Soulmate

 “Hustle there.” I told Fabian, being only a few feet ahead of him.

 “You got any money?”

 “Of course,” I replied with enthusiasm. “Just follow me and don’t fall behind.”

 He hurried and entered the building. The inside of it was looking more promising: The Art Nouveau walls were decorated with antique paintings by Aivazovsky and Kuindzhi. The reception was decorated with flowers and Jolie Ranchers candies placed in a small saucer, somewhat resembling a fish head. The staff wore plain red uniforms with ties and white shirts with badges on them. The floor was parquet, so our footprints remained dirty spots on it. I caught sight of one table with money on it, as if the hotel were completely empty. “What a ludicrous move,” I thought. As we got closer, I noticed it was fake. “What a genius move,” I thought again.

 “Good evening, how may I help you?” The lady at the reception asked us, smiling.    “How long are you planning to stay?”

 “One night. Two beds, please.” I was so exhausted I forgot about my manners. “Good evening though.”

 “Room 12, first floor,” she giggled.

 “Thank you.” I love ladies.

 We entered the room. It was light and lurid simultaneously, if that makes sense. Magenta carpet was negligently tossed on the floor. Some mauve, florid lace depicted unbridled pathos; it was not compatible with the dark, scarlet lantern that stood on the square-shaped table with poppies. What an architectural disaster this room was.

 “Do you want any food? They serve rooms,” I said, looking briefly at the wallpapers.

“Yes, it would be a pleasure,” responded Fabian indifferently.

“Have you ever been at the hostel?”

“No”

I made my bed and ordered food in the room. The tawdryness of this room still amazed me. I looked at Fabian; he was downright exhausted. I put his dirty clothes in the washing machine with mine and handed over the robe. I noticed how reluctantly he was approaching things when they were caused by me. I decided that we reached a certain point of partnership, so I left him alone for a while. I felt exhausted too: taking care of myself for the first time in my life seriously worn me out. My repressiveness oscillated; fortitude was blown away. I spread myself too thin lately. However, fear was thriving. I absolutely hated today’s dive into the unknown. We were closer to the destination point, at least.

The food came in thirty minutes. We sat at the table in silence until Fabian started speaking.

“Thanks for food and for help,” he goes. “I’m sorry for my latest behavior; I was just scared. New things confuse me.”

I was not expecting that.

“Of course. Feel free to do anything you want. I am always on your side.”

“Thanks”

The rest of the dinner was peaceful and casual. Our chat was the most friendly after we ran away together. I felt like the stone was lifted off my shoulders. Behind every stern thing that we experienced, there was something ecstatic in his presence. I was lacking a man in the smocking, tickling the ivories in the back. I would prolong our conversation, but there was no need.

“Where are we going?” asked Fabian, curiously, not looking at me in silent anticipation, like usually I do.

“To Washington. My apartment is there, and my cousin is going to help us.”.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“You didn’t ask.”

We started making our beds, as it was twilight. I lay in my bed, which was opposite to Fabians, and started thinking profoundly. My fear of being captured

started to abate since we got here; we were really far away from Riverside. I was abetting Fabian all the way; however, I didn’t realize it was him who was abetting me. I was abbot in finding a solution through so many ways, but sometimes it’s beyond my control, which is hard for anyone with a leader tendency to accept. I want things to go my way. Only mine. I won’t ever say how strongly it destroys my ego when things, which were figured out my way, go wrong. And how lyrical it is when they do. I just need an adhesive to glue my resplendent plan and Fabian’s hesitation altogether. However, sometimes it takes two different minds to keep the team complete. A good leader understands it. A good brother accepts it. We were going ambled, but on the on the right path towards our victory. And I would never turn off the path. Oh, I can assure you: under no circumstances are we bound to fail. Not this time. Everything will be accomplished my way.

 I look at Fabian, and it immediately makes me wonder, “What is going on inside his teenage head?”. Perhaps someone sees an average teenage guy on his way of becoming a young man, ready to start a new life at college and overcome all the obstacles; others see in him pure expression of originality. But when I first saw him struggling with his unflattering violent situation, I could only think about one thing: strength. Having spent so many years under the roof with the most notorious hypocrite and still having the audacity to confront him, run away from him, making a brute pathetic without his punching bag. It drained all his muscle resistance in one night. Nobody is getting beaten. Nobody but himself, very soon. It is so easy, naturally being an authoritative old cop, taking moving up the ladder as belligerence, taking own son as the spawn of revenge for a broken heart, knowing no clemency, no kindness. Formally, he was following a codex for people’s protection but never for his own son’s. It wasn’t just the way he was ambiguous, but the way powerful and dominant he thought he was. Such complacency always startled me. “What an adamant son of a bitch” always came to mind. Exposure—that’s what he fears. I can’t wait to make justice prevail; it will make the major writhe. A bit of painstaking work to make Mr. Hawthorne go insane in jail, when his comrades will shame him just the way he did to Fabian. What a bit of effort it takes to make one pay. Vindictive vehemence to upturn one vicious presence to a living hell overwhelmed my soul with anticipation. Maybe someday he will get out of prison, look at the sky for the first time after staying in the coldest and most merciless place in his foolish life, and sink in torment of atonement for what was done, wasted, and wrecked. This sort of pain, the pain that makes you pay all the bills, is unhealable. Then he is trudging to his son’s rich house, full of joy and purity, hoping to atone for the guilt, obtrusively. But there won’t be such a thing. The door is shut; the past is forgotten. He unwillingly pulls out a gun, hits the trigger, and leaves his breathless body on the doorstep of the house. Yeah, that’s how I viewed it.

CHAPTER 5

 I fell asleep the second I finished reflecting my innermost thoughts. My dream was not very different, though. Smoldering vegetation was seen out of the window on the sunny day of July. I was flattered by the beginning of the day. The birds chirped against the background of the rising sun; the air was almost clear, with moderate humidity. From under the old gnarled branches of the tree standing under the window, newly appeared leaves could be seen, slightly green, not much different from green caterpillars. Other than that, I’ve noticed one peculiar thing: Fabian talks while asleep, and he usually does it with his eyes and mouth wide-open. You should’ve seen me witnessing this picture at four in the morning. I opened my eyes, awakened from barely heard whispering coming from his side of the room. Once I opened my eyes, I was profoundly startled; he was gazing at me with his mouth open, sometimes pursing his lips in an attempt to mutter something illegible. I almost shouted. And if I did, I would have other people startled or alarmed by such a grotesque picture. Anyway, this night was calm, and I had nothing to complain about (other than that incident). I found it soothing that we found common ground with my roommate and had no biggie fights by far. I was hoping we would reach an agreement on trust all along. I was right, I suppose. However, I always keep in mind that there’s always a room for ducking from my plan. I mean, mine and my partner’s-in-crime plan, which Fabian had to strictly stick to. I was always earnest about my own inventions, making them the only thing that had to be put forward. The one thing that appeared unsteady conventionally was bound to be eliminated, but I can’t apply

practice on Fabian, so there might be deviations, which I am certainly prepared for.

 In thirty minutes or so, I saw Fabian making his bad and heading to the bathroom. I needed to figure out our next move, which would lead us to the designated area, which happened to be my apartment in Washington. For this matter, all the possible outputs must be predicted and avoided, the leading path paved. My thoughts have been interrupted by Fabian Hawthorne’s inquisitive voice.

 “What’s for breakfast?” he asked unobtrusively.

 “A truculent desire of vindicative justification,” I responded, almost automatically. He looked at me uncomprehendingly, as if I said something that needed professional treatment. “Just kidding, I’ll order two plates of lasagna with chicken tenders and coffee.”

 “I hate coffee.”

 “Orange juice, so be it.” I responded with an unencumbered facial expression, heading to the door. Fabian was looking at the floor and dawdling, as if he wanted to add something else.

 “You’ve been acting bizarre all morning,” he said, with a note of concern. How lovely.

 “I just woke up; don’t expect much,” I replied, trying to keep my annoyed face away from his, as I was, alike Fabian, haggardly tired from our elongated trip and eager to get to the target point. Again, I hate when things deviate from the way they’re supposed to be. “Don’t you want to go get ready for our mutual breakfast?”

 “You’re talking like a 19th-century English aristocrat who is trying to make a particular impression.” Well, that’s quite a compliment. Nobody has ever told me that.

 “If you want to use the benefits of civilization, you’ve got to behave in a civil manner.”

 “Wow,” he said, perplexed. “I don’t find anything to say.”

 “Well then,” I waited a little pause. “I guess our little morning chat is over.”

 Someone knocked at the door—it was food. I welcomed the maid in with her tabletop on little wheels, which gave off a fragrant smell of freshly cooked eggs and chicken; the most awakening one was coffee; it never fails to spruce up my pallid old mornings.

 Fabian didn’t look much excited, like we weren’t starving for the last twenty-four hours. In fact, he only looks mistrustful and sad. I know I can’t blame him for anything; I’m only an intermediary for him, who is going to fix his poor, malignant life. He’s been a victim for too long; he’s been praying enough. The best thing for him now is to be oblivious, not thinking about his fa-

 “The Major Hawthorne’s son, Fabian Hawthorne, has been gone for three days now. The police department claims that search will continue outside of California, encompassing the nearest areas, which are Bynum, Anniston, and Los Angeles. If you have any information about Fabian Hawthorne, please contact the police station. And now a word to a local citizen of Anniston, California.”

 “I think I saw that kid near the antique store a couple of days ago or so. He was running past it with another boy that day.”

 “Do you think it was a person who helped him run away from the police? Or the person whose influence he was under?”

 “Yeah, I don’t know.“

 I turned the news channel off. “That hobo,” I muttered. The number of troubles keeps rising. The next stop is Washington.

 “That kid of Hawthorne’s is wild,” the maid said, unexpectedly. “So stupid to turn away from your own family, especially if it’s your old man who’s in charge of the police department,” she added.