Backtracker

Chapter 5

Chapter 5The hitchhiker's trip to Confluence was a roller coaster ride. The drunk at the wheel drove like a maniac, whipping the station wagon from side to side, never staying in one lane for more than a few seconds.

Despite the dangerous ride, the hitchhiker was never worried. Keeping his eyes on the golden line, he knew that he would make it to Confluence. He'd come so far, and endured so much, and he had a strong feeling that the worst was over.

And sure enough, he reached Confluence in one piece.

After escaping the drunk, the hitchhiker walked for a while through the darkened streets. The sight of familiar landmarks made him feel comfortable and confident, ready to handle anything because he was back in his hometown, his place of power. Most of all, he was excited by the knowledge that he was close, close to her, to the beginning of his mission.

Before long, he reached his destination.

Standing there on the sidewalk, beneath the entwined branches of two huge oak trees, he paused. The red brick house waited before him, a small, squat box with just a few feet of front yard separating it from the sidewalk.

He drew a breath and nodded. This was the place, all right.

In the front windows of the brick house, he could see the gray glow of a television. Someone was home. Someone was awake.

It had to be her.

There was only one car in the driveway, and it was her old, green Gremlin, the one with tacky bumper stickers all over the rear panels and chrome. There was no sign of her mother's car, and that was as it should be; her mother had always worked late, since she was a waitress at a downtown bar. Her father, of course, was dead, killed many years ago in a steel mill accident...or was it just a few years ago?

For a moment, he stood on the sidewalk and smiled, eyes focused on the beautiful glow of the living room windows. It was overwhelming, after all that he'd been through, after all the agony and struggle, to be standing on the brink of fulfillment.

After all the despair, a miracle was about to happen. He was the one who would make this great miracle come to pass.

He was the Miraclemaker.

Heart leaping in his chest, eyes gleaming, he started across the yard. He smoothed his hair and clothing, trying to make himself look more presentable.

When he reached the front door, he knocked on the windowless panel, the final barrier between him and the start of his holy crusade. Taking a step back, he saw a shadowy form gliding behind the translucent curtains.

He heard footsteps approaching from inside the house, then the first rattle of the doorknob. Mesmerized, he watched the door open inward, releasing a spray of light from the house.

Then, he saw her.

She peered out through the gap with a puzzled expression, and for a second, he was stupefied. She had long, amber hair, hazel eyes, a round face-the same features that he remembered, that he'd known for years. The wide mouth, the pale skin, the chubbiness were all the same...even the rumpled gray sweatshirt and sweatpants that she'd always favored...and yet, she looked so different. She seemed plainer, slacker, less defined, amorphous as dough before it is baked into a solid, distinct form. He'd expected this, naturally, given the circumstances of his last encounter with her, but it still surprised him. It was her...and yet, it wasn't her, not quite the same person.

"Hello?" she said, frowning, holding the edge of the door loosely in her hands.

"Hi," said the Miraclemaker. "I'm Gary Milton. My God...are you Debby?"

"Yes," she said, staring at his face. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Sure you do," he grinned, feeling strangely startled because she didn't recognize him. "Gary Milton, remember? I worked with your dad."

For a moment, she frowned and tipped her head to one side, still searching his face. "Wait a minute," she said at last, pointing a finger at him. "Gary Milton. I remember my dad used to talk about you all the time."

"What did he say?" said the Miraclemaker. "I hope it was all good."

"Well," she said, "the main thing I remember is him telling me how you two picked on some guy named Charley."

"Charley Grapowski!" The Miraclemaker clapped his hands victoriously. "That's right! Charley always came to work drunk, and we'd get him to do stupid things, and then he'd get in trouble! Boy, he was something else."

"My dad used to love telling me stories about you and Charley," she said.

"Yeah." The Miraclemaker nodded good-naturedly, shuffling his feet on the black rubber welcome mat. "We sure got a kick out of ol' Charley."

"Dad always said watching Charley was more fun than watching TV." She laughed, opening the door further, leaning more fully over the threshold.

"Wow," said the Miraclemaker. "Just look at you. My God, you've changed. The last time I saw you was years ago."

"Really? I must've been pretty young, because I don't remember ever meeting you."

"How old are you now?" he said. "Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Not quite." She giggled. "I'm only seventeen."

"Seventeen." He shook his head. "Wow. That's hard to believe."

"Time flies, I guess," she said, resting her shoulder against the frame of the door.

"Boy, does it ever," said the Miraclemaker. "So, is your dad home? I thought I'd drop by and see him, since I'm in town for the first time in a while."

"Uh, my dad passed away," she said, her voice suddenly softer.

"What?" he said, doing his best to sound stunned. "No! Oh God, you can't be serious."

"It's true." She nodded. "There was a big explosion down at the mill, and he was right in the middle of it."

"Oh my God," he gasped, eyes wide and jaw dropping with false shock. "Not Jack! When did this happen?"

"Three years ago," she said quietly, brushing a lock of amber hair behind one ear. "Three years ago, almost to the day."

"Dear Lord," he whispered dramatically, grimacing as if he were in agony. "I didn't even hear about it. I've been in L.A. all this time, and I didn't even know."

"I'm sorry you didn't find out until now," she said sympathetically. "I guess maybe my mom didn't know how to get ahold of you out in California."

Slowly lifting his hands to his temples, he closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head. "If only I'd known. I...God, I wish I could've at least been at his funeral."

"Uh, look," she said, her voice filled with concern. "Why don't you come in and have a cup of coffee or something?"

"I'd better not," he sniffed, rubbing his eyes. "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"Oh, it wouldn't be any trouble," she insisted. "You look like you need to sit down for a couple minutes."

"Maybe...maybe I'd better," the visitor groaned shakily, looking lost and distraught.

"Come on in," she invited, opening the door wide. "I'll go put a pot of coffee on."

"Thank you," he mumbled brokenly. "I just...I wish I'd seen him one more time before...before he died."

"So do I," she smiled tenderly, closing the door.

And just like that, he was inside.

No muss, no fuss; he was inside. The lies had worked, just as he'd known they would. He'd known that she worshipped the memory of her dead father, and that posing as a friend of his would gain him swift admission to the house. Using information that she herself had unwittingly given him, he'd won her confidence, made her trust him enough to bring him inside. She still hadn't guessed his real identity, and probably never would. Everything was now laid out before him in perfect order, like a marvelous buffet.

All that he had to do was start eating.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" she asked, turning her back to him, walking toward the kitchen.

The visitor didn't reply.

Instead, he pulled the latex gloves out of his back pocket and snapped them on one at a time.