Chapter Two #2
Two hours later he was behind the wheel of the Brown Derby, his 1999 Dodge Ram truck, heading south on Route 81—toward Marissa.
Roland loved his truck. It was the one thing no one could take away from him.
Roland didn’t really know what the word “derby” meant, but when he’d heard it on a television show, he’d liked the sound of it.
The shine might have worn off the body, but the insides worked just fine.
Roland was a master mechanic. He knew how to make an engine hum.
He rubbed his hand across the dashboard.
It would be hard for him to leave Her behind, but for Marissa, he would.
He glanced at the thin, stiff blond hair of the Barbie doll lying on the seat behind him, then reached into his pocket and rubbed the picture.
The highway was crowded with eighteen-wheelers.
The sky darkened as he traveled south. A sprinkle of rain dotted his windshield.
He flipped on the wipers. Roland calculated the hours until their birthday, thinking about how many years had gone by without being together, and how many times he’d pressured the staff at Lowrey’s, and even Social Services, for information on Marissa’s whereabouts.
It wasn’t Roland’s fault they’d pushed him to the edge.
It wasn’t his fault he’d been impelled to take such extreme measures.
Their birthday was coming, and Roland didn’t want another year to go by without being with her.
They should have just told him where she was.
Then, he wouldn’t have had to remove them from the equation. He’d had no choice.
His nerves tingled at the thought of finally seeing Marissa.
It had been over twenty years since anyone had embraced him.
Damn Mr. Lowrey used to drag him out of her bed at night, when he’d crawled in just to comfort her after hearing her whimper and whine in the wee hours of the morning. It was wrong, they’d said. Sick.
Roland reached up and touched his scars.
They’d finally be together. He’d promised her, and he intended to keep that promise.
He was sure she’d been looking just as hard for him all of these years.
Hell, Lowrey probably lied to her, told her he was dead or something.
Yeah, that was it. He was sure of it. He’d fought the urge to drive down the night before, just to see her walk to work.
But who knew when the police were watching?
If they knew he’d found her, they’d steal her away again.
They may have lifted the restraining order, but Roland knew they had their eyes on him.
Nope. Not this time. Roland was smart. He knew just what to do.
He’d been careful. Born together, die together.
With a sense of confidence, he turned up the country music and bobbed his head to the beat.
The sun mixed with the rainy mist, casting an eerie gray over Williamsport.
Roland’s hands sweat against the steering wheel in anticipation.
He scratched at the red bumps on his fingers.
Psoriasis, the doctor at the clinic had said.
Stress. He drove down the two-lane road, adhering to the thirty-mile-per-hour speed limit.
Small brick ramblers lined the quiet road.
The blinking red lights of the power plant emerged in the distance, high above the town.
Roland stopped for a traffic light behind a line of cars, eyeing the beautiful brick library to his left.
He could see himself walking into that library.
Maybe he could move here, start over. He shook the thought from his head.
His jaw tightened. The police would never let that happen.
The light turned green and the truck rolled down the hill.
Roland pulled into the parking lot in front of Town Liquor, and parked amongst the other pickup trucks.
Roland had spent so many nights over the last eight months trolling the town, he knew practically every truck.
He thought back to seeing Marissa on the television screen in the diner.
He nodded, a thin grin spreading across his lips. He never missed a sign.
Roland pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up around his neck, then tugged the bill of his blue baseball hat down over his eyes.
Maybe he could hide his burn altogether.
He knew it was a pipe dream. He could no better hide his scars than ignore his ache to be with Marissa, and every time he looked in the mirror, his broken promise to his sister came rushing back.
He climbed out of the car. A young girl driving a Honda Civic parked beside his truck.
He waited for her car to stop before walking in front of it.
The young girl looked up, bobbing her head to the music, which was turned up so loud, Roland could hear it.
The girl’s eyes washed over Roland. Her smile faded, replaced with that all too familiar look of shock Roland had become so used to.
His scars had that effect on people. She looked down, the music quieted.
Roland was used to the stay-in-the-car-until-he-passed routine.
People had avoided looking at him all his life.
He stared at her, willing her to look up, to treat him as she would any other guy who happened to be walking by.
Her eyes remained trained on the steering wheel.
A hurt feeling pierced his heart. He tapped on the hood, startling the young girl.
He nodded, the right side of his lips curling upward.
Maybe she’d see that he wasn’t so bad. A few seconds later, Roland walked casually into the store.
The cashier looked up, her smile instantly fading, her eyes dropping to the counter.
“Ma’am.” He nodded. Adrenaline coursed through his body.
Roland walked with a bounce in his step.
His plan was finally coming to fruition.
His heart pulsed hard and fast against his chest. He tethered the grin of excitement that vied to stretch across his lips.
He looked at the bottles of whiskey, wrapping his thick fingers around the largest one on the shelf, then put it back and grabbed four smaller bottles instead. The last piece to his puzzle.
Roland smiled at the cashier. “You know Marissa Greer?”
The cashier shook her head, avoiding eye contact.
Roland grit his teeth. Just like the foster system.
Marissa’s three-year-old voice rang in his head.
“You’re not scary, Ro, you’re regular looking.
” Roland thought of the way she’d said it, urgently, like it was true.
He rolled his shoulders back and lifted his cap off of his head, turning puffy lidded eyes and his gruesomely disfigured face toward the woman who’d entered the store.
“Marissa Greer? You know her?”
A man appeared from behind the freezers in the back of the store. “We don’t know a Marissa Greer.” His tone was stern.
Roland nodded. “Shame. Her birthday is in a few days.” He slipped his hat back on his head, and lumbered toward the door. “It’s gonna be a good one.”
The Brown Derby hummed to life, vibrating in a familiar, comfortable way.
Roland drove toward the U.S. Route 11 bridge that ran between Falling Waters, West Virginia and Williamsport, Maryland, thinking of his plan.
Marissa had appeared in his dreams and laced his every thought from the time he was a little boy.
He’d used those thoughts to propel himself forward, secure a job, so he could one day find her and take care of her, protect her from the world of people who wanted to keep them apart.
He’d always known one day he would find her again, and then they’d be together forever.
He parked the truck and checked the time.
8:20 p.m. He was right on schedule. Roland took the photograph of Marissa from his pocket, and rubbed his thumb over her hair.
His heartbeat calmed. He stuffed the picture in his sweatshirt pocket and stepped from his truck and into the night, shoving the doll into his other pocket.
The burlap bag of supplies rested heavily over Roland’s shoulder as he walked along the murky water’s edge, reminding himself that not adhering to his usual routine was okay.
He could handle it. Panic swelled in his chest and his heartbeat hastened.
His forehead broke out in a sweat despite the evening breeze cutting across the water.
Breaking routine was not easy for Roland.
Born together, die together. He reached for the photo.
The simple touch eased his panic, which morphed to anticipation as the magnitude of what was soon to come hit him full on.
He walked along the grassy bank, toward the red blinking lights of the power plant.