Shark of Spades

Above, Beneath, Around, and Through

The only reason I hadn't hopped a plane and landed in some place with beaches and delicious fruit was the fact that a non-entity, non-identity  person like me can't actually acquire (much less apply) for a passport.

So I was stuck in the country. First limit.

Second limit: the taxi could only transport me to another transportation site within the city.

Third limit: I only had the options of train, subway, or in-country plane (between subway and train schedules, I located the nearest airport).

Fourth limit: wherever I went, Jack would almost definitely be waiting for me.

Reverse psychology was killer. If I thought Jack would be waiting at the subway, then I'd take the train, but he'd predict such a move and be at the train station instead. Trying to bluff a pro card-player was about as hard as lying to myself.

At least, it would have been difficult, had I not been holding my very own wild card.

I instructed the driver of the taxi to take me to the nearest parking garage. Once there, I got out and paid the fair (with a slightly generous tip) and went in, acting as though I were just getting off of work. Once in, I went for the darkest corner, scanned the area really quick, and identified that there were no people around nor cars  preparing to back out. Then I picked the least conspicuous car, a small silver one, and jimmied the door with a handy tool from inside my magic  briefcase. Once in the car, I pulled out a screwdriver (also from the magic briefcase) and jammed it in the ignition.

Then I turned on the car and, before doing anything else, buckled my seat belt. Safety first, kids.

Then I put it in reverse, cranked the wheel, and pulled out of the parking garage slowly but confidently. After that, I stuck to main roads, going roughly 10 miles over every posted speed limit, until I was on the highway, and then the speed limit didn't really apply. After all, I was following the speed of traffic rule where I had to keep up with however  fast everyone was going, and who said I couldn't set it?

***

Where are you going? I  asked myself, gripping my hands on the steering wheel. "Shut up," I  whispered quietly to myself, scanning my rear view mirror for cops, a habit I would never break.

Seriously, this is stupid. You've never been this sloppy. That's how you stayed alive. But now you're going to get caught.

"I know, okay? Stop...thinking...to me. I don't want some conscience rationale crap. I just need to..." I let out a shaky breath before scanning the mirror again, dropping my walls back into place, my face  sharpening and my eyes hardening.

I kept up this annoying little  one-way conversation until I passed a car to my left with a dog that was staring at me strangely, as though it had somehow been tuned into my  frequency of insane. That's playing on FM, if you're interested.

So I drove faster still, trying to keep my panic at bay, where it might be useful for adrenaline and caution. Otherwise, emotions generally sucked.

***

I pulled into the lot, parking and getting out of the car, leaving it unlocked due to an obvious lack of keys. Other than that, I took only my  briefcase with me, straightening my sunglasses and straightening my  gloves before walking down the well-worn path. At least, it had been  worn in by hundreds of others, but never by me.

I wandered around for a bit, eventually stopping in front of the stone with the name EVAN  KUSOE on it. I just stared at it for a minute before kneeling down and  tracing the letters with my right index finger.

I'm sorry that I didn't come sooner, I thought, as though I could somehow reach Evan - wherever he was now - via mental communication. I know, I'm an awful person. Why'd you give it all up for me, huh? Stupid.

I pulled my hand back when I realized it was shaking and walked back to my car before I let my emotions get to me and end up taking over.

I got behind the wheel and just held on to it, not even starting the car, until I realized that I hadn't started the car and then jerkily moved to turn the screwdriver when a voice from the backseat said, "Stop and pull your hands back." I did as he asked, hiding my hands from his view so he wouldn't notice how badly I was shaking.

"You're..."

"Yes."

"But you're..."

"Mm hm."

I finally turned around, eyeing him with a mask of indifference shielding insecurity and confusion. "You're supposed to be dead, Evan. What the hell are you doing in my car?"