Three Hour Delay

Three Hour Delay
As I ran to catch my cab, the bitter wind seized my bones. I pulled my coat collar up, and hurried to the waiting cab while carefully avoiding a fall on the icy side walk. Immediately the image of a stinky cab and cab driver played in my head. The cab driver, a scruffy, but friendly guy, who looked as if he had not slept in days grabbed my suit cases and carefully placed them in the trunk. His mannerisms belied the look of him. He didn’t smell, nor was he foreign. He hobbled to the driver’s side of the cab and got in as I closed the door and was suddenly enveloped in the warmness of the cab. We chatted on the way to the airport. "I hope your flight isn’t delayed." He said, in a slow southern drawl. I noted the accent and asked what brought him to Chicago. He told me a long tale about his granddaughter and how she needed help with his great grand children. "Sometimes it takes a firm hand." For some reason “firm hand” reminded me of poker, which didn’t make sense at all, except for the hand part. I handed him the cab fare, gave him a tip, and suggested he go home and get some sleep so he could be around for his grandchildren. He smiled, handed me my bags and said, thanks buddy. "Have a good flight now hear."

As I stepped onto the curb, I continued to smile about his accent, my new happy feelings, and the fact that I was about to begin a new chapter in my life. My pills worked wonders. I walked up to the nearest travel board and checked my flight. Everything was on schedule, so I sat and played with my lap top. I looked up and watched the people walk by, got up a few minutes later and went to board my flight. The boards began to flip, and I walked over to watch…flights had been delayed because of the weather, and mine was one of them. I did not want to miss this job interview because my financial security and new life depended on the success of it. My best friend from college had pretty much guaranteed the position. I just needed to interview.

As I turned, I bumped into a cute girl with pretty brown eyes.

She asked. Where are you heading? It looks like both of our flights are delayed. She turned to walk away, and I asked if she would like to have coffee with me. She eyed me as if she was uncomfortable, but said yes. She seemed bothered by something and I thought: I hope she does not have emotional baggage to talk about because I had enough of that with my ex-girlfriend. Her bags were still at my old apartment. I wondered why she did not pick them up, but soon my mind left the thought.  Sheila was a nice distraction from my negative thoughts. Sheila had baggage, but it was not relationship baggage, it was much more sinister than bad relationships.

"By the way, Mark."  I offered my hand; she took it and said hesitantly, I’m Sheila. Sheila you have very pretty eyes. My eyes are big aren’t they? …the better to see you with. That broke the ice and I watched her pretty smile spread across her cute face. We chatted for a few minutes talking about our lives. Turns out, she was a gulf war veteran. She talked about things that I did not want to hear. The illuminating negative energy was about to hover over me. I could feel its onslaught without reason, and although I was attracted to her, I was determined to stay positive because I knew I could not live with the overwhelming darkness. She said. I need to tell somebody this. Despite my reservations, I said shoot because something else motivated me.

She told the story:

    "It was a nice and breezy day in 1992. I took my usual trip to the PX. I did not feel good. I never knew why I felt so bad…She hesitated with emotion in her voice… The doctors did not know. My illness bothered me for a very long time. It affected so many things about me, the physical and mental. It was as if some unknown entity attacked my body. It left me tired, in constant physical pain and also robbed me of my memory." To me, that made no sense at all. She continued. The two of them were at the PX.. I did not remember at the time, but I had seen them around, and had been in contact with one of them in a most familiar way. Two of them, I asked. She said, yes, two random guys. As she told the story, my interest sparked.

As I checked out at the counter, one said, as if he was talking to me, but also to himself, don’t go down that road. I noted. He was shy but not shy, nor was he coy.  He had a grin pinned on his face and seemed a bit hyper. When I look back on it, I realize his look was one of unmanageable madness. As he talked, his pretty friend walked up. His friend watched me with a casual look, and as I focused my attention on him, he moved as if uncomfortable. I wave of nausea came over me and I felt faint.

"Why shouldn’t I go down that road?" He said it again, and said he needed my address for something. I really did not know what he was talking about. I gave him a fake address. I left, and decided to take another route home because I thought it would be a short cut. I don’t remember getting in my car, but I was in it.

As Sheila told this part of the tale, I wondered why she would go down a road when this guy had just told her not to. I asked her. She replied. I don’t know, but I felt really sick and just wanted to get home. The road seemed as if it would take me straight home, and I have never been fearful. Perhaps in some way, I wanted to defy him or I was just drawn to negative energy. I could not have known which road he advised me against, now could I? It must have been some magnetic pull of energy. I watched the frown deepen in her cute forehead, as I imagined myself kissing it, and I watched her pretty mouth move as she continued with her tale.

I turned down the road, and soon felt a wave of dizziness come over me. I barely held myself together as I shifted the gears of my hatch back.

She spoke low, and I moved in closer to listen.

I drove for a few minutes, and thought. This road is longer than I imagined. It turned out not to be a short cut. I was in the middle of nowhere, no houses, just trees. The road almost came up to meet me as I continued to drive. I looked in front of me, and I saw something move in the ditch on the passenger side of the car. I slowed down, and when I recognized a woman in the ditch, I almost came to a complete stop. My internal dialogue warned me against stopping, but my mind thought, she must want to be in that ditch because she looked kind of happy there, all nude and pale. My thinking was not clear Mark. There was something wrong with my mind and how I handled information.

I watched her unhappy expression as she continued to tell her tale.

She sat up Mark, and looked at me with a strange look on her face. I did not recognize it for the drugged delirium that it was. I noticed she had unusually long and two toned blonde hair. She seemed tall, maybe six feet; but maybe she wasn’t tall at all, but had rather long arms and legs. She was very pale, like a ghost.  I decided to get help anyway, and drove away shifting gears. I prayed that my car would not give out, and wished that I had taken it to a mechanic. I knew that I would not make it in time to save her. I watched the road. A car appeared in front of me.  It seemed as if it came out of nowhere. I did not see any crossing roads. I had to keep moving. My sickness began to overwhelm me. I knew death was coming.

Death drove fast from lane to wrong lane until he saw me and slowed down. When the car passed me, it seemed to go by in slow motion. The young guy driving it seemed to roll down his window. He looked high, and on marijuana, which in retrospect, possibly saved my life. Maybe he thought to himself: I can get her later. He watched me, almost inquiring me to pull over, or looked as if he wanted to ask me something. I almost asked him what he wanted because his angelic face beckoned me for some odd reason. I did not stop, and thought, He’s cute. Immediately after that, a wave of fear washed over me, I pressed the gas and shifted gears, as I tried to drive faster. I thought; please don’t give out on me now Betsy. I said a little prayer as I faded fast. He became alarmed when I reached to shift my gears. He looked behind him, in the direction that I was going, looked back at me, and probably thought, I’ll get her later.

My attention went back to the road as my engine picked up speed. He suddenly realized that he was on a mission and looked up in front of him instead of at me. I was about to pass out. I drove as fast as I could, as I watched him in the rear view mirror hovering over the girl in the ditch. He had his hands in his pocket as he looked down at her. He looked up, in my direction. I thought. This road is too long. Can I remember how to get back here after I call the police?

I felt sick again and my mind left again. I did not know if I could make it home.

She stopped talking, and watched me with her pretty brown eyes.

"Mark, there is more to this, and I am not telling any more of it, but I will tell you this: I did not remember this until 5 days ago, when I saw his youthful face on the internet described as one of the most prolific serial killers of the west coast. He was executed in 2001."

I set back and did the math…that was over 14 years ago.

"Yes, Mark. My memory was also affected by my illness. What bothers me, more than anything, is the fact that my absent memory got other people killed because he killed or covered for someone many years after that." 

I thought, what a story, as I touched her hand. I have one to tell too.