Chapter 2

Change Of Plan

We've arrived at the next station. I watch the boy beside me. His face is still expressionless and betrays nothing. I stare down at the ticket in the palm of my sweaty, dirty hand, feeling my heart beating nervously. I glance at the boy again. How can he be so serene and emotionless? Maybe he's acting, just as I am.

Dozens of new passengers are boarding. The ones that were here when I first arrived are gone. The boy and I are surrounded by new faces—some of them hostile, some of them intriguing. 

An auburn-haired guy with thick, black-rimmed glasses sits down in front of us, glancing at the boy. This is intriguing. Evidently disturbed by this, the boy pulls his hat further down his face and stares down at his expensive-looking oxfords and khaki cargo pants. I know from months of watching people that he must know the young man before us, and it's obvious he doesn't want the aforementioned young man to know he's here.

The guy turns around and glances at me, makes a face, then turns his attention to the conductor. The conductor punches the young man's ticket, glancing at the boy and me the whole time. It's really uncomfortable; I bet he knows what the boy did. I bet the conductor knows by now that I stole my way onto the train. And I bet he knows the boy lied to save my butt.

The Feeling is even stronger today. It's making me extra cautious and jumpy. The boy adjusts his hat again and reaches down to lift up the jacket which he'd planted his feet on some time ago. 

"Stay on the train," he hisses vehemently, tugging the jacket up over his arms and zipping it. It has a high collar, and with the type of hat he's wearing he almost looks like a spy. I never noticed before, but he has a briefcase on the floor beside his right foot. I wonder what he's up to. And why should he tell me to stay on the train? He doesn't know me, and it's obvious that he too knows the conductor is onto us. It isn't a safe move to stay on the train. But I find myself obeying him, sitting back and using my very best acting skills to fake like we're completely innocent people enjoying our trip. But deep inside I'm consumed with immense dread of the conductor; I fear that he will recognize us, or figure out that I am riding at the boy's expense; that is, using the boy's ticket as a two-for-one since all aspects and expenses of our travels are tied to that one ticket.

It's illegal, and I'm sure we both know that. If the boy doesn't, then I guess we're in bigger trouble.

The boy glances at the seat behind him as though someone is sitting there, but even as passengers have boarded and departed that seat has remained vacant. Curiosity controlling me, I glance back there too as the boy rises from his seat. Nobody is in the one behind ours, as I already knew before. But somehow I feel like there is Someone; Somebody watching my every move and preserving every thing about me in their memory. Stalking me.

I shiver at the thought and draw my magazine close to my chest as the train halts and passengers leave. I search the horde with my eyes for the boy, but I can't find him. I feel a sort of tugging at my heartstrings; I know this feeling. It is the feeling of hopelessness; of a hope once held that is now gone. I was unknowingly hoping that the boy had implied that he'd stay on the train with me. But that hope has been washed out. Why would he tell me to stay on, and run off when he's the real criminal?

Am I actually the criminal?

   Hours pass before we hit the next station. I'm tired and hungry and in need of a bathroom break, but I'm not sure I should leave my seat. There's a potential hazard of running into the conductor, and he's the last person I want to see because he gives me the same feelings of resentment and dread that Mr. Cummins the landlord gave me back when I lost my home. I don't feel like facing another person like that if I have the power to prevent it.

Finally the need to use a bathroom becomes too great to resist. Last night's lemonade really took a toll on me. I get up, stuffing my magazine into my backpack, then take everything with me to the bathroom at the back of the train. After relieving myself, I step out the door and nearly land on the boy's toes. I look up at him though we're really not too dissimilar in height. My purple eyes are full of fear, wonder, and joy. His expression is serious, yet in his dark eyes there is something else. It's almost a greedy, desirous look, yet not quite one of a predator. I can't explain it.

Suddenly the train starts up again and the boy races to our seat, diving for his briefcase. Glancing around the near-empty coach, he motions me to follow him before racing to the very far end of the train, near the caboose. He flings the side doors open and yells to me, "Jump!"

"I thought we were staying on the train!" I scream, dizzied by the fastness and the green countryside flashing by. The boy slips behind me and grabs my upper arms, shielding my back from something. All warm and causing my skin to prickle, I feel his breath come upon the left side of my face in a vociferous whisper: "Change of plan."

He kicks his briefcase out. Then there's a gunshot, something hits the back of my left arm and I smell that cologne again as the boy throws me off the train. What follows is distant incoherent cursing and shouting as the train thunders on.

I'm amazed that he's still hanging onto me in this gravely ditch. Apart from a selection of bleeding minor cuts and a woozy head, l think I'm fine. The train's sound still rings in my ears though it is long gone by now.

The boy releases me and pushes himself up. "Y'alright?"

I nod, gasping so hard for breath that I'm coughing. 

The boy looks worried. "Any bullet wounds?"

Unsure why the question sounds so weird to me, I shakily sit up and remember being hit in the arm. Quickly, I turn my left arm over and show it to him. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs up the blood, then wraps the wound snugly. "Try not to use it too much," he warns. "We're not far from a town, I could get a doctor to check it over for you." He stands up and staggers to his briefcase which lies about six feet from here. I watch him closely to make sure he's not leaving. A great rush of relief floods into me when he takes up my backpack and offers me a hand. Breathing heavily, I manage to get to my feet with his help. Since my backpack is light, and I insist that I'm fine, he gives it back to me. Then the two of us set off into the waning daylight in search of a nearby town.

We finally find one by nightfall. I never thought I'd be delighted by city lights ever again, much less with a man of capability at my side. We don't know each other, but that's fine with me for now. For some reason, something has caused us to join an alliance. Against what common threat or enemy, I do not know. All I know is that I'm not alone anymore, that somebody's trying to protect me—or seems to be—and that I have the feeling we're going to be okay before long.

It's nice to have hopes to hold onto.

The boy leads us through the town, albeit slowly because we're both exhausted and more or less injured, until eventually we come to a hotel. 

   Outside the doors, the two of us bend over a pamphlet of the place. "Looks expensive," I murmur, glancing around as though there are street ghosts listening to us. 

   The boy shrugs. "It'll be okay," he assures in a similar octave. "It's not like I'm broke. I can afford us at least one night. They do offer free breakfast." He looks me over as if breakfast is the best part of the bargain, then folds the pamphlet up before handing it to me. "It's your choice, I guess. If you'd rather, I'll find us some cheap motel or abandoned old shack to stay in. Whatever you'd be comfortable with."

We both look a sorry state, more so me than him; the majority of my discomfort. If I didn't look like a beggar, I'd have higher self-esteem.

"I'd like to stay here. But—"

"Then that's what we'll do." He pulls the pamphlet from my grimy hands and slides it back into the box. Then he opens the doors and lets me inside. The man at the desk is well-dressed, refined to the point of almost being snotty. Thin brown hair is slicked back over his round head with grease. Thick, bushy eyebrows sit above piercing blue eyes, and an expensive silver watch encases his left wrist. 

I am not getting good vibes off of him. He appears to be a wealthy snob. I move closer to the boy as he speaks to the man in a persuasive, business-like manner. The way he speaks gives me the impression that he wants the man to think of us as weary travelers in need of a place to crash. The man, seemingly convinced, gives the boy a key and says to pay when we check out tomorrow morning. The boy nods, saying he'll do that, then looks at me with a small smile before leading me to our room.

"Ready?" he asks, bouncing his eyebrows excitedly as he rests a hand on the doorknob. I nod silently, feeling a bit of anticipation. Mostly, I just want him to get it over with because I feel like someone's following us again. All I want is to be safe behind a closed door. The boy opens the room and sweeps his arm forward in a great gesture for me to enter. I timidly walk in and he follows, peering out into the lamplit hallway before locking the door securely. 

It's a small room with one bed and a bathroom. I wish there was a place to do laundry, but this isn't a house or apartment. It's a hotel. Which is still pretty extravagant, seeing as I've been living in the woods and off the streets for about two years or so. 

"You can maybe go get cleaned up," the boy suggests, drawing the curtains closed. "I picked us a room with a jacuzzi, so please use it. And while you're doing that, I'll ring up room service and get you something to eat."

Most of my baths were given to me by the cold rain. Otherwise I'd take them in ice-cold creeks. It wasn't dignified, I know, but at least it got the dirt off. Now I really have a chance at improving my appearance.

"Oh, and take as long as you like," the boy calls, flopping onto the bed with the TV remote. After removing my magazine and leaving it on the bed, I nod and take my backpack into the bathroom with me, shutting the door. 

Avoiding even one glimpse of myself in the mirror, I hurriedly undress and figure out the bathtub. I slide into all the suds, feeling the warm water snuggle against me. It's the best thing I've ever felt. Not until you lose the luxury of bath-taking do you really start to appreciate it.

I scrub my filthy hair and body until I'm positive there isn't anymore dirt, then drain the tub. Sediment lingers, which I quickly rinse down, then wrap my hair in one towel and my body in another. It's steamy in here; it feels so nice. As I dry off and change into some pajamas I hid in my backpack for emergencies, it enters my mind that I really owe this boy my life. He saved me from something harmful when he pushed me off that train. He's taking care of me without question. At least for tonight, he is. And we don't even know each other! 

After drying my hair with the blowdryer I found in a cabinet, I take all my dirty clothes from the backpack and wash them out in the tub. Streams of grimy water flow from the articles as I wring them out continually. At long last, the water runs clear and I hang them to dry on the towel bars and shower curtain rod. I even wash my backpack, blowdrying it to prevent dampness that may occur when drip-drying. With all my cleanup work out of the way and my stomach growling ravenously, I drape my towels on the tub's edge and take my backpack out with me, setting it near the boy's feet on the bed. Getting up with a smile, he switches off the TV and picks up the room service phone. "That's a sight better. I'll have to clean up too, I think. But not now. What're you hungry for?"

"Oh, anything's good," I shrug, climbing onto the bed and opening my magazine. The mattress beneath me is comfy and soft; the blankets are warm and the pillows are cushy. It's not something I'll ever take for granted again; not with my luck. But it is such a treat.

"Well, maybe you should think about what you'd like to eat most of all."

I shut my eyes, magazine falling open on my lap, then reopen them and say, "I want a hamburger and fries. And chocolate milk."

"More fries, eh?" He laughs a little, obviously recalling my meal on the train. "Sounds good. Mind if I do the same?"

"Why would I mind?"

"Maybe I'll have the steak instead. It looks kinda good." Completely ignoring my question, he dials a number and holds the receiver to his ear, waiting. I busy myself reading an article about some girl who accidentally got picked to act in some movie simply because they got the real actress's name wrong. The boy hangs up after placing our order and requesting a few extra blankets.

   "They should be up here in about thirty minutes if that's okay with you."

With surroundings as luxurious as this, I think I'd be content to wait even thirty hours. I nod, "Yeah, it's okay." 

"Alright. I'm gonna take some of your pillows, if you don't mind. I'm making a bed here on the carpet so you can have the bed to yourself."

I give him half the pillows and go back to reading my magazine. He makes himself comfortable on the floor and switches the TV back on. It's some news channel that's very disturbing. When I finally can't take hearing about shootings and abductions anymore, I rise from my comfy position in bed to yell at the boy. But he turns it off before I can speak, scrambling to his feet; in all the noise of the television I didn't even notice that room service was here. The boy puts our food on the bed and locks the door again before completing his sleep spot on the floor. Then he joins me for a very late supper. I'm so hungry, I lick my plate spotless. The boy generously offers me some of his fries and I eagerly wolf them down. He watches me with a sort of astonished admiration on his face, like he's never seen anyone with such a desperate appetite.

He leaves the tray of dishes outside the door for the maids to pick up, then dims all the lights and settles into his "bed" on the floor. 

   "Goodnight," he yawns. I've never had anyone say that to me in so long, I've lost practice in that area. At first I just nod, sliding into the sheets, but then I remember it's too dark for him to see me at all. So I answer him softly, "Goodnight. And thank you."

"Hey, no problem," he yawns again.