The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 29

The radio cut to a news break:

"The body of 71 year-old Samuel Kettering was found yesterday with multiple stab wounds, just off Interstate 95. He'd had been reported missing by his wife. Police are still investigating the scene. No suspects have been identified at this time."

Cordell cocked his head, and a grin sliced across his face—too easy. He turned the radio low, adjusted his sunglasses to block out the rotten orange sun and took a long drag from his cigarette before placing it back in the tray. A few hours later he reached the correct exit. He surveyed Derryton, an uneasy feeling tearing at his chest, unsure why he was feeling this sudden angst. He rolled the down the windows and let crisp air greet his beer-soaked breath, and pass over his unshaved face like a cool smack. This wonderland Adrienne believed she had escaped to had unexpectedly unraveled something sinister, something buried. Looking across Main Street, the anger swelled and soon his fingers chattered nervously upon the steering wheel. The town looked familiar though he'd never been anywhere close to Derryton. Decorations hanging from street-lamps, carved pumpkins on hay bales, holiday sale signs hanging on every store front. Little benches with red bows, early morning joggers with headphones plugged in darting across the road absent of any worry while greeting the bands of early-bird shoppers. The seemingly over abundance of senior couples scuttling about holding hands and sipping hot coffees. They were all unaware of the fuming resentment glaring at them from behind the steering wheel. This sad little town, Cordell thought, was a lie. All of it, a fabrication. None of these people truly possessed the joy they exuded; the smiles, the genial gesturing, it was all an act. Participants in perfunctory motions, falsely safe and secure. But the reality was it did exist, for him to despise and yet desire at the same time.

In the dark chest of his mind, a place like this had always existed, planted sometime ago. A place his mother used to talk about. Looking at all these pedestrians was like staring at an unfulfilled promise reprimanding him with repeated shots of pain. Another lie his mother let loose on him before she overdosed. When she was a lively and engaged mother, she'd talk about a remote town, so far away from his father's belligerent presence, somewhere up in the Adirondacks—we'll get away from the city, Cordy, and give you a wonderful and proper place to live, away from your father, she had promised on more than one occasion. It sounded lovely. Those nights lying on the broken bed, dreaming of skating on a freshly frozen pond or smelling fresh flowers grown naturally from local soil. It was all too good to be true. Lies. The pills talking. Another nag. He'd forgotten the name of the town since. Forgot that his mother had even talked about it. He spit on the car floor, hoping this memory would splat against the floor mats. His chest begged for another drag of nicotine to poison the memory. A long, grey ash lingered behind the shriveling orange ember, the noxious chemicals inflaming all that rage. His hands ached to tear the steering wheel from the dashboard. Adrienne thought she could get away....he drank another beer, tossing the empty can into the backseat where it came to a crash atop the empties.

Some part of him wanted to reverse and flee this place, his foot on the accelerator undecided to press harder or simply remain idle.

The car crawled along slowly. He stared through a bit of glare as a yellow school drove slowly towards him. From the window, a little boy with a wide smile waved enthusiastically. Cordell trembled, nearly hitting the accelerator and careening into the curb. It was as if he was seeing himself in that bus seat, as it should've been so many years ago, as it was promised. He steadied his hands and flicked the cigarette towards the bus window savoring the twisted expression forming on the boy's face. That brought him back to reality. That was the medication. Pain. That was the remedy to keep his own personal damage down where it couldn't control him. He cracked open another beer and swallowed its contents. His thoughts mixing with the rising alcohol content, they began to revolve in a sort of manic shamble. She thought she could get away, and steal my kid. The utterance repeating in his mind till the words leaked like vulgar oil from his mouth. The oblivious pedestrians continuing to smile and walking along couldn't move from his path fast enough.

He hammered on the gas and sped by sending a small group scattering and spilling their morning brews. The hatchback came to stop a few blocks down at the intersection. Across the way, Church patrons huddled and chatted under the outstretched shadow of the bell tower. They might know Adrienne, he thought, but the light wouldn't change fast enough and the group mustered their way up the steps and disappeared through the church doors. He cursed the sluggish traffic light until it surrendered to his lament and the green flashed on like a miserable prying orb. He drove through the intersection surveying the nearby area. Two kids, about the same age as Lucas, appeared from the adjacent street. Each wearing white and burgundy coats with baseball emblems. He hit the accelerator and pulled alongside the curb and gave a quick honk.

Dan stumbled, startled by the hatchback's sudden belch.

"What do you want?" Chris asked, bending down to get a look at the driver.

"Sorry, didn't mean to spook you kids," Cordell said with an exaggerated smile. "I was wondering if you could help me. I'm a bit lost. I'm looking for an address." He grabbed the Holiday postcard of Adrienne and Lucas from center console and read the address. "I'm looking for 1 Cowell Drive."

"Go ask someone else," Chris snapped. He stepped from the car and gestured for Dan to follow. The two continued down the sidewalk.

Cordell kept pace, idling the hatchback slowly and muttering profanity. Fortunately for them the car radio volume was loud enough to muffle the threats. He honked once more, maintaining that pristine smile ear to ear.

"C'mon," Cordell implored, "look, I know you guys are in a hurry, and you shouldn't talk to strangers but it's a bit of an emergency. I really need your help. I've come to see my son. If you'd just give me a minute, I'll make it worth your while."

They stopped on a dime. Chris swung towards the hatchback, his patience worn out.

"Go F—" Chris began, suddenly distracted by what Cordell was offering—a case of beer. Their eyes widened.

"How's a little free booze sound for helping out a needy stranger?" Cordell said, waving the beer like a block of cheese in front of starved mice.

Dan and Chris gave each other an approving glance.

Chris grabbed the case. "Who are you looking for?"

"Lucas Cast," Cordell replied. "I'm his father."

The two kids glanced again at each other, as if they were on a game show and possessed the winning answer.

"Isn't that Mitch's neighbor?" Dan remarked.

"Yeah, that's right," Chris said, turning back to Cordell. "Go up to Cowell Drive. You gotta turn around and take a left back at the intersection. Follow that road straight for about two miles, pass the hospital on your left and a really old cemetery on the right. Once you've gone by all that, you'll come to Beaver Lake—just keep going straight for...what...maybe ten minutes and take your first right. Happy now?"

"Sure, thanks a lot boys," Cordell said, "enjoy those beers responsibly now."

He saluted, rolled up the window peeling off into three-point-turn and cutting off an oncoming car sending the driver honking in a frenzy. He glanced up at the rearview mirror, and for a second thought he saw his mother and his young innocent self holding hands before tearing the mirror down.