Lasting Impressions. John Schlarbaum

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СКАЧАТЬ long have you been in town?" Lucy asked, astonished by his knowledge of the town's golden boy and girl.

      "About five hours," Dale said.

      "Have they erected a new sign on the outskirts of town saying that Jeremy Atkins is a resident here?"

      "Not that I noticed. You see, Jeremy gave me a ride earlier and introduced me to Susan. So, as you can see, I possess no special powers."

      "That's a relief."

      "Now, why would you think Olivia had mentioned his name? Does she like him?"

      Before Lucy answered, Dale had pieced together the fragile triangle that existed, even if none of the players knew what was happening. This is classic, he thought.

      As Lucy droned on how Olivia was infatuated with Jeremy, Dale wasn't listening to her, as he was too busy planning. He heard phrases like ". . . he's the most popular boy in town . . ." and ". . . I don't think it's healthy for a girl Olivia's age to look at older guys like Jeremy . . ." and ". . . there's no way he's ever going to notice her, let alone date her!"

      These sound bytes were all Dale needed. With each sentence Lucy confirmed what he'd thought from the first mention of Jeremy's name: Olivia loves Jeremy and he doesn't know she's alive. If there was one thing Dale aimed to accomplish before leaving Lasting, it was to help these two crazy kids get to know each other better.

      As Lucy continued to babble, Dale abruptly stood up.

      "I have to go," he declared, throwing $20 on the table and starting to leave.

      Lucy stood in amazement at his rudeness. "Fine," she said and walked away. By the time she got back to the bar where Betty was pouring a beer, Dale was out the door.

      "What was that all about?" Betty inquired.

      "Don't ask me. One minute we were getting along fine and the next minute, he's on his way."

      "What were you talking about that made him leave?"

      "Olivia and Jeremy Atkins."

      "Say no more."

      The summer sun was in its final stages of setting as Dale toured the downtown core before heading to the hotel. The streets were empty, except for a few scruffy teenagers hanging around a bench in a small parkette. As he passed, one of them spoke up.

      "You got a cigarette, man?" Peter Hauser asked.

      Dale stopped. "Do I look like someone who'd give you a cigarette?" he said, getting their undivided attention.

      "It was just a question. Don't have a friggin' fit."

      A nervous edginess swept over the group as they laughed with their impromptu leader.

      "Hey dude, take a downer," another member said as he looked to the others for approval.

      Dale took a few steps forward, zeroing in on Peter. "You obviously don't know who you're speaking to," he said slowly. "You guys think that you own this whole damn town, don't you?" Dale's voice rose with each sentence, commanding more and more attention from these smartass kids. "That you can dictate the way people move around here. You don't care what others think because you're all that matters, right?"

       Their collective bravado had disappeared, their only thoughts now were how to get out of this encounter unscathed. No one had the chance to act on their individual flights of fancy, as Dale wasn't ready to let them depart just yet.

      "Do you know what it's like to feel pain?" Dale continued. His eyes were locked with those of Peter. What Dale saw was fear in its purest form. What Peter saw was fury in its rawest manifestation. "I don't think you do and that's unfortunate." Dale's voice cut the still night's air like a razor slicing flesh. "Kids these days have it easy."

      When Dale grabbed him by the neck, Peter could feel the heat coming off his tormentor's body. Dale then brought his other hand up to his adversary's throat, slowly tightening his hold as if closing a vice grip.

      The two actions caused Peter's vision to blur. Tears of fright poured from his eyes.

      "Is this how you fight, warrior?" Dale's voice boomed. "You are a weakling not worthy of the space you take up! Do you hear me?"

      Dale loosened his stranglehold on Peter, who collapsed against the wooden bench gasping for air. Dale remained in his face and continued staring into the boy's very being.

      Wiping his eyes, Peter felt like he was about to die.

      I don’t want to live. What’s the purpose?

      I have nothing. I am nothing.

      Why won't this man leave me alone?

      "You are despicable," Dale's voice rang in Peter's ears. "You don't deserve to be part of this earth. You don't fool me and you surely don't fool any of your friends here."

      Peter may as well have been a newborn baby. His sense of direction, sight, sound, movement and speech were foreign now. As Peter's eyes cleared, to his horror he was still looking deep into the crazed stare of a madman.

      "If I were you, I'd run as far away as I could, little man." Dale's tone was equally menacing and comforting. "Tragically, you can't run very far if you're blind to the world."

      A few weeks earlier, Dale had witnessed a hypnotist explain how the power of suggestion can work in everyday life. All you needed was a willing participant and a sudden distraction to catch them off guard.

      Just as the hypnotist put a burly bar patron to sleep on stage, with lightning speed Dale's right palm snapped Peter's forehead back, causing him to slump onto the sidewalk. When Peter re-opened his eyes, he took in a whole new world: one of complete darkness.

      "I'm blind!" he shouted. "Someone help me! I'm blind! I can't see anything!"

      Peter's friends stood spellbound as they watched Dale sling his knapsack over his shoulder. "I hope this is a valuable lesson to you all," he said, bringing them back to life.

      As Dale moved further away from the park, Peter's anguished calls for help diminished, but their intensity rose, announcing Dale Hawks' arrival in Lasting and, more importantly, the fact that he was staying.

      ***

      Earlier in the day, Dale had checked into the Lasting Hotel and took in his small, tidy room. He had slept in worse places, sometimes by necessity, on occasion by choice. It would do though. It was dry and private - the two things Dale looked for most when it came to accommodations. He hadn't determined how long he might stay yet - a few days at least, perhaps a week. It would all depend on how friendly the good people of Lasting would be to him.

      Dale placed his knapsack on the bed and emptied it. Inspecting the contents, he discovered most of his clothes needed a wash and hoped the hotel had laundry services. As he threw his clothes in a pile on the floor, a tinny sound came from inside one of the shirts. Unravelling the shirt, a six-inch knife fell onto the bedspread.

      Dale smiled as he picked it up. Looking through the remaining pile on the bed, he found a second four-inch knife, still in its leather sheath. The memory of Sara and The Dirty Diner rushed back to him.

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