Читать книгу Lasting Impressions - John Schlarbaum - Страница 8

Olivia grabbed her work uniform and placed it in the gym bag. After checking herself in the mirror one last time, she bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen, where her mother was cleaning the stove.

"I'm off to work, Mom," Olivia said cheerfully.

"At 7:00? Burt knows you can't work past 8:30. Why does he need you for an hour-and-a-half?"

"Lucy said she'd be an hour late. Her son has the flu." Olivia grabbed an apple off the counter and started out of the room. "Don't worry, Burt promised I can leave at 8:30 and not a minute later. See you in awhile."

As Olivia went out the back door her mother stood motionless for a moment. "Was that mauve makeup she had on?" she wondered aloud. "Why would she want to wear that dreadful colour? Kids these days! If I'd worn that when I was her age, I'd be marked for life," she muttered, as she began to scour the stove top.

Olivia couldn't believe how nice it was outside or the great mood she was in. Wearing her ultra sexy lipstick and eye shadow, she had a new outlook on life. She hoped one of the customers would notice her not-so-subtle makeup. They seemed to be aware of everything else about her: the way she moved; her wiggle; her sweet voice; her ample breasts and her long legs. They couldn't stop looking at her before, so they would surely not miss her now that she was brimming with confidence.

Most of Burt's Bar & Grill's patrons were locals; farmers, small business operators, as well as teenagers who equated a night out with the purchase of a cheeseburger, fries and a milkshake. On average, Lasting residents came in for a meal five times a year, a fact in which Burt took special pride. To him, service was the whole point of going out to eat. Unless the food was totally inedible, what most people remembered was how they were treated. If the service were lousy, that is what would be passed on to others for weeks to come, not the pork chops being a little on the crisp side.

As Olivia entered the dining room, she realized why Burt had sounded so urgent on the phone. The place was half full (which was twice as busy as usual for a weeknight), and it appeared that only Betty was on duty. Olivia walked into the kitchen and found Burt tending to several food orders.

"It's about time you did some work!" Olivia said playfully as she entered the washroom to change.

"I've been working since the day before I was born, Missy. Don't say that guff to me," Burt grumbled. "Get in that uniform and help Betty. Lucy swore she'd be here by 8:30."

Olivia reappeared, tucking and pulling at her uniform. "I think I'm getting . . . ah . . . big for this, Burt. Do you have any other ones, you know, a little bigger and wider in certain areas?"

Burt looked up and wanted to check his adult responsibilities at the door and let his hormones take over - at least until Betty came in with another order. It was plain to not only Burt's eyes, but to every red blooded male's who had stopped in lately, that Olivia's uniform was getting a little snug in a few choice "female" areas.

"Ah . . . yeah, I've got some bigger uniforms. They're in the back closet there. Pick one out after you're done tonight," Burt said, wiping sweat from his brow. He wasn't sure if the perspiration was due to the heat from the skillet six inches away or because Olivia looked like a goddess six feet away. Regardless, Burt was sweating pretty good. "You better get out there before Betty drops off her feet."

"Why is it so busy?" Olivia asked, pinning on her nametag.

"Don't know. From the number of suits out there, I'd guess a bunch of travelling businessmen decided they were hungry and got off at the first interchange they saw." As Burt wiped his forehead again, he saw Olivia's backside walk out into the dining room. "Man, if I was only 20 years younger," Burt growled at the sizzling meat in front of him. "Boy is it hot in here!"

Olivia and Betty figured out who would take which customers. Once this was settled, Olivia moved from table to table introducing herself as the new waitress, asking if everything was all right and filling up any empty water glasses. When she figured she had all her bases covered, she noticed a young man sitting alone at a corner table. Betty hadn't said anything about him. He must have slipped in unnoticed.

When she reached the table, the first thing she noticed was his incredible summer tan. "You must have been out in the sun a lot today," she said with a wide smile. When the man continued to stare at the menu, she took it that he wasn't the chatty kind. "Would you like to order or do you need a few more minutes?" Olivia asked in her best waitress voice.

From her vantage point, she couldn't see his entire face, but guessed he was a few years older than her. Without actually seeing his features, she wasn't sure if he was good looking. When he finally did glance up from his menu, Olivia almost gasped.

"I'll have the sirloin steak," the guest with the mythical features began.

Olivia was unable to speak for a few seconds. Her breath had been taken away by one look at the face of this - let's not mince words - this GOD! Olivia had heard about such men, read about such men, and even sat glassy-eyed staring at their pictures in magazines. Now here was one ordering dinner from her in Lasting! Betty is going to kill herself for not seeing him first!

"Do you . . . ah . . . I mean, would you like a baked potato or fries with that?" Olivia asked, her knees beginning to knock.

"Hmmm," the stranger responded, "I think I'll have the fries, if that's no bother."

"That's no bother," she mumbled almost incoherently, trying to write down the order. "Fries and a sirloin steak. How would you like that done?"

"Oh, let's try medium-well, Olivia."

"How do you know my name? You're not from Lasting, are you?"

"And why would you say that?" he said with a smile. "Is there something different about me?"

Only everything but in a good way, she thought. "Why would you think that?" She exhaled and took another breath. "From what I see, there isn't anything wrong with you at all." Olivia couldn't believe she'd flirted with a guy who would normally not stop to give her the time of day. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. That way, meaning that it may have sounded like I was flirting with you - which I'm not! I don't think. Maybe that's the problem. I'm not thinking straight. So I should shut up and get your order of liver and onions with a baked potato."

Olivia was exasperated by her speech, but her handsome customer had simply waited her out, with a smile on his face.

"It was sirloin steak and fries, I think," he said. "At least I hope that's what you wrote down."

Olivia looked down at her notepad and then back at the stranger. "Yes, of course," she said stumbling over her words. "I'm a bit confused at the moment."

"I hope it wasn't because I said your name," the man apologized. "I always check my server's nametag when they come along. I think it makes the meal more personable, don't you?"

Olivia looked at her nametag. "It would be even more personable if I knew your name."

"It's Dale. There, you know my name and I know yours. I guess you can say we're on a level playing field now."

As he spoke, Dale's eyes slowly met Olivia's and wouldn't let go. At first mesmerized, she was struck by his piercing stare, yet the longer he held her gaze the eerier she felt. It was like staring at the sun for too long; at some point its effects begin harming you, forcing you to look away. This was how Olivia was feeling. Completely taken by this man's physical good looks, she still wanted to get away from him. It wasn't that he scared her per se, it was the overall effect he was having on her.

In the blink of an eye, the spell was broken. He looked away and Olivia felt in control again, even if it took her a moment to regain some poise.

"Did you want anything to drink with that, Dale?"

"A draft would be fine."

"Great. I'll have Betty bring it over to you," Olivia said, stepping away from the table.

"Aren't you going to be my waitress?"

"Yes and no. I'll still be your waitress, but because of my age, legally I can't serve drinks. Alcoholic ones, that is."

"If that's the case, change my order to a root beer," Dale said. "I don't want some other waitress serving me."

Flattered, Olivia smiled back. "Root beer it is."

She walked amongst the maze of tables, unaware other customers were trying to get her attention. Once in the kitchen, she put the order on the wheel and was about to re-enter the dining room when Burt called to her.

"I'm sorry to do this but Lucy showed up, meaning I won't need you for the rest of the night."

"But Burt!" Olivia began to protest.

"Don't worry about the money, Olivia. I'll still pay you for the entire hour and a half, okay?" he said wiping his brow of perspiration. "Arrange things with Lucy and go home. Enjoy yourself tonight."

Olivia could see the die had been cast and that she wouldn't be serving the mysterious Dale his meal. After coordinating tables with Lucy, Olivia changed into her street clothes. As she was preparing to leave Burt reminded her to grab another uniform. Diligently she went to the closet and picked one a size larger.

"I'm outta here, Burt," she said.

"See you Sunday at noon."

Olivia made her way to the dining room where she caught Dale motioning for her to come to his table.

"Was I that bad of a customer you have to leave?" he asked as she came within earshot. "That other waitress - Lucy - she isn't as pretty or as helpful as you are. I hope it wasn't anything I said."

Olivia began to experience a variety of colliding emotions. Did he say that I was pretty? This guy could have any woman on the planet and he thinks I’m pretty!

"No," she began, "I was filling in for Lucy and she got here earlier than expected, which means I'm no longer needed."

"That's great," Dale said. "Now you can sit down and we can get to know each other better."

"I don't know," Olivia replied slowly. For some reason Dale made her uneasy. For once in her life, she remembered some advice her mother had told her while struggling to define the birds and the bees to a 12 year old: "No matter what situation you're in, if you don't feel comfortable about it in your heart, don't do it!" she'd said. "You'll thank yourself later."

Olivia understood what her mother was trying to say, but recalling it now it did seem a bit old-fashioned. There was more to Dale than met the eye and it was that hidden quality that intrigued her. She didn't know what to do. If only she were given a sign that would help her decide whether to walk out and forget this guy, or stay and become his friend. Dale must have a million friends, she told herself. On the other hand, at this very moment he is eating alone in a strange town with no friends in sight.

She really wanted to make the right decision.

"Your eye shadow and lipstick are mauve, aren't they?" Dale inquired, breaking her train of thought. "Mauve's my favourite colour."

As she sat down, Olivia silently acknowledged whoever was responsible for giving her the sign to stay.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

***

Olivia was lightheaded and happy.

She and Dale had hit it off immediately, like they'd known each other from another lifetime and by chance, accident, or divine intervention, they'd met again in the unlikely spot of Burt's Bar & Grill.

During their conversation, Olivia's shy girl tendencies cropped up, no matter how hard she tried to act worldly. The amazing thing was that Dale didn't appear to mind. He was genuinely interested in what she had to say, which wasn't much.

"Have you been hitchhiking long?" she asked.

"I've been on the road for most of my life," Dale said grabbing his root beer.

"What about school or your family?"

Dale put down his drink and looked around the bar. "Let's just say that I didn't handle either one of those subjects very well."

As she looked at him, Olivia could tell she'd hit a raw nerve and changed topics. "I get along fine in school, except for geography and science, but who does good in those anyway? And as far as my family goes, there's only my mother and me. My father left when I was young."

"You're lucky for that."

"For being a good student or that my father left me?"

"Both," he said with a smile. "I didn't exactly get along with my old man, so I think anyone who has a father is either lucky or cursed. You're the exception: no father means no curse or luck, I guess. You hold your own destiny, which means you don't have to listen to anyone's opinion. Set your mind to accomplishing some goal and you can get it done."

"That's if my mother approves," Olivia said with a smile.

"Oh yeah, you have one of those. No matter, you're still your own person and that's what counts. Don't let anybody tell you different."

Olivia wasn't sure what to make of Dale Hawks. Was he simply an incredibly good looking man with some thoughtful advice for a young teenager? Or was he some kind of "destiny and individual rights" freak? Whichever he was, Olivia would be content to watch him talk all night, if it weren't for her promise to be home by 8:30.

On the other side of the table, Dale's mind was contemplating several scenarios that he could play out with this semi-attractive girl. He had no intention of trying anything sexual with her - at least for the moment. Not until you find out where the law stands on such things in this part of the country, he thought, laughing inwardly.

Dale sensed Olivia's trepidation about what he'd been saying and toned down his rhetoric. He didn't want to scare her off before determining how she could be of use to him.

"I'm sorry if I've spooked you with my advice. That wasn't my intention," he said, as he looked her in the eye. "Because I've had a rough time of it, doesn't necessarily mean you have or will. From what I've seen so far, you're a very stable, bright, and attractive young woman."

Bright? Attractive? Olivia couldn't believe her ears. She tried hard not to blow these words out of proportion.

"I don't know how bright or attractive I am, but I do know I should be heading home," Olivia said, her cheeks turning a light pink as she checked her watch.

"That's too bad. Maybe we can talk later."

"You're staying in Lasting?" Olivia lit up.

"Oh, not permanently," Dale said, taking a swig of pop. "For a few days. You can't travel constantly. You have to rest every once in awhile."

"If we don't meet again - not that I don't want to - it's been nice talking to you. Most of the guys in here who talk to me always have ulterior motives."

"I'm glad I'm not like all the others. It's been nice to sit and talk with you too."

Olivia got up from the table and lifted her gym bag off the floor. "Well . . ." she said.

"Well indeed," Dale replied. "I'm sure we'll talk before I leave." He surveyed the dining room. "Now that I know where to get good food and even better company."

Both smiled and Olivia turned toward the front door.

"See you later," she said.

"I'm sure you will."

As Olivia left Burt's the nagging feeling she'd had before returned. How can Dale be so sure we will meet again? Olivia certainly hoped that they would, but she wasn't as sure as he seemed to be. Positive thinking, that's all it was, she concluded. He certainly didn't seem to be the type who'd want to do her any harm. In fact, he appeared to want the exact opposite. Still, her uneasiness wouldn't go away.

"Forget about him, Olivia," she said aloud. "In a few days he'll move on and you'll have this nice memory of talking to an extremely good looking customer."

Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw the flash of a headlight turn onto the street and knew instantly it was Jeremy. Maybe she would flag him down to say, "Hi," and he would notice her mauve makeup.

As the bike came closer Olivia's heart sank, while her blood pressure skyrocketed. There on the back of the bike and hugging Jeremy's waist was Susan.

"Doesn't that witch get enough of him during the day?" Olivia cursed, as they drove by. "How can he stand to have those talons in him all the time?"

When Olivia got home, she retrieved her diary and began to write.

Dear Diary,

I'm going to make Jeremy Atkins forget all about that fake tramp Susan Parker if it takes all year! She doesn't deserve him and he definitely doesn't deserve that thing! I need to devise a plan and then go through with it. If she thinks that she's the only girl for him - she's wrong! The sooner she knows that, the sooner I'll be with him.

She closed the diary and looked into the mirror. She was fine with having to change her appearance in order to be more attractive to Jeremy. Everything’s merely cosmetic, she concluded. Appreciating what was staring back at her, her anger began to subside. As she was about to put her diary back, she recalled her meeting with Dale and felt compelled to write about the occasion.

At work tonight, I met the most handsome guy I have ever seen in my life (besides Jeremy, of course), named Dale. He has the dreamiest eyes you can imagine. We talked about me and Lasting (Dale is passing through), and he said, "You are a stable, bright, and attractive young woman.” I don't know what he meant by stable, but it doesn't matter because he thought I was attractive! Me! I'm sure a lot of it had to do with the mauve lipstick and eye shadow I wore tonight. If a total stranger notices it, I can only imagine what Jeremy will think of it! One thing Dale told me I know is true is you control your own destiny. So from this day on I'm going to totally concentrate on how to get Jeremy to fall in love with me!

Olivia Deborah Atkins does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

As usual, she reread the entry before hiding her innermost secrets away. She knew that if anyone were to discover this book and read its contents, she would die of embarrassment.

***

"Would you like another beer?" Lucy asked Dale.

"What?"

"Another beer - root or otherwise?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. My mind was somewhere else," he said, looking into Lucy's big brown eyes. He swallowed the last few drops from his glass and placed it on her tray. "In fact, I wouldn't mind another beer. Root beer is fine."

Lucy returned shortly with his drink and noticed her customer distracted. "Are you okay?"

Dale grinned. "Why would you ask that?"

"You don't appear to be part of this world right now."

"No, I'm fine. Really."

"Okay, if you say so. Here's your bill, if there isn't anything else." She placed it on the table and turned to leave, when Dale grabbed her arm.

"There is one more thing, if you don't mind?" he said letting her go. "Can you tell me about the girl who sat here earlier – Olivia?"

"Now I know why you have that far off stare. After talking with Olivia for a while, everybody gets a glassy look in their eyes," Lucy laughed.

"She didn't seem that bad to me."

"That's because you don't have to constantly listen to her. If you were here for 20 days instead of 20 minutes, you'd come to a different conclusion."

"Is she not popular?"

"No, that's not it. I'm being too hard on the girl. It's that she talks about one thing and one thing only, at least to me and the other waitresses."

"And what would that be?" Dale said, getting more interested. "Boys?"

"More like boy," Lucy smiled. "Did she mention someone named Jeremy Atkins by chance?"

"No," Dale replied, as his mind raced back to the motorcycle rider from earlier in the day.

Lucy's face went slack. "I guess I'll have to start believing in miracles."

"This Jeremy Atkins . . . is he about my age and rides a new motorcycle? Has a girlfriend named Susan?"

"How long have you been in town?" Lucy asked, astonished by his knowledge of the town's golden boy and girl.

"About five hours," Dale said.

"Have they erected a new sign on the outskirts of town saying that Jeremy Atkins is a resident here?"

"Not that I noticed. You see, Jeremy gave me a ride earlier and introduced me to Susan. So, as you can see, I possess no special powers."

"That's a relief."

"Now, why would you think Olivia had mentioned his name? Does she like him?"

Before Lucy answered, Dale had pieced together the fragile triangle that existed, even if none of the players knew what was happening. This is classic, he thought.

As Lucy droned on how Olivia was infatuated with Jeremy, Dale wasn't listening to her, as he was too busy planning. He heard phrases like ". . . he's the most popular boy in town . . ." and ". . . I don't think it's healthy for a girl Olivia's age to look at older guys like Jeremy . . ." and ". . . there's no way he's ever going to notice her, let alone date her!"

These sound bytes were all Dale needed. With each sentence Lucy confirmed what he'd thought from the first mention of Jeremy's name: Olivia loves Jeremy and he doesn't know she's alive. If there was one thing Dale aimed to accomplish before leaving Lasting, it was to help these two crazy kids get to know each other better.

As Lucy continued to babble, Dale abruptly stood up.

"I have to go," he declared, throwing $20 on the table and starting to leave.

Lucy stood in amazement at his rudeness. "Fine," she said and walked away. By the time she got back to the bar where Betty was pouring a beer, Dale was out the door.

"What was that all about?" Betty inquired.

"Don't ask me. One minute we were getting along fine and the next minute, he's on his way."

"What were you talking about that made him leave?"

"Olivia and Jeremy Atkins."

"Say no more."

The summer sun was in its final stages of setting as Dale toured the downtown core before heading to the hotel. The streets were empty, except for a few scruffy teenagers hanging around a bench in a small parkette. As he passed, one of them spoke up.

"You got a cigarette, man?" Peter Hauser asked.

Dale stopped. "Do I look like someone who'd give you a cigarette?" he said, getting their undivided attention.

"It was just a question. Don't have a friggin' fit."

A nervous edginess swept over the group as they laughed with their impromptu leader.

"Hey dude, take a downer," another member said as he looked to the others for approval.

Dale took a few steps forward, zeroing in on Peter. "You obviously don't know who you're speaking to," he said slowly. "You guys think that you own this whole damn town, don't you?" Dale's voice rose with each sentence, commanding more and more attention from these smartass kids. "That you can dictate the way people move around here. You don't care what others think because you're all that matters, right?"

Their collective bravado had disappeared, their only thoughts now were how to get out of this encounter unscathed. No one had the chance to act on their individual flights of fancy, as Dale wasn't ready to let them depart just yet.

"Do you know what it's like to feel pain?" Dale continued. His eyes were locked with those of Peter. What Dale saw was fear in its purest form. What Peter saw was fury in its rawest manifestation. "I don't think you do and that's unfortunate." Dale's voice cut the still night's air like a razor slicing flesh. "Kids these days have it easy."

When Dale grabbed him by the neck, Peter could feel the heat coming off his tormentor's body. Dale then brought his other hand up to his adversary's throat, slowly tightening his hold as if closing a vice grip.

The two actions caused Peter's vision to blur. Tears of fright poured from his eyes.

"Is this how you fight, warrior?" Dale's voice boomed. "You are a weakling not worthy of the space you take up! Do you hear me?"

Dale loosened his stranglehold on Peter, who collapsed against the wooden bench gasping for air. Dale remained in his face and continued staring into the boy's very being.

Wiping his eyes, Peter felt like he was about to die.

I don’t want to live. What’s the purpose?

I have nothing. I am nothing.

Why won't this man leave me alone?

"You are despicable," Dale's voice rang in Peter's ears. "You don't deserve to be part of this earth. You don't fool me and you surely don't fool any of your friends here."

Peter may as well have been a newborn baby. His sense of direction, sight, sound, movement and speech were foreign now. As Peter's eyes cleared, to his horror he was still looking deep into the crazed stare of a madman.

"If I were you, I'd run as far away as I could, little man." Dale's tone was equally menacing and comforting. "Tragically, you can't run very far if you're blind to the world."

A few weeks earlier, Dale had witnessed a hypnotist explain how the power of suggestion can work in everyday life. All you needed was a willing participant and a sudden distraction to catch them off guard.

Just as the hypnotist put a burly bar patron to sleep on stage, with lightning speed Dale's right palm snapped Peter's forehead back, causing him to slump onto the sidewalk. When Peter re-opened his eyes, he took in a whole new world: one of complete darkness.

"I'm blind!" he shouted. "Someone help me! I'm blind! I can't see anything!"

Peter's friends stood spellbound as they watched Dale sling his knapsack over his shoulder. "I hope this is a valuable lesson to you all," he said, bringing them back to life.

As Dale moved further away from the park, Peter's anguished calls for help diminished, but their intensity rose, announcing Dale Hawks' arrival in Lasting and, more importantly, the fact that he was staying.

***

Earlier in the day, Dale had checked into the Lasting Hotel and took in his small, tidy room. He had slept in worse places, sometimes by necessity, on occasion by choice. It would do though. It was dry and private - the two things Dale looked for most when it came to accommodations. He hadn't determined how long he might stay yet - a few days at least, perhaps a week. It would all depend on how friendly the good people of Lasting would be to him.

Dale placed his knapsack on the bed and emptied it. Inspecting the contents, he discovered most of his clothes needed a wash and hoped the hotel had laundry services. As he threw his clothes in a pile on the floor, a tinny sound came from inside one of the shirts. Unravelling the shirt, a six-inch knife fell onto the bedspread.

Dale smiled as he picked it up. Looking through the remaining pile on the bed, he found a second four-inch knife, still in its leather sheath. The memory of Sara and The Dirty Diner rushed back to him.

"I wonder if that stunned whore is still sobbing her brains out." He laughed aloud as he put the smaller knife on the dresser before grabbing the larger one. "You have been very bad lately."

He examined the blade, making sure there were no nicks or imperfections on its surface. The crusted blotches of blood at the tip of the handle didn't bother him. He picked up a dirty pair of jeans to wipe the knife clean.

"There," he said, inspecting his work, "now you look like new again. Like a virgin. That last girl we met in Thurman said she was a virgin. That was her first and last mistake."

Dale's demeanour changed and his face was now pale. He pulled the knife close to his chest and embraced it, as if holding a baby.

"I didn't mean to harm her," he whispered, his voice as angelic as a child.

Tears began to roll down Dale's face as he continued to sway back and forth. When he opened his eyes several minutes later, he called out in terror. Blood was everywhere. On his clothes. His hands. His face. Deep, dark, warm blood was smeared on everything. In his state of panic he couldn't figure out where it had come from.

Awaking from his confused state, Dale's mature voice quickly returned. "Leave me alone! It's not your time yet."

He tried to wipe the blood onto his clothes, the knapsack, the bed sheets, but it only smeared more blood on him. As he bolted toward the washroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the wall mirror and came to a halt.

The face staring back was not his own. It was too young. Or was this the real Dale Hawks, a mirage of some sort? A mental trick being played on him? He wasn't like that! Was he?

Dale's eyes glared into the mirror and with each passing second, he felt himself slipping away. His zest for living dissipating, he succumbed to the feelings that were overpowering him.

A weak smile began to surface on Dale's face; a calmer look than the one seen for the last few days. It was the face of someone lost and confused, unaware of his bearings. The last memory this person had was walking down the highway, trying to hitch a ride.

***

The first order of business was to take care of the nasty cut on his hand. He didn't know how it had happened, but with fresh blood smeared on everything in sight, it couldn't have been long ago.

He walked into the washroom to clean up. The water felt cold against the throbbing warmth of the open flesh. The incision wasn't as bad as he'd imagined and it stopped bleeding within a few minutes under the running tap. He grabbed some toilet paper and wrapped the cut, which would have to suffice until he visited a drugstore for a proper bandage.

Relieved that this minor crisis was over, he wet a facecloth and gently scoured his face and arms. As the last visible signs of blood were transferred onto the cloth, he unexpectedly became shaky and steadied himself against the vanity for support. He knew that he shouldn't look up at the mirror, but as was usually the case, he felt forced to do so.

The eyes that bore back scared the life out of him.

"Thanks for cleaning me up, buddies," Dale said, laughing insanely. "You know how I dislike a mess, especially a bloody one."

Feeling better than ever, Dale stepped into the other room and stopped in front of the mirror, where moments earlier, his power and his control had been tested. Fixated on his reflection, Dale spoke to his younger foes in a low ominous tone.

"Thought you could creep up on me and take over, didn't you? You should know by now that's impossible because even when we're working as a team, you're always the weakest link." He paused briefly to admire himself. "I must admit that you're getting trickier. For a moment, you had me feeling helpless, with no reason to go on, like our friend Peter. But you fail to understand I'm divinely superior to that mere boy. He lacked the will to live in the first place. He had no purpose in life."

Dale looked down at his wounded hand and saw the toilet paper was saturated in fresh blood, forced out by the clenching of his fist.

"I do have purpose that I intend to carry out here in Lasting. Do you hear me in there?" he asked, tapping his finger against his temple.

Dale watched the mirror's image a few moments longer, making sure all traces of the "weaker Dale" were gone. Satisfied, he went back to the bed, tossed everything on the floor and laid down. It had been a rough day, which had taken considerable strength from him. Checking his watch, Dale phoned the front desk to request a wake up call for later in the evening.

Drifting to sleep, his thoughts were a montage of talking to Susan, meeting Olivia, and learning that Jeremy Atkins was the most popular guy in town.

With each new stop, Dale had learned that to keep his mind sharp, he had to constantly exercise it in many different ways. This usually took the form of becoming friends with a set of individuals, then slowly manipulating them to turn on one another, or even band together to do something out of their comfort zone. These mental workouts could include destroying the trust in a marriage, robbing a bank or simply empowering people to stand up for what they believed in, regardless of consequences or personal loss.

Having endured a lifetime of pain already, Dale enjoyed being the ultimate puppet master, ultimately leaving a wake of destruction behind when he once again stuck out his thumb on the side of a highway.

It was all a game to Dale, but he always played to win. Until now, his unsuspecting victims were adults, all of whom should have known right from wrong, yet were willing to live on the wild side (if only for a short time) in the company of a total stranger.

For this sideshow stop, Dale had decided to try something new; to catapult this teenaged trio of local stars to the front pages of every newspaper in the country.

Overnight they would become legends and with that would come immortality.