Date: Fri, 6 Apr 2007 10:44:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Michael: Part Eight

      It did not seem much use to ask whether Adam still had enough
courage to return home.  At this point, Michael realized that going back
was no longer a possibility for the three of them.  As Macy had pointed
out the moment they would go back they would be arrested.
      They were running from the authorities now.
      And presently Michael had an awful feeling that they were being
watched by an officer.  Adam was thinking along the same lines.  He
slowly bent down and rummaged through his book bag.  Once he found the
gun he carefully extracted it, pointing it towards the source of noise.
      "Adam! Put that thing away!" Macy snarled under her breath.
"That's what got us into this mess!"
      But Adam kept it steadily aimed as the intruder came closer.  Sweat
broke out across Adam's forehead and trickled down his face, as his
finger wrapped around the trigger.  Waiting...anticipating the
worse...his heart beating faster than it should as the bushes nearby
rustle.
      "It could be just an innocent animal!" Macy said, further pleading
for Adam to lower the gun.  "Also if you shoot the gun it will
automatically draw the authorities to this spot!  Please, think it
through!"
      "Macy," Adam said impatiently, "shut up.  Show yourself!" he
shouted towards the bush.  "Or I will shoot!"
      All three of them inhaled deeply as the bushes parted and Dylan
emerged looking down right frightened with his hands up in the air.  Adam
hesitantly lowered his gun, giving Dylan the nastiest look.  "Jesus
Christ, man, what do you think you're doing creeping up on us?"
      "Never mind that, what the hell are you doing with a gun?  You're
the one responsible for the school shooting aren't you?"  Dylan let out a
low whistle.  "Damn, do I have news for those back there waiting."
      Adam immediately raised the gun back up, pointing directly at
Dylan's head.  The trigger clicked and Macy jumped slightly.  "Try to go
back to school," Adam said.  "I always thought you were a jerk."
      Dylan let an incredulous laugh.  "Stop pissing around, you don't
have the guts.  So what are you going to do, make me come along on your
journey?  I would be, what do they call it, your hostage?"
      Keeping the gun trained on Dylan, Adam shrugged.  "Not my fault you
followed us.  Too bad, so sad.  We have a destination to reach and you
will not stop us."
      Dylan seemed to be fishing around for alternatives.  "Let's say if
I go back silently..."
      "No," Adam cut him off.
      Macy let out a groan.  "Adam, just let him leave and put that
blasted thing away.  You're going to end up hurting someone else."
      For the second time within the thirty minutes that they were
standing in the woods another noise caused by commotion aroused.  This
time it was blatantly obvious who was bearing down on them.  Two burly
police officers who were within twenty feet of them came thrashing
through the forest heading directly towards them.
      "Shit," Michael muttered.  "Run!"  Nobody needed telling twice, all
four of them took off in a sprint.  They ran blindly forward, dodging the
large trees.
      Michael gulped deep lungfuls of air.  His brain was on hyperdrive;
He was racing for his life.  Their one goal was to escape.  Nothing else
mattered.  The situation was snapped into perspective and survival was of
the essential necessity.
      His arms were being scratched to ribbons by a briar he'd run
through.  He was led to believe that among the four of them nobody had
run this far from home before.  Not even the impulsive Adam.  They were
all totally lost.  Still, their arms pumped by their sides, their feet
crashed through the underbrush, their eyes scanned the forest.  They
could outrun them.  If only they could find a clearing-
      Suddenly Adam, who was leading the pack, threw out his left hand,
indicating that up ahead they would turn left.
      Michael looked over his shoulder.  The officers were getting
closer.  The four of them burst through a clearing, but immediately
skidded to a halt.  Adams arms were waving, his feet backpedaling in the
rocky dirt.
      Unfortunately it wasn't until Michael, who had been bringing up the
rear, collided with Dylan that he realized they had stopped abruptly.
Within seconds a domino effect occurred.  Adam was pushed over the hill,
followed by Macy, Dylan, and finally Michael.
      The drums that had been beating in his ears ceased at once and now
the only sound he could was the sound of four teenagers falling down the
hillside.  Rocks scrapped at their skin, ripped Michael's shirt around
the neck and sliced his cheek.
      Up ahead Macy was careening out of control, she flung out her hand
in a desperate attempt to cling onto something, but all she got was a
razor sharp rock that partially sliced her palm.
      Meanwhile Adam had landed uncomfortably at the bottom and it didn't
take the others to long to join him with a thud.  They all kind of laid
there in a stupor; the only thing that was crossing their minds was the
pain that coursed through their bodies.  Somewhere far above them the
police officers were shouting.
      "Is everybody okay?" Macy asked, sitting up slowly, nursing her
wound.  She did a body count, and seemed satisfied that everybody was
getting to their feet.
      Adam's half-inch cut on his forehead that he received just the
other day had re-opened.  Blood trickled down his forehead.  He held his
hand up to the cut.  "Damn," he muttered under his breath, observing the
blood on his fingers.  He turned soberly to Dylan, who had a few
scratches along his arms.  "Welcome to our hell."

Until nightfall, things were comparatively easily, though they were
moving fast, and no one lost their temper.  Adam would find time to talk
about their next plan of action.  But at ten the rain started to come
down in an unexpected downpour.  They all clamored to seek refuge in the
nearest diner, and fifteen minutes later they were seated around a
booth.  The four of them dripping wet, studied the menu.  A rain drop ran
down Michael's bangs and dripped onto the menu.
      Michael wanted to add, by the way, that the diner was the ordinary
cheap eating-house frequented by other students and workmen.  They
provided an adequate meal at less than ten dollars, and they were
picturesque while at the same time maintaining the family-style d^Ācor.
There were the indecent pictures in the adjacent bar, and the alcoholic
paraphernalia.  It was moments like these when Michael could use a pint
of something.  He watched forlornly as a lady ordered a beer.
      Adam had requested to sit in the smoking section after having
previously stopped at a convenient store to buy a new pack.  He slipped
one out and lit it up slowly and carefully and took a long drag on it.
      For one reason or another nobody really spoke.  Macy was seated
next to Adam, but never once protested his smoking habit.  Additionally,
nobody really knew how far they were from home.  What they did know is
that they had finally left Queens.
      A few minutes later their waitress swept around.  She introduced
herself as Laura.  She was a tall, melancholy woman with curly blonde
hair.  Laura's peculiarity was that she was bout forty-years-old and the
only job she held down was being a waitress throughout the week.  Picture
her very pink and rather young, with the fresh cheeks and soft hair of a
nice little girl, and lips excessively red and wet, like strawberries.
She had a way of studying her customers up, as though they were all
inferior.  Her eyes were a dull gray as she looked from Macy to Adam to
Michael and then finally rested upon Dylan.  Michael had to wonder what
she thought of four cut up, and rather wet teenagers who were currently
sitting at their table.
      "What would you like?" she asked curtly, chewing on a piece of
bubble gum.
      "I'll just take a soda and a cheeseburger," Dylan spoke up.
      Macy ordered her coffee and Adam and Michael joined in with the
consensus of getting a cheeseburger and soda.
      Michael had so many different feelings at first, sitting with his
three friends after having already been through so much and they weren't
even half way through the trip.  It was hard to know what to say next
with such varied thoughts coming into your head.  He asked where they
would head next, and thought that perhaps he was overdoing it.
      Adam shrugged his shoulders, and dabbed the napkin to his scar.  He
waited until the waitress was out of ear shot.  "We head east," Adam told
them, snuffing out his cigarette.  "Ohio's east, and that's our
destination."
      That was about the longest conversation they had.  Occasionally
Macy would bring up something.  She had picked up a map of Pennsylvania
and was helping to route out their trail.  She pointed to the Appalachian
Mountains and remarked that eventually they would have to cross through
them.
      Never feel sorry for a waiter, Michael thought.  Sometimes when you
sit in a restaurant, still stuffing yourself half an hour after closing
time, you feel that the tired waiter at your side must surely be
despising you.  That's the way Michael felt as the restaurant emptied out
around them and the waitress swept by frequently to see how things were
going, but she really didn't bother to hide her annoyance.
      Adam lit up another cigarette and threw down a few dollar bills to
cover his meal.  Everybody else followed suit and together they filed out
of the restaurant and back into the pouring rain.  For a few seconds the
four of them stood under the overhang, shoulder-to-shoulder, avoiding the
rain.  Cars streaked by them on the highway.  A vacant phone booth stood
to the right of them and a few drunks staggered out of the bar.
      "Those were the nights," Adam said, watching the drunks singing in
the rain and traipsing across the parking lot.  Michael could not be
sure, but at the reflection to last weekend he thought Dylan was trying
to meet his eyes.  Though they had been plastered at the time, it was
hard to forget the night they spent together.
      Adam tossed his cigarette aside and stepped out into the rain.
"Let's roll."
      It was now absolutely necessary to find a place to sleep, and Macy
remembered spotting a Motel 6 along the highway.  The motel was the
dirtiest motel around.  From its dark doorway there came out a vile, sour
odor.  The desk clerk was an overweight man and was entranced by a rerun
of Gilligan's Island when they arrived.
      "Well, beggars can't be chooser," Macy commented darkly, observing
the slum of a lobby.  A few homeless people were lounged out on the
couches, probably catching as much sleep as possible until the security
guard would come around and poke them awake.
      Michael kept pace with Adam.  "How are we going to pay for this?"
he asked.  The good part about Motel 6 is that it couldn't possibly be
more than $100 a night, and probably the biggest necessity on this trip
was saving money.
      "I got it covered," Adam said coolly.  "Just let me do the
talking."  Consequently, Macy, Michael, and Dylan hung back and let Adam
take charge.  The large man behind the desk sat up as Adam approached.
He let out a low, gruff, annoyed cough and asked how he could help Adam.
      Michael couldn't really hear the conversation so he joined Macy and
Dylan on a vacant sofa.  His eyes wandered across the peeling wall paper,
the rickety coffee table and he was reminded not so fondly of Rosa's
apartment back in Queens.  The only thing different was that there were a
bunch of tobacco chewing bikers ambling around.
      "I feel out of place," Macy said, also noticing the menacing
looking bikers.
      "Don't worry about it," Adam said, arriving by their side.  He was
dangling a room key on his index finger.  "The four of us will share
unlucky room thirteen.  Hope no one is superstitious," he winked.
      Nobody bothered to ask how he was able to achieve getting a room.
Michael was willing to bet that the answer would be a shocker, and no one
was willing to deal with the shock this late at night.  The only thing
that was inquired was Adam's sudden change of moods.  He did seem to be
more relaxed than before.
      "Because he had his fix," Dylan answered.
      Adam let out a hollow laugh and unlocked the door to their room.
"Make another remark like that and your ass will be outside for the
night," he said carelessly, and pushed open the door.
      The room was small and inveterately dirty, for there was no maid,
and the guy at the front desk was probably too absorb in watching
television to do any sweeping.  The walls were as thin as matchwood, and
to hide the cracks they had been covered by cheap paintings.  It was
lighted by one dim electric bulb.  Two queen-size beds stood on rickety
legs against the wall.  A television was bolted to the wall and the
outdoors looked more appealing than the bathroom.  Up towards the ceiling
bugs marched in single-file lines.  Macy let out a little, disgusted
squeak at the sight of them.
      "Well, it's only for one night, right?" Adam said, dropping his
book bag on one of the beds.  "We sleep for a few hours and then start
out early tomorrow morning."  He wandered over to the bathroom and peered
into the mirror, again dabbing at his scar, pushing his shaggy blonder
hair out of the way.
      Michael now unhesitatingly walked to the opposite bed and feel down
on his back.  For the first time he felt at ease about this trip.  Maybe
things were going to be all right.  He folded his hands behind his head
and felt the other side of the bed sag under the weight of Dylan.
Michael's heart tightened up for a second.  He hadn't even entertained
the notion about who would be sharing beds.  It just never crossed his
mind.
      Macy stood by the end table, viewing Adam wash his scar, while at
the same time she continued to study the map.  After a few minutes'
reflection, she folded the map up, saying: "It would be nice to take
public transportation.  What do you think the chances of that are?"
      Flicking off the light, Adam shook his head from side to side.  "We
would be too easy to track that way.  They could see that we're heading
towards Ohio.  I don't think we'll do it all by foot, but we'll go that
way for the majority."  He took off his shirt and sat with legs stretched
out over the blanket, smoking cigarette after cigarette.  He watched
Macy's face scrunch together, while contemplating over their plans of
action.
      But it was Dylan who spoke up next.  "What about clothes?  You and
Michael may have packed clothes, but Macy and I were taken hostage
remember?"
      "We'll stop at a flea market or something cheap," Adam responded
curtly.  "Let's get some shut eye.  I'm setting the alarm for seven in
the morning."
      Macy was the only one who didn't bother to undress.  She merely
crawled up in bed and drew the blankets up to her chin, snuggling,
complaining a few times how rough the mattress was.  "There is a spring
right in my back," she grumbled, flipping over onto her side.
      Michael watched out of the corner of his eye as Dylan stripped down
to his baby-blue Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs.  Suddenly, Michael felt
rather nervous.  This was the first time he had shared a bed with Dylan
when he was sober.  He didn't really expect anything to happen, but did
Dylan feel the same way?
      Despite the fact the he felt exhausted, Michael couldn't sleep a
wink after he slid in between the cold sheets of his bed.  He thought
that tomorrow would be another day that they would be running from the
police, but it would also bring him closer to his mom.  He couldn't lose
sight of that goal.
      He lay in the dark, listening as Dylan climbed into bed next to
him, while Macy continuously flipped around and then Adam muttering his
protest towards her restlessness.  "Well I can't help it!" Macy said at
one point, very impatiently.
      For about an hour, Michael steadfastly refused to himself drift to
sleep.  A bunch of random thoughts strolled through his head that kept
him awake and then he would hear Adam's soft snoring, Macy's tossing and
turning, but he didn't hear anything coming from Dylan.
      Cautiously, Michael turned over to his other side so that he was
face to face with Dylan.  The reason he didn't hear coming from Dylan was
because he was still wide awake.  Their heads were on different pillows,
but they lay there for awhile staring eye-to-eye.  A connection was being
formed.  What kind of connection it was, Michael wasn't too sure.
      Then Dylan silently held his index finger up to his lips.
Underneath the covers there was the tiniest rustling sound as Dylan
extended out his arm, his fingers running across Michael's Hanes boxer
brief waistband and then his hand slipped into Michael's underwear.
Michael felt an instant erection that formed in Dylan's hand and he
followed suit, diving his hand mutely into Dylan's underwear to find an
equally as hard erection, if not harder.
      And that's how they stayed when they both fell into a blissful
sleep, ignoring the sound of the rowdy bikers leaving the bar, the sound
of the marching bugs on the ceiling, and the sound of Adam's even
breathing.  Who would have thought that delight could be found in a place
like this, was Michael's last thought before he drifted into a
comfortable sleep.