I spent much of the rest of that day with thoughts of that old life in the back of my mind. They were dusty, cobwebbed corridors that beckoned.
“Sir? Mr. Beaumont?” Stacy said, dragging me from a memory of an open road rolling along, cutting between flat fields on either side. A feeling accompanied that memory. Openness, possibility. As though my life and the world itself both lay open before me.
“Yes?” I said, shaking my head. I looked down at a report on my desk that I didn’t remember opening. There were graphs and projections on it.
Is this my life now? It was a strange thought that I didn’t immediately recognize as my own. It seemed to come from far away. Or perhaps from long ago.
“I’m going home now, unless there’s something else you’d like me to do first?”
“Home?” I repeated. I glanced out the windows and saw the Empire State Building lit up against the night sky.
The whole day had passed, and I hadn’t noticed.
“Anything at all, sir,” Stacy said, her voice low and suggestive. She put a hand on my desk.
I took notice of her, then. The way her tongue licked nervously at her glossy lips. The way she trembled ever so slightly. How her eyes couldn’t quite dare meet mine.
I took notice, but didn’t care.
My focus changed and I caught my reflection in one of the plate glass panes. A broad-shouldered man in a tailored suit. Severe and cold. Lifeless, even.
It was as though my mind had finally caught up with my life. My perfect half-Windsor knot seemed to tighten around my throat. I reached up and tugged it loose.
“Sir?” Stacy said.
“You can go home,” I said.
“Oh… of course,” she said. Disappointment tinged her voice, but I was unmoved.
She turned and started for the door.
“There is one thing,” I said.
“Yes?” She said, spinning to face me so quickly her hair whipped at her cheek. Sudden hope gleamed in her eyes.
“Get me the number my mother’s been calling from.”
“That?” she said, her shoulders slumping, “Right away, sir.”
She fetched it for me, lingered momentarily, and then left. I looked down at the little note scratched out on the paper.
What do I even say? I wondered. I reached for the sleek, modern-chic handset of my office phone. My hand hovered above it, fingers clenching and unclenching in uncharacteristic hesitance.
I steeled myself and grabbed up the receiver. I punched in the numbers, my heart beating a little faster, a little harder, with each additional digit.
“Yes?” A man’s voice answered on the other end.
I swallowed against sudden drying in my mouth and throat.
“Hello? I can hear you breathing,” the man said again.
“Yes, hello. This is Dash Beaumont calling… Calling for my mother. Her name is Emily. Emily Beaumont.”
“One moment,” the man said. There was a slight click when he set the receiver down.
Who is this? Why would my mother not answer? I wondered.
Another click. Someone had picked up the receiver on the other end. My heart lurched while I waited to hear my mother’s voice.
“Mr. Beaumont?” Another man. A different man.
“Yes?” I said.
“My name is Dr. Hartmann. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…”
I’d left New York City that night, appalled at what I’d become.
I took the cash stashed in a safe in my office. It was enough to pick up some riding gear, the old bike parked out in Ellie’s driveway, and, if rationed, keep me from starving. So long as I didn’t mind spending more than a few nights with only the stars as my ceiling.
And it hadn’t been so bad. It was good to be on the road, in the fresh air. Breathing again. Living somewhere without a crush of people smothering my every move, my every thought. Easier this way. Easier to be unattached. No expectations.
But now, there was Ellie.
I went into the living room and turned on Ellie’s TV set. It was a boxy old thing with faux-wood panels and knobs. A bent set of rabbit ears sat on top.
They picked up the local Fox affiliate just fine, though.
I sat on the faded couch, its old springs complaining beneath me. A small coffee table sat between me and the set. The only thing on the table was an old, dusty ashtray that probably hadn’t been used in years.
I watched the broadcast for a while, wondering, waiting. Until finally the pretty newscaster with the fake smile mentioned me.
“And in other news,” she said, her teeth so white they hurt to look at, “We’re approaching the eight month mark since billionaire CEO Dashiell Beaumont disappeared from his office. Investigators with the FBI have not yet been able to rule out kidnapping. Beaumont’s disappearance has sparked a nationwide search that has captured widespread social media attention…”
She kept going, but I stopped listening.
My picture appeared over her left shoulder. It looked like one of the lot taken for an article they'd done on me for Forbes. My hair had grown out a lot since then. My skin had tanned from the sun.
Is it enough, though? I’d just have to hope that Ellie or any of the local yokels wouldn’t know me from Adam.
I just needed to wait for Ellie to get back from her shift, then I would go, no matter what she said.
It’s just a shirt. I can leave it and leave here… so why don’t I?
I shifted on the couch, wondering why my good sense seemed to have left me overnight. Why didn’t I just leave? Why couldn’t I forget about Ellie?
I mean, sure, I’d lived here. But it wasn’t like I grew up here. It wasn’t even an entire school year that we stayed.
There was something different about this town. Something that set it apart from any of the others.
I just couldn’t quite figure it out yet.
Was I any closer to the answers I wanted so badly?
For that matter, did I even know the right questions to ask?
Chapter 6
ELLIE
Dash’s shirt kept coming untucked every time I sat or stood up. Pushing it back down into the waist of my jeans became an unconscious motion by the end of the day.
“Looks a bit loose on you, hon,” Jennie said while I bussed a table. Leaning forward like that pulled the shirt out of the back of my pants.
The plates clattered together while I gathered them up. They were smeared with ketchup, and a couple of lonely fries clung to each.
Working at Josie’s Diner wasn’t the most glamorous job I had ever imagined for myself, but it kept the bills paid. And the hours were pretty steady, so when I wanted to take some college credit classes there was never an issue.
“Yeah, problems with laundry this week,” I said to Jennie’s back.
“Shift’s over, isn’t it?” Jennie said back, putting her tray of dishes down on the counter.
“It is,” I replied. A sudden knot tied itself in my stomach. Will he still be there?
“Something the matter?” Jennie asked. Usually I came to work and left without much fuss.
Then again, I also usually came wearing my usual outfit and not what was obviously a much-too-large man’s shirt tucked into a pair of old jeans.
It really piqued Jennie’s interest. And I didn’t want to answer any the questions that might come up as a result.