Escape From Norriswood

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

September 1991:

Mia's mouth remained so unmoved the entire car ride, it drove Junior cracked. And when Rose said he was taking them to the old train station at Humbermouth, he sat back in his seat, given up on waiting for Mia to utter anything.

Junior knew the trains at Humbermouth hadn't been used in years, and what was once a hotel that used to be stacked up next to the station, was now renovated to host squat apartments the university students flocked to after school.

Except the trains still stood in tact on the bits of railway spur that was left, great metallic things, fresh orange paint put on them, and inside, the berths had been converted into a dining room. The kind the tourists, tourists like Junior had been the first few weeks of living here, came to have a coffee, look at the pictures of the walls to see what life was like for Newfoundlanders in the 1940's.

He remembered sitting down here, around the circular dining table, one of those first few summer evenings of being in town, and closing his eyes. He felt his dinner of fish and chips and dressing and gravy lull through his intestines, and he tilted his head back and imagined the train they were in panting along. For a moment or two, he felt the great magnetic wheels beneath him ebb forward, along the tracks.

But now when Junior sat down at the circular table, the windows along the sides of the compartment were blacked out with thick wool sheets, and yellow-tinged lamps placed in holders along the walls, threw flickering light around. Beside him, Graham shifted around in his chair. Junior heard footsteps move from the back of the berth, and Mia walked by their table to the front of the room.

He watched her walk, her khaki slacks beltless and loose, a white t-shirt with blue rings around the edges of the sleeves tucked into one side of the pants. Like the young woman was trying to look fashionable even though half the town was out looking for her.

Men sat along the insides of the walls at tables just like the one Junior and Graham sat at. Behind Mia, at the very front of the compartment, Kevin Rose leaned against the door, his arms folded into his chest, while another man stood beside him. Both wore acid-washed jeans, both had tattoos trickling down their forearms, and from here, Junior thought the tats looked like spirals, strands of DNA that had surfaced onto their skin.

Kevin stepped away from the door. "A brief note before we start tonight," he said. "Some of you might be wondering what that shell's son is doing here." He walked a couple of steps into the room, and Junior felt his arms twitch by his side.

"Well, I brought him here," Mr. Rose said. "I brought him, along with my own son, Graham, who Mr. Terry Junior has befriended. Because it's time they know the real story behind Mia's disappearance. The real reason why we have gathered here, almost every night this summer, planning our attack."

Junior brought his mouth to Graham's ear. "How much would your mom kill him if she knew he was holding Mia Franklin here?" He was anticipating hearing a snicker from Graham, but instead he felt the air stir as Graham whipped his head back and forth.

Mia looked around the room, and again, Junior found himself gazing over her face, her sunken eyes, and cheeks, like she hadn't been out beneath the sun in a while.

"You've probably heard the story," Mia said, and the sound of her voice surprised, and settled Junior. Hearing the depth to her timbre for the first time, Junior also noticed the way she tilted her head slightly to the right when she looked at him and Graham.

"The story that men like Kevin and others in the local media have helped circulate. That I was here from another town, visiting my cousin, when all of a sudden, bang I go missing." She stared at Junior's face, and he felt himself swallow a wad of saliva.