Chapter 11

“You can’t just hit…”

“…not sure how much he saw…”

Thomas had trouble opening his eyes, pain emanating from the side of his head. He had even more difficulty focusing on the conversation that was taking place in front of him, but from the bits and pieces he heard he could tell it wasn’t for him to hear. He recognized Walker’s voice but couldn’t pin down the identity of the other man. His vision began to clear as he focused on the other man in the room, Martin Haas. Martin was a well-known friend of Walker’s but had become somewhat of a recluse the past year. Thomas hadn’t seen him in a long time and nearly didn’t recognize him with his longer hair and scruffy beard.

“What is he going to think when he wakes up, Chuck?” Martin pointed at Thomas and looked over, his eyes shooting open when he realizes that Thomas had regained consciousness and had been listening to their conversation. Walker, too, looked over when he saw the look on Martin’s face. He sighed and moved his gaze to the ground. Why didn’t I pretend to be asleep? thought Thomas.

Martin turned back to look at Walker, “This is your problem to deal with, not mine.” Thomas could see him put down a glass that he could only assume was alcohol. Martin made his way to the front door behind Thomas, stealing one last glance at him before he was out of Thomas’s view. Walker watched Martin as he made his leave, slamming the door behind him. He shut his eyes and began to rub the bridge of his nose. “D****t, Thomas. You are making this very difficult for me.”

“Making what very difficult?” Thomas knew he was on to something, but didn’t have the faintest idea what that something might be. Walker moved over to the couch and sat down, the cushions releasing air and filling the silence. “This. Everything. Curiosity killed the cat, Thomas.”

Killed what cat? Is he threatening me?

“What is it you’re trying to find out, anyway?” Walker asked. “Why are you so curious about Garfield?” Thomas began to wonder how open he should be with Walker about his wariness with the visitors. He did just knock him unconscious only, what was it, a few hours ago? A day or two? “Where do they come from?” Thomas decided to keep the questions basic for now, not to divulge Walker of his skepticism from the start.

“Garfield is from Chicago, another town far from here. I believe he mentioned that when he was here.”

“Yes, he did,” Thomas started, “but where is Chicago? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“North of here, quite a ways.”

“Why have I never been there? Why has no one ever been there?” Thomas could sense the tension rising in his voice as the pounding in his head worsened. He decided to take a deep breath and relax.

“To Chicago?” Walker paused and looked out the window. “It’s far from here. Not an easy trip to make.” He looked back at Thomas, deep in thought. “You really want to go to Chicago, Thomas?” He thought about the question for a while, not sure what it really was that he wanted. Going there would surely answer his questions, but was that the best way to get those answers? The safest? He promised Sam he’d stop asking questions after this, but what if…

“Only if Sam can go with me.” Thomas looked Walker in the eyes to see his reaction, but his expression remained unchanged.

“No. Just you.”

Thomas didn’t give the question much thought after that, “Then I can’t go. I just want to know what that blinking dot was.” Walker pushed himself off the couch and nearly sprinted toward Thomas, stopping just short of where he was sitting and gripping each arm of the chair. “Drop it, Thomas. Not another word.” Walker’s face was uncomfortably close, not breaking eye contact with even a blink. “The more you open your mouth the more I want to…” Walker blinked and stood up, letting go of the chair. Still staring at Thomas, he spoke again, “Go home, Thomas. Speak of this to no one. We will know if you do, so just…keep your mouth shut. For your own good, and for Sam’s.” Walker walked to the window across the room and put his hands in his pockets, standing still. He turned his head so Thomas could see part of his face, “Leave.”

Thomas slowly stood up, dizzy from standing and the pain on the side of his head. He had trouble keeping his thoughts together but only had one thought: get home and rest. Walker hit him in the head and knocked him out. He needed to get out before anything else happened to him. But why is he so sure I won’t tell anyone? He leaves out the front door and is blinded by the afternoon sun. When his eyes adjusted to the light he noticed Martin sitting on the fountain, alone. He waved Thomas over to him.

Thomas looked around and then made his way to the fountain, stopping a few feet away from him. Martin’s eyes were glistening in the sunlight. He wasn’t crying but it seemed as if he was on the verge of breaking down. “It’s all a lie, Thomas.”

“What’s a lie?” Chicago? The visitors? Thomas wasn’t sure what Martin was referring to, but whatever it was Martin was having difficulty saying it. “All of it. Dawn.” Now Martin was speaking nonsense. His unkempt beard and hair stood out now more than it did at Walker’s, adding to his irrational demeanor. As Thomas opened his mouth to ask what he was rambling about, he heard Walker yell from his house, “Martin! Go home!”

Martin looked up at Thomas and smiled, his eyes still watering. He put his hands on the fountain, stood up and walked away, not saying another word to Thomas. Walker stood in his doorway for a while, watching as Martin continued walking. Satisfied that he wouldn’t come back to the fountain, he returned inside, leaving Martin standing in the square, alone except for the statue of Jackson Weld. “What was he talking about, Jackson? Huh?” The statue remained steadfast, leaving his question unanswered.

“Typical.”

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Thomas returned to a quiet home, nearly collapsing with exhaustion and relief when he walked through the door. He had seen things that he couldn’t make sense of, but walking into his home quelled his confusion as the only thoughts going through his head were seeing Sam and resting. He shut the door and made his way toward the stairs leading down to his bedroom.

Sam called out Thomas’s name as she heard the door shut and came up the stairs to greet him. Her smile faded when she looked at Thomas, “What happened to your head?” Thomas had a headache but nearly forgot about the wound on the side of his head. For a moment he thought about telling Sam everything: Walker knocking him unconscious, threateing him if he told anyone, Martin saying everything was a lie.

Everything?

“I…hit my head at Walker’s. Not a big deal.” Thomas felt the guilt well up inside him for lying, but he was protecting Sam by not telling her. Wasn’t he? Walker threatened him if he told anyone about what happened. He said he would know. At that moment, Thomas felt overwhelmed by the questions running through his head and became dizzy, having to sit down on the stairs. “Tom, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just need to rest.”

“Alright. Rest now, we can talk about what happened when you wake up.” That was the last thing Thomas wanted to do. He had no idea what he would say to Sam, if he should tell her the truth, if he should make something up. If there was one thing he was terrible at, it was lying to Sam. “Okay, Sam.” Thomas managed to squeeze out a smile. Sam smiled back, hers more sincere. “I’m glad you’re home. Let’s get you to bed.”

Sam took Thomas’s arm and helped him stand, leading him down to the bedroom.

What the hell do I tell her?