Last Stay

VIII. A Place to Disappear

My foot finds the gas pedal, and the hotel fades out of view. I find myself wishing thoughts and memories could disappear simply by driving away from them. But life has this bitchy rule that forbids easy outs, especially where fears are concerned. Thoughts and memories laced by fear tend to linger like bleeding wounds that refuse to heal until they bleed you dry.

She's not dead...Angela is not dead—fuck, I could use a drink right now.

Almost mechanically, my finger drifts over to the screen and turns on the radio. My mind knows I need a distraction, and music can do that. And although it's only a temporary reprieve from the dark thoughts sending tremors through my body, I'll take it.

Concentrate on the melody and the lyrics. Angela's waiting for you to come back with that spinach wrap she's been craving and those oatcakes we both like. Hopefully, she doesn't throw up again, but if she does, I swear I'm taking her to the hospital; I don't care what she says.

Soon, I'm in Daleford, one of the renovated parts of downtown. The old brownstone buildings stained by graffiti have given way to high-rises made of glass and metal. On my right, a shiny, new Starbucks comes into view, and thankfully the sidewalks are snow-free. I park in a loading zone, hop out, and rush inside.

I head straight up to the counter, grab a banana and a bottle of water before heading to the cash register. And before the brunette barista can speak, I say, "Just this—on credit, please."

"Whenever you're ready," she smiles.

"Thanks," I reply, tapping my card on the scanner.

"Would you like your receipt?"

"Yes, please."

She deftly rips the paper out of the printer and hands it to me.

"I hope you have a good day," she says kindly.

Me too.

"Thanks, you as well," I reply, grabbing my stuff and racing out the door.

I toss the banana and the water into the passenger seat and drive away without putting my seatbelt on. I need to find somewhere to park so I can check my phone. As I'm making a right, a little boy runs out into the street chasing a soccer ball, causing me to slam on the brake. I throw the door open, jump out, run around to the front and see the little guy shaking, inches from my bumper. I apologise, pick up the ball and give it back to him with trembling hands.

"Are you okay?"

"Sí...estoy," he mumbles, "I mean, yes, I am okay."

I exhale in relief. "Está bien—I speak Spanish too."

His little dark eyes light up. But as I'm about to ask for his parents, a middle-aged-looking woman comes flying out of a building nearby and wraps her arms around him. But the hugs and kisses are quickly followed by some sharp scolding until I cut in.

"Disculpe, señora," I say. "It's not his fault. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going—I'm really sorry."

She shoots me a dirty look before hurrying the little boy off the street. He looks back and flashes me a smile before following the woman inside the building she ran out of.

Well, that could have been worse.

A sigh escapes lips as I get back into the car, put my seat belt on and find a place to park in a nearby alley. My heart sinks after I check the banking app; unfortunately, this Starbucks doesn't match the purchase from Angela's card.

At this point, I could go west to the other locations, but I need to make sure that the first Starbucks I stopped at isn't the one I'm looking for; due diligence compels me to double-check. I leave the alley, get back on the main road and make it back to where my search began.

This time, the sidewalk is clear; I exhale in relief. The guy pushing the snowplough is almost at the end of the block. But there still isn't a place I can legally park nearby, and a police car is parked over on the corner just behind me.

If the cops weren't around, I could just park in front of this hydrant and be back before anyone even notices.

Suddenly, an obnoxious, alarm-sounding siren blares from across the street. A yellow light on the wall of the rectangular concrete structure begins to flash as a set of metal doors rise up. Soon a car emerges from the parking garage and drives away.

I guess that means there's at least one free spot down there.

It's annoying to pay twenty-five dollars for an hour of parking I won't use. But I don't really have a choice; this is for Angela. So I circle the block and enter the garage. And after nearly ten minutes of driving around the maze of cars, I find a spot.

There's an elevator to the left of the stairwell, but as usual, it's too small for me. I jog up the stairs, find the overpass and cross the street. Once inside, the smell of brewing coffee flows into my lungs. Normally, I'd have time to appreciate the aroma that starts my workday. But those days seem like a distant, fading dream that belongs to another lifetime.

I quickly grab an iced coffee and ask for two oatcakes at the checkout counter. Once the barista hands me my receipt, I head over to a table, set the items down and check the transaction on my phone.

No dice; it doesn't match. Looks like the eerie voice was right after all—a thought that's anything but comforting.

Shaking my head, I open up my notes to see where the other locations are. South of the river, there is one Starbucks near two hotels; north of the river, there are four hotels near one Starbucks.

Heading south-west makes the most sense because if that's the right Starbucks, I'll only have two hotels to contact.

I head back to my car and start making my way out of downtown. The twenty-minute drive eventually brings me to an area known as Pine Creek. It's a very scenic part of the city, even though it feels more like a small town. High-rises in this area are few and far between, and in their place, quaint houses with picket fences dot the landscape.

This is just the part of town Angela would love. I can almost hear her saying, "This would be a great place to raise a family." A sentiment I'd be hard-pressed to disagree with. I'm sure the area looks beautiful when the meadows are lush and green, and the scent of flowers fills the warm air.

But at the same time, I doubt anyone we know would have any reason to come out here unless they were trying to find someone. So in a sense, this is the ideal kind of place to disappear—especially if you didn't want to be found.