Rushed (2 page)

“That’ll be fun for you.”

“I know.  Also, I’ll probably get started on those pies for Lana.”  Lana was one of Karen’s oldest friends.  They went to grade school together.  Lana often organized social events for the church, a responsibility she inherited from her mother when she was diagnosed with cancer several years ago.  Karen made various pies, cakes, cookies, whatever recipes she wanted to try out, and Lana regularly earned her new customers. 

Eric had tried to talk her into starting her own website, but she wasn’t interested in expanding her hobby into an actual business.  She was convinced it would take all the fun out of it. 

“Maybe I should just get started now,” she said, glancing at the clock on the stove. 

“I think you should at least
try
and get more sleep.  You don’t want to be too exhausted when you’re decorating that cake.”

“I guess so.”

“Go back to bed.  I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Eric kissed her one last time and then collected his keys and walked out of the house. 

Karen watched him from the doorway as he climbed into the PT Cruiser and backed out of the driveway.

Now he had only to convince
himself
that this wasn’t completely insane. 

He settled back into the seat and again tried to remember the dream.  But like always, all that came back to him was the bird.  It wasn’t even an image of a bird.  It was just the
idea
of a bird.  As if that made any sort of sense. 

He drove away with no idea where he was going, confident that he would find nothing waiting for him in the great open world and hoped to soon return home satisfied and back to normal. 

Chapter Two

At this time of morning, Creek Bend, Wisconsin was peaceful and still.  It was difficult to imagine that almost nine thousand people lived in the city when only a handful of vehicles roamed the quiet streets. 

Most of the time, Eric liked being out when it was like this, but today there was a peculiar eeriness to the silent city.  Something about the empty sidewalks and darkened buildings made him uneasy.  It was as if he were walking through a graveyard instead of driving beneath bright streetlamps. 

Although he told Karen that he might be gone a couple hours, he’d expected to be home in no more than fifteen or twenty minutes.  He thought that he might merely circle the block a few times, or at most make his way across town to the shopping center and turn around.  Unable to find whatever his troubled mind was seeking, he assumed he would quickly be resigned to return unfulfilled, though hopefully much less obsessed with traveling.  Instead, being behind the wheel felt remarkably
right
.  And soon he found himself driving south on the highway, leaving Creek Bend behind him. 

He assumed the feeling would simply dissipate as he drove, that it would fizzle out as mysteriously as it had come to him, and then he’d be able to return to his home and his wife and be done with it.  But the urge to drive only grew stronger as he made his way south, passing one town after another, until he came to the interstate.  There, he felt compelled to take the onramp and proceed west. 

It was about now that he began to wonder what he would do if this strange compulsion to drive overcame him to such a degree that he found himself irresistibly drawn right out of Wisconsin and into Illinois or Iowa or Minnesota.  What if the approaching day found him cruising through Missouri or Nebraska or Indiana?  What if wherever his subconscious mind was trying to take him wasn’t even in the Midwest?  Or what if it didn’t exist at all? 

A chill raced through him as he imagined himself helplessly driving on and on and on.  He supposed that, eventually, Karen would kill his credit cards and he’d run out of money for gas.  But would he then simply get out of the car and walk? 

It was an eerie thought, and one he promptly pushed out of his head. 

He was
not
crazy. 

It was just a damn dream.  That was all. 

It was probably something psychological, something that he’d forgotten, perhaps, bubbling up to the surface through vivid dreams that were too complex for him to remember upon waking.  The result was an irrational compulsion to seek something that wasn’t really there. 

That sounded reasonable.  He guessed.  He was no psychologist, but it seemed like a fairly sound explanation.  It was at least
something
.  It was better than crazy.

One exit sign after another passed by in his headlights as he made his way ever farther from home.  Even long after he made up his mind to forget this ridiculous nonsense and turn around, he kept passing perfectly good exits.  On and on he drove until, more than three hours after leaving Karen and Creek Bend behind, with the sun peeking over the eastern horizon, he at last switched on his turn signal and drifted into the exit lane. 

Yet he still did not turn around.  Instead, he cruised on down a little two-lane road that wove through countless acres of cornfields and cow pastures, ever farther from home. 

After a while, he turned off this road, onto a narrow strip of blacktop that was far overdue for resurfacing, and drove for several more miles before turning onto yet another two-lane country road. 

A loud buzzing rose from his lap as his cell phone began to vibrate enthusiastically in his front-left pocket.  He didn’t often get calls on his phone, and as such, the vibration usually surprised him, sometimes provoking him into using some of his favorite expletives.  But it did not startle him this time, as he was just thinking that Karen should be calling to find out exactly where the hell he’d gone.  Instead, it was the physical act of wrestling the phone from his pocket as the seatbelt fought to hold it in place that made him curse. 

Like countless times before, he swore that one of these days he was simply going to throw the stupid thing away. 

“You need to wrap up this booty call and get your ass back home,” Karen said when he’d finally freed it from his pocket and pressed it to his ear. 

“Sorry.  You know how I like to snuggle after.”

“No, you like to
snore
after.”

“Right.  I always get those two mixed up.”

“Where are you?”

“Not sure, to be honest.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I’m not sure,” he said again.  “I see cornfields and a lot of cows.”

“Quaint.  Did you get lost?”

“Nope.  I know the way home.”  Or he
thought
he knew the way home, at least.  “I just don’t know where I am, exactly.  I’m pretty sure I’m still in Wisconsin.”

“
Pretty
sure?”

“Yeah. 
Pretty
sure.”

Eric checked his mirrors to be sure he was still alone on the road.  He didn’t like using the cell phone any time, but least of all while driving.  It pissed him off when he saw other drivers using theirs.  But there was no shoulder and he had no intention of parking in somebody’s driveway just to talk to his wife.

“You do know you’re acting like a complete nut job, don’t you?”

“Yes I do.”

“You know a lesser woman would be really freaked out by now.”

“I know she would.  I’m so lucky.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m probably just having the world’s weirdest mid-life crisis or something.”

“You’re too young to have a mid-life crisis.”

“Third-life crisis?”

“Besides, aren’t you supposed to buy a motorcycle or an expensive sports car or something?  I was looking forward to shopping for the car.”

“We still can.  We can
both
have mid-life crises.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  You know the women in my family stop aging at twenty-nine.”

“Oh yeah.  I keep forgetting about that.  Funny math in your genes.”

“It’s called ‘aging gracefully.’”

“My mistake.”

“So are you coming home anytime soon?”

“I hope so.”

“When?”

“When I’m done.  Just trust me, okay?”

“You know I do.”

“Good.”

“But I warn you, if I have to eat lunch by myself I’m ordering delivery.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Ooh.  Fun.”

“I can’t explain it, but this feels right somehow.  I think it may be working.” 

“‘Nut job crazy’ is working?”

“I think it is.” 

“Cool.”

But if he were to be
completely
honest, he had no idea if this was really working or not.  He’d assumed that he’d find himself with no idea where he wanted to go and therefore the compulsion would fade, but the farther he drove, the more it seemed to pull at him.  He was beginning to wonder if there might be some specific place he was being drawn, though he could not fathom why he’d have any kind of subconscious desire to come here.  He’d never been in this part of Wisconsin before. 

“If nothing else, maybe it’s the road that’s good for me.  Maybe I’m just overdue to take a nice long drive to clear my head.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.  Did you start the cake?”

“I did.  It’s cooling.  I’m starting my pies while I wait.”

“What kind?”

“Strawberry.”

“Yum.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Call me soon?”

“Sure.  Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Eric said goodbye and ended the call.  Ahead of him, the country road stretched on and on, ever deeper into the open farmlands.  Cornfields turned to soybean fields and then back to cornfields again.  Cattle herds occasionally shared the fields with horses and sheep and goats.  Little patches of forestland cropped up from time to time, along with neatly planted apple orchards and even a Christmas tree farm, all punctuated with various farmhouses and barns and silos.

As the PT Cruiser’s driver’s seat began to grow uncomfortable beneath him and he realized just how far he’d strayed from home, he began to dread the long drive back. 

And yet, he continued to pass driveways instead of turning around. 

Finally, as he drove over a bridge, he spotted a perfect place to pull over.  It was a little graveled drive at the far side of the small river, where fishermen could park and unload their gear. 

Eric pulled off the road, but instead of turning around and starting home, he nosed the vehicle into the shade, put it in park and killed the engine. 

He opened the door and stepped out into the morning sunshine, stretching his back and legs.  The fresh air felt good and he realized that he needed this break. 

He closed the door, then quickly opened it again and retrieved the phone that he’d deposited in the cup holder after his conversation with Karen.  (He had barely won the battle with the seatbelt to get it
out
of his pocket; he wasn’t about to try and wrestle with it to put the stupid thing back.) 

When she first started making him carry the phone, he had a bad habit of forgetting it.  And Karen had a bad habit of getting mad at him when that happened.  It wasn’t an ideal situation.  It led to more than a few trivial fights.  Over time, one of them had to give. 

It wasn’t her. 

Cell phone properly deposited in his front pocket again, he locked the PT Cruiser’s doors and strolled down to the river’s edge to enjoy a few minutes out from behind the wheel. 

Suddenly, and for the first time since waking from the dream that first night, he had no pressing desire to drive.  He thought for a moment that he had beaten it, that he had finally driven far enough or long enough to have his fill of traveling. 

But now he found himself being drawn along the riverbank and under the bridge. 

Within minutes, he was around the bend and the rational part of his mind screamed at him to turn around. 

This was far worse than his compulsion to drive.  Now he was out in the middle of nowhere, utterly exposed and unprotected from the elements and in danger of becoming hopelessly lost.  And yet still he walked. 

At least he still had the phone.  But how useful would it really be if something happened to him out here?  As far as he knew, there was nothing for miles and miles but farmland and forests.  How far could he go into this wilderness before he wandered out of the service area altogether?

A path appeared in the trees along the river bank and he found himself drawn there as surely as he’d been drawn to the river from his car.  Leaving the water behind him, he made his way up a hill, through some thick brush and onto the neatly mown lawn of a modest, Victorian-style house. 

His first thought should have been that this was private property and he had no business being here, that he’d be lucky if the owner didn’t mistake him for a burglar and shoot him dead where he stood.  Instead, he was compelled to walk to the back yard.  Specifically, he felt drawn for some reason to a large, metal gate in the fence. 

He walked up to this gate and rested his hands on the topmost bar.  Beyond it, a narrow dirt path, little more than two dry wheel ruts in the tall grass, led away a short distance and then turned and disappeared into a field of tall and healthy corn. 

“Ah.  You finally showed up.”

Startled, Eric turned to find an elderly woman hanging laundry up to dry just a few yards away.  Even with his attention fixed on the gate and the path beyond, he was surprised that he didn’t see her before now.  “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“No reason to be sorry,” the woman told him.  “At least you showed up.  Better late than never, right?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to this.  He’d meant that he was sorry to be trespassing on her property, yet this woman acted as if she’d been expecting him.  But that wasn’t possible.  Even
he
didn’t know how he came to be here. 

“But we
did
think you’d show up two days ago.”

Two days ago?  That would’ve been right after his first dream.  “I’m sorry, but show up for what, exactly?”

The old woman turned and looked at him.  She was very skinny, with long, silver hair that was neatly tied back, deep creases around her mouth and an ugly blotch beneath her right eye.  “You’re going out there, aren’t you?”  She gestured at the corn behind the gate. 

Eric turned and gazed out into the field for a moment.  Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of going out there, but she was right.  The same strange compulsion that had lured him into this woman’s back yard was definitely pulling him toward that field.  Looking back at the old woman again, he said, “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here.”