Of Royal Descent (5 page)

I rolled my eyes.  "I told you, I thought I saw her.  Maybe it was a different waitress.  The thing with the girls is harder to explain."

"Uh-
huh
,” he breathed, as if he were only placating a crazy man.

I sighed and sank back into the bench seat.  "It's like... Have you ever been hungry, but nothing sounds good?  So you root around in the fridge and cabinets
, and nothing looks good.  There are all kinds of food... junk food, health food, and everything in between, but nothing you really want.  Maybe there's a bag of chips, so you test one out.  Only it doesn't taste good, but you knew it wouldn't, because you have a craving for something else.  I guess it's kind of like that."  I looked over at Chuck.  With a wrinkled nose and furrowed brows, he continued to stare out the front window.

"Wait, are we still talking about girls?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose before pushing the Linkin Park CD back into the player and turning up the volume, effectively ending the conversation.

We merg
ed back onto I-90 and traveled west for a few minutes before reaching I-71 southbound.  I lied back against the headrest, and Chuck turned down the volume.

"You are not to go to sleep," he said matter-of-factly.

"What?" I laughed.

"I'm serious
, Doyle.  For one thing, these night-mares of yours are freaking me out.  We're lucky I didn't run us off the road when you woke up screaming the last time.  Secondly, I let you sleep during the drive yesterday and was rewarded with your drill sergeant impersonation this morning.  The longer you stay up, the longer I'll get to sleep in tomorrow."

"Ok, point taken," I said.  "I'll stay awake.  I might as well get some homework done."

I opened my duffel bag that was claiming the seat between us and pulled out my English Lit book.  Flipping through the pages, I found what I was looking for - the short story “Young Goodman Brown” by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  I began to read as the El Camino hurtled us closer to our destination.

5

After finishing the last of my homework, I shoved everything back into my duffel bag and checked the GPS. 
Only 30 more minutes.

A lump began to form at the back of my throat. 

What the hell had I done?  Did I really let Chuck talk me into a 16 hour drive to see a man that may not even be alive?  Or, if he was, may not want anything at all to do with me.  That is, if he even knew I existed! 

"You alright?"
Chuck asked.

I nodded.

"Dude, you look pale."

"I
just need to go to the bathroom.  Can you stop at the next exit?" 

"Sure."

I looked out the window and saw huge, freaking cornfields coming into view.

"NO! 
No, I can hold it.  Let's just keep going."

"Okay then," Chuck re
plied, drawing out the words, sounding as if he doubted my sanity.

I grabbed my English Lit book back out of its resting place in
my bag and flipped to a random page.  I spent a great deal of energy attempting to concentrate on the text held in front of me and not on the fields of corn that were passing by. 
Doesn't anyone ever grow potatoes anymore?

The next time I looked up, the offending vegetables were behind us
, and I knew we couldn't be too far from our destination.  As if on cue, the GPS voiced the need to get over into the right lane and prepare to exit the highway. 

"Okay, I could use that bathroom now," I said, throwing my book
down beside me.

"Yup,"
came Chuck's reply as we took the off-ramp. 

My phone rang
, and I pulled it out of my pocket.  DAD flashed in all capitals across the display.  I paused, calculating all the possible outcomes of not answering compared to answering.  By a narrow margin, I decided to take the call.  After all, just because he was calling didn't mean he knew I'd left the state without telling him.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?"  He sounded very worried.  I blew out a sigh and hesitated.

"I know you're not in South Portland.  I just got off the phone with Eliot
, and he hasn't seen either of you for the last two days.  So, exactly where are you?" he continued, a slight tremble in his voice.

"Right now?
  That would be Ohio," I said as calmly as possible.  There was a short, deafening silence that followed before my father replied.

"Tell Chuck to turn that car around
now
," he said quietly.

At the first mention of Ohio, Chuck's eyebrows shot up in question, but not alarm.  We were pulling into a gas station when I mouthed to Chuck it was my father on the phone.

"Dad-" I began before being cut off.

"Doyle, tell Chuck to turn that car around NOW."

I had never heard my dad sound so firm and scared at the same time.  A pinch of overreaction if you asked me.

"I don't understand why you're so
upset.  Yeah, I guess I should’ve told you we were leaving, but it's not like we went out of the country.  And you haven't even asked why we're in Ohio."

"I know why you're in Ohio.  And yes, Doyle, you should have told us you were leaving.  Because I could have stopped you right then.  But you didn't, so now I am
telling you to turn that car around and enjoy the trip back home, because it will be a very long time before I let you out of my sight again."

"
Dad, I'm not a child.  I'm 21 years old.  I'm sorry I didn't tell you, and you got worried.  But we're here now, and I would really like to see if William is still alive and if he even knows about me."

"This is NOT up for discussion!"  My father sounded angrier than
I could ever recall.  "Get your ass back on that interstate or so help me God, I will come down there and get you myself."

Chuck, who could no doubt hear the entire conversation due to the volume of my father's voice, took that moment to open his car
door in mock ignorance and began to pump gas into the El Camino.

"
You're my father, and you'll always be my father.  It's just that I'm curious about where I came from.  I don't mean to disrespect you, but I really need to do this."

"Doyle," my dad's voice was much softer, "Believe
me, I understand what you’re saying.  I really do.  If you come home now, I’ll help you in every way to find William.  I will bring William to you, okay?  But you need to listen to me.  Please, Doyle.”  His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before continuing.  "Right now, I need you to come home, son."

I was baffled by my
dad's reaction.  I didn't understand why he was so desperate for me to return immediately.  If he promised to help me find my biological grandfather once I returned home, then my meeting him couldn't be why he was so adamant about my leaving.  What reason could he then have for wanting my urgent departure?  I was already here.  I could get it over with.  With any luck, maybe my nightmares would even stop. 

"Dad, what's the difference i
f I meet him in Ohio compared to meeting him in Maine?"  I didn't want to upset him, but it didn't make any sense.

"You have no idea," was his cryptic response.

"I know.  That's why I'm asking."

"C
ome home.  There are things I need to tell you.  Not over the phone, in person."

My dad spoke so softly and his voice was so full of
heartache that I meant to say
Okay, Dad
.  I meant to, but I didn't.  My words caught mid-throat and were rearranged autonomically.  An unintentional response sputtered out of my mouth as if being pushed out by an alien force.

"What haven't you told me
, father?" came the mangled question in a voice that did not belong to me.  It caught us both off guard. 

"Doyle?"  He sounded scared again.

"Dad?" I was in control of my vocal chords once more, but I was thoroughly shaken.

"Come home
, son."

I looked out the passenger side window to see Chuck exiting the gas station market with a bag in his hand.  He
made his way toward the car.

"Dad, I have to go.  I don't feel well.  We'll get a room tonight
, and I'll think about it, okay?"

"Get a room
, and call me.  Don't leave it, and I'll meet you there in the morning."

"Dad, I'll... talk to you later."

"Doyle!  Wait!"

I hung up the phone.  Chuck opened the driver side door and slid in behind the wheel. 

"Dude, got you a soda," he said, handing me a Code Red.  "Hey, you okay?"

In response, I opened the door, stuck my head out, and proceeded to
retch every bite of my medium-rare steak into a puddle beside the El Camino.

When I was through, I ran my right sleeve over my mouth and righted myself in the seat.  Chuck
silently held out the Code Red, which I gratefully relieved him of.  I twisted off the cap and took a long drink.  I recapped the bottle and took the stick of gum Chuck held out in his proffered hand.  How convenient this convenient store had turned out to be.  I began to feel somewhat recovered.

"
Sooo..."  Chuck stared at me expectantly.  "Where to?"

"I know you've paid for the whole trip
, but would you mind terribly if we got a hotel room for the night before finding William?  I will totally pay up when we get home."

Chuck smiled.  "Keep your money, Doily."  He put on his Ray Bans and started the car. 

"Don't call me Doily, Charles," I said without any hostility whatsoever.  I was still reeling from whatever the hell had just taken place moments before.  My stomach, though better, continued to churn.  It was wrapping my head around the evil voice that had tumbled from my lips that especially concerned me.

My phone rang again
, and I looked at the display.  DAD blazed on the screen.  I ignored the call and turned off the cell.  I would deal with it later.  At that moment, I just needed a few minutes to process the conversation.  I leaned back as far as a person is capable of in a bench seat and draped my arm across my eyes, while Chuck motored off down the road in search of a hotel.  I filled in my friend to the unpredictable behavior of my father.  Like myself, he couldn't formulate a guess as to the reason.  I had left out the miniscule detail of the creepy voice autopilot. 
How would I have explained it?

Twenty minutes later, I was inside our hotel room bathroom.  After taking care of necessary bodily functions that had been temporarily forgotten at the gas station, I climbed into the shower. 
The hot water drummed against my skin, and I ran through the motions of washing as I tried to make sense of what had transpired on the phone with my dad. 

W
hy couldn't I just tell him 'okay'?  Why couldn't I force it out?
  At first, it had felt like someone was speaking through me, taking control of my speech as well as who knows what else, like an evil puppeteer.  But then I remembered the burning sensation in my chest.  No, it wasn't someone else.  Although I couldn't explain it, I knew I was to blame.

I stood under the spray of the jets, ri
nsing away the last of the soap, and closed my eyes.  Maybe I would crash early tonight -
really early
, since it couldn't be any later than six o'clock.  I shut off the water and pulled back the curtain.  Stepping out onto the bath mat, I grabbed a towel and dried my hair, followed by the rest of my body. 

I
had pulled a cotton swab out of my overnight bag and was cleaning my ears when I noticed my reflection in the mirror. 
Whoa.
  I looked awful.  My eyes were sunken in, and there was a slight, blue tinge to my face.  Yeah, I definitely needed to lie down awhile. 

I got dressed quickly and opened the door to find Chuck on one of the beds, his back propped against the headboard, eyes fixated on the television screen.

"Hey, check it out.  They're doing a
Terminator
marathon," he said without looking up.

I padded over to the second bed and flopped down unceremoniously. 

"I think I might be trying to come down with the flu or something.  I'm just gonna sleep awhile," I said before pulling the pillow under the right side of my face. 

"Yup.”

I closed my eyes and listened to the audio of
The Terminator
.  The hero was explaining to the heroine just how emotionless the Terminator was.  He was warning her of its tenacious dedication to kill, without hesitation and without remorse.

"Well, that's a bad day
," I heard Chuck mutter under his breath.

"Quite," I mumbled.

"I thought you were already asleep."

"Getting there," I said, remaining still.

Chuck turned down the volume slightly.  He didn't say anything else, and my mind relaxed.  I stood on the precipice of unconsciousness.  Behind me, I could faintly hear the sounds of the robot apocalypse continue. In front of me, sleep beckoned like a beautiful siren with an alluring song on her lips.  I did not fall off the precipice.  I jumped.

* * *

The wind, cold and biting, sent a shiver down my spine.  Burrowing my hands deep into my pockets, I hugged my jacket tighter around me.  I kept my head down with my sight fixed upon the ground as I proceeded deeper into the wood.  Bright, silvery moonlight bathed the wilderness below to radiate a ghostly ambience. 

There was not a marked trail
, and yet I knew which direction to go.  The siren's song still entranced me, and like a moth to a flame, I pursued the source.  I slowly wound my way through the forest, defending myself from hostile tree branches that clawed at my clothes and skin.  The farther I traversed, the more desperate they grew to keep me from arriving at my destination.  I pressed on.

A
faint, indistinguishable sound carried to me on the wind.  Although it bore no urgency, my immediate surroundings were such that I did not feel inclined to dwell overly on its origin. 

I paused for the first time during my
journey and stared into the gloom.  For a moment, I considered sprinting back in the direction from which I had traveled.  The idea was quickly dismissed however, as I could not remember how far I had already trekked or from whence I had begun.  Wait, why couldn't I remember? 
That's odd
, I thought.  Something wasn't right but my mind felt foggy, and I couldn't place it. 

The inaudible pull of the sea nymph returned, beckoning me to give chase.  Briefly, I
envisioned the pied piper in the village square of a small town with a rat infestation.  Though I wasn't pleased to liken myself to a rodent, I was anxious to meet whoever was piping the pipe.  I followed the figurative flute-playing further into the forest.