone conversation.

  The inbound train to Boston had yet to depart. That only added to Charlie’s mounting anxiety. Although the station platform was now deserted, he still worried about raising people’s suspicions. As far as he was concerned, the fewer people around, the better. Commuters continued arriving, but there weren’t enough people for him to get lost in a crowd.

  Charlie picked up his pace, moving to the far right corner of the parking lot. It was a safe distance away from the main road. He also wanted to create as much distance between the commuters and himself as possible.

  The corner of the parking lot had the advantage of giving him additional cover. It was a good hundred yards from the platform and maybe 150 yards from the main road. Nearly fifty cars were parked along the fence that secured the parking lot from the train tracks. Next, Charlie scoured the ground for something he could use to break into one of the cars. It didn’t take long to find the perfect object lying beside the chain-link fence: half of a red brick, a remnant of some past construction project.

  Cupping the brick in his hand, Charlie headed to the last car in the row directly in front of the chain-link fence. The vehicle had a rear vent window, as he had hoped. The smaller window would be easier to break without attracting so much attention. He checked and made certain the driver’s side door of the silver Chevy Lumina was locked before breaking the window; there was no reason to risk unnecessary attention.

  Charlie played out how it would look to the police when they started patrolling the station for him. Unless they got out of their cars, they wouldn’t see the broken window, since it was on the driver’s side of the last car in the row. There was no reason to believe they would search every car on the lot. He wasn’t even sure they had the legal authority to do so. He didn’t look suspicious, either. Anybody who saw him standing beside the car wouldn’t give it a second thought. Just another commuter on his way to work. This type of observation and situational analysis had made him a rising star at Solu-Cent; they were probably the same skills needed by a top cop, he thought with some amusement.

  Charlie waited for the train to leave the station. Hoisting the brick waist high, he thrust it forward with a quick jabbing motion. The rear ventilation window shattered on impact. The sound of breaking glass was louder than Charlie had wanted. But it was partially drowned out by the departing train and the sound of police sirens roaring in the distance.

  Charlie checked to see if anybody had noticed him, and felt safe to continue. He reached his hand inside the car and unlocked the driver’s side rear door. The sound of sirens grew louder. They were coming for him.

  Charlie slid into the backseat of the Chevy Lumina and closed the door behind him. He kept his body low to the floor and out of view. The car, he now realized, was not the cleanest in the world. Not by a mile. And whoever owned the vehicle wasn’t much of a brand loyalist. The backseat was littered with fast-food wrappers, McDonald’s and Burger King mostly, with some Wendy’s and Dunkin’ Donuts thrown in for good measure.

  The air inside was heavy and stale, as if the broken window was the first taste of fresh air the interior had ever experienced. It had the unpleasant stench of stale cigarette smoke. There was enough smoke residue and buildup on the windows that it was actually difficult to see outside. Disgusting as it was, Charlie hoped it would be equally difficult for anybody to see in, should the police start a car-by-car search of the parking lot.

  The other overpowering olfactory experience was the smell of dirty laundry. Dirty clothes were strewn about the backseat: sweatshirts, pants, and crumpled dress shirts mostly.

  Not only was this person unclean, Charlie thought, but it seemed he was actually living out of his car. The clothes behind the driver’s, seat covered in glass fragments, sparkled in the sunlight. Laws of probability demanded that some of the glass had also fallen to the floor, and some was surely visible on the ground outside the car. Charlie again hoped it wasn’t enough to attract the attention of the police.

  Despite his preference for a cleaner hideout, he knew this was the safest place for him. How long he could remain hidden was a matter of life and death.

  Charlie pressed his body to the floor, trying to ignore the sour smell of ketchup and mustard soaked into the countless fast-food wrappers discarded there. Reaching above, he pulled the clothes from the backseat atop him in an attempt to further camouflage his location. Then he waited.

  The sirens in the distance continued to screech like banshees. Charlie’s body stiffened, and he tried to flatten himself even more, although he was as hidde
n as he could be. More sirens. Had they sent a SWAT team after him? It took all his willpower to resist the urge to pick his head up and have a look. He had to rely on what he heard to give him some sort of visual of the scene unfolding.

  Car tires screeched to a stop. Was it next to the station platform entrance or closer to him? It was difficult to tell. He heard the slamming of doors, the crackling static and unintelligible commands from police scanners and radios. Then he heard a sound that made it nearly impossible to breathe. It was the sound of footsteps.

  Chapter 57

  Rachel stared in disbelief out Joe’s Camry window, watching an armada of police scream past. Everything had happened so fast. Now she worried that everything was also spiraling out of control. This was serious. They had information about the whereabouts of a suspected murderer and they were intentionally keeping it from the police. If she hadn’t already broken the law, she was at the very least bending it to the breaking point.

  At the time, going with Joe had seemed not only the right thing to do but the only option she had. If she followed Joe, not only could she look after Joe’s well-being during what understandably was a high-stress situation, dangerous for a man with his condition, but also he would lead her to Charlie. But for what? Not only was Charlie delusional, but he was also a criminal and most likely extremely dangerous. Then again, was there some other reason she had opted to go with Joe and track Charlie with this InVision GPS thing? Perhaps there was, she thought. Reaching into her purse, which was more like a miniaturized duffel bag, she fished out the note Alan Shapiro had found in Charlie’s room at Walderman. She looked it over, recalling the phone conversation between them less than an hour ago. The note was as haunting as it had been the first time she’d read it.