The Man From Mars - Episode Twenty

  After about thirty minutes of traveling on the bus, I could have kicked myself in the butt. Before we left, I bought that paperback novel called "No Return Address," but nothing else. No food nor drinks. Just that terrifying book about a serial killer who terrorizes an old college roommate, besides killing women along the way.
   How ironic? A book about a serial killer. After what I've just been through.
   After relaxing a bit, I noticed that I was starving. I gave up all the contents of my stomach to the porcelain god in my room at the "Come On Inn." I needed something to eat.
   I thought about offering some money to a mother of two, who kept feeding her children with saltine crackers, but I thought the better of it. It would certainly bring attention to myself from the other passengers, sitting around her.
   What kind of man, hops on a bus, ill prepared? A man who is trying to run away from someone or something.
   Well, that is what my paranoid mind was telling me, anyways.
   I looked at the itinerary of the bus I was on, from the back of my ticket, and saw that we make several stops on the way to Newark. Three of which have long enough stays to purchase food and drinks.
   My mind kept wandering back and forth between the paperback novel and asking myself why? Why me?
   Wouldn't the amulet be in better hands of someone who is more righteous?
   I'm a divorced father, who cheated on his wife, and lost his only daughter in a custody battle. Except on every other weekend. I've been known to stay out late, drinking, when I can find the right kind of poker game. I nudge the limits of my deductibles on my taxes. I no longer go to church and I no longer pray. And now, I have done the most heinous of all crimes, I killed someone.
   My only saving grace, in my mind, it was either him or me. And I believe self-preservation means something in a case like this.
   I started comparing the main character of the paperback novel, Anthony Orfrandel the 3rd, to Alfred Backman. The person who had no qualms about murdering me.
   They both showed a hardheartedness as killers. They exuded a callousness towards their victims. Their self-justification, that their minds constantly engaged in, as they render their victims helpless, is unfathomable.
    I guess it takes a certain kind of individual to commit murder on a regular basis. Something, I hope, I will never get used to.
   Or do.
   Two hours in, we were coming up on one of our three layovers where I had time to purchase something to eat.
   Toledo, Ohio.
   I acted like I had to stretch my legs. So I stood up, in the aisle stretching, so I could see out of the front of the bus.
   Nothing to see. No road blocks or sign of a Police presence up ahead of us.
   Over the intercom, the bus driver told everyone to sit down and buckle-up because we were coming up on our first layover.
   I was the only one standing. I sat back down and buckled-up.
   Before, when I was leaving the "Come On Inn," I figured I had two to two and half hours before the Secret Service made an appearance. It looks as if my luck was holding up. To be on the safe side, I planned on jumping ship on our next stop. If it is a passenger pick-up stop only, or a hour layover for food. Either way.

   I felt karma was on my side.

   I didn't want to go far from the bus. I wanted to keep an eye on it.
   The closet joint to grab a bite was an A&W Restaurant. I ordered, took a table to view the bus, and gobbled down my food.
   A few new passengers did board the bus, but nothing indicating that the city was on alert for a fugitive.
   I let my guard down.
   It was ten minutes before we left the bus depot and I got back on board. Found my seat, sat, and closed my eyes. Resting.
   "I hope we're all aboard, because it's time to go." Came the driver's voice over the intercom.
   I heard the swoosh of the doors close and felt the movement of the vehicle.
   I relaxed some more, before opening up my eyes.
   To my surprise, sitting next to me, was a crew-cut head, wearing a black-suit, staring straight ahead.
   He didn't twitch or move. If I hadn't seen him blink, I would have been sure he was dead, because I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.
   My mistake? I neither heard him come on-board nor sit down next to me. And he didn't look like he was the friendly sort either.
   Shit. Now I was scared.

To Be Continued...

Next Thursday.

 

This is,

Going To Read That Novel

"No Return Address"

As Soon As Possible,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Even if things don't unfold the way you expected, don't be disheartened or give up. One who continues to advance will win in the end.”
- Daisaku Ikeda -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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