Chapter 28: 99 Red Balloons

October 16th, 1995, 7:20 AM PT, Amtrak Station, Las Vegas, NV

It was an early morning for them; they had all gotten up at 5:45, quickly gotten dressed and packed their things, and then went downstairs for a quick bite to eat at the coffee shop. Fortunately for them, there was no need to call a cab at Caesar’s Palace; even that early there were cabs waiting in line at the entrance to the hotel. The trip to the station only took about ten minutes; traffic was minimal this early in Las Vegas, most people were still nursing their hangovers, something the underage teenagers didn’t have to endure yet.

Their spirits were high. This was the final leg of the journey, a journey they had embarked on almost two weeks ago. George had been late to his destination many times in his life - Amtrak’s punctuality was the subject of many jokes - but this was the first time he was going to be over ten days late to his destination. But that was the life, and he wouldn’t have given up the events of this trip to get those ten days back.

Amazingly, upon arriving at the Amtrak station, a squat ugly little Amshack in back of the Plaza Hotel & Casino, they had found out that the train was running stark on time, which was unheard of. He also checked up on his father’s train - which was running several hours late. Go figure.

“If the train is running on time this late in its run, there is a good chance we will actually arrive in Los Angeles on time, guys,” George reported, “It’s less than 200 miles to Barstow, and it will be Santa Fe track from there on, and the train should run right.”

“I, for one, am very anxious to see your crazy house, George,” Akilah said, “Jill told me you have an indoor swimming pool.”

“Well, its a small pool,” George said, “It’s in the observation dome, and it is designed to work as a hot tub or current pool. We mostly use it as a hot tub.”

“In a dome it is?” Josh asked, “Dat must mean de skinny dippin’ yuh can’t do!”

“It’s a tinted dome,” Jill said, “I don’t think we have ever not skinny dipped in it.”

“What’s the view like?” Akilah asked.

“It’s ok, there’s a bunch of other private rail cars in the yard,” George said, “And you can see the Union Pacific mainline from it. Otherwise it’s just ... run-down Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles is run down, or what?” Josh asked, “A very nice city I thought it is.”

“Most of it is pretty run down,” Jill said, “Some of it is nice, but it’s ... so hot and dry there. I’d rather be in New York, frankly.”

“We couldn’t park our car in New York, though,” George pointed out.

“True. I do like Silver Penthouse,” Jill admitted.

“I’m so hungry,” George changed the subject.

“You’re always hungry,” Jill said as the train pulled up into the station, “By the way, what kind of rooms did you book us?”

“Rooms?” George said, “I booked a family room, because I got a good price on it, but coach would work for this trip, frankly.”

On this morning, the train ran with a short consist; a transition sleeper, a sleeper, a lounge car, a coach baggage, and a coach.

“How long a trip is this?” Akilah asked, as they walked over to the sleeper.

“About seven hours, a bit more,” George said, getting into the family room and dropping his bag on the floor, “Let’s go get breakfast in the dining car; it is included in the price of our ticket.”

They walked forward to the lounge car, George got through it and was shocked it was a coach.

“There’s no dining car?” George was surprised, and he went down to the lounge car’s snack bar, “Where’s the dining car?”

“They took it off with the last schedule change,” the lounge attendant told him, “Are you in sleeper?”

“Yes,” George said, “Me and my friends are all in sleeper.”

“Can I see your tickets?” The attendant asked, “You are entitled to a boxed meal breakfast if you are in sleeper. Also for lunch, by the way.”

They all showed the attendant their ticket stubs, and were given boxed meals that were, essentially, continental breakfasts with cereal, a danish, fruit, milk, orange juice, and coffee. They sat down at a lounge table to eat the mediocre offering, finding it fresh and fairly good tasting. They were disappointed, most of them having planned on ordering a cooked breakfast.

October 16th, 1995, 9 AM CT, Gladys’ House, Near Prescott, AR

Miguel was chasing David, holding some kind of weapon. They were running all over the place, all kinds of places, which appeared and disappeared. He got closer and closer to David and finally caught him, and pushed him to the floor. He was on top of him and he drew back the weapon to club him with it, when he realized it was Lenny’s head. He was revolted and disgusted by it, but it was all he had. He suddenly for no reason apparent to him started knocking the head repeatedly onto the wooden floor. Gladys’ voice came into the room, “Miguel, it is time to get up, I have breakfast ready.”

Miguel woke up in his familiar bed on the second floor of Gladys’ large farm house. It was a comfortable room, nicely appointed with a bunch of antiques. Long ago it had belonged to Gladys’ son before he went off to college in New York and never really came back. It was a comfortable setting, not just physically, but mentally. It was his room; it had been his room for decades. He was in what was effectively his childhood home.

The dream he had been having disturbed him a lot. He wasn’t sure what was going on inside his head. He was in a bit of a mental fog waking up in this situation. For a moment, a crazy moment, he wasn’t sure if Sharon and the wreck were part of the same crazy dream. He worked up the energy to get out of the bed and look out the window of the room into the front yard. It was not a dream; the yellow 1962 Checker Marathon sitting in his driveway proved it wasn’t.

It all came emotionally pouring back into him. He shook. He loved a woman; she was in danger. He had crossed some of his personal boundaries; he had killed a man. He had, perhaps, stolen a car. He needed to figure out how to solve that problem, too. He had swore to protect the woman he had fallen in love with; he needed to figure out a way to do that, as well. Now he was back home with the woman he called mom. He was going to hold on tightly to that gift; for the moment it was all he had left of his encounter with Sharon.

He was wearing pajamas, white with blue stripes, he had always worn them when living with Gladys, as she was a bit prudish for the most part. It was an old fashioned family, she was an old fashioned lady. She had been born in 1909; the world had been a different place then. God, this made no sense; he had been making breakfast for her for decades; this was the first time she had made him breakfast since a few months after his father died.

He felt guilty that an 86 year old woman had gotten out of bed early to make him breakfast. Even if it was the woman he had always considered his mother, she was too old to ask that of her. He simply went down the stairs in his pajamas and into the farm kitchen, the same kitchen he had been cooking her breakfast and dinner for god alone knows how long.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get up sooner, mom,” Miguel said, “I would have made you breakfast.”

“Don’t be silly,” Gladys said to him, “I don’t know what happened to you where you ended up back here, but it must have been hell. This is the least I could do for you.”

She put a plate full of one of his favorites, his father had used to make it, Huevos Rancheros, with a chorizo sausage to go with the eggs and beans.

“My favorite,” Miguel smiled, “Thank you so much.”

He dug into the food with relish; it was absolutely delicious.

“I know it is your favorite, Miguel,” Gladys said to him, “Now, please tell me why you are back. That woman was in love with you, I know it.”

“She was,” Miguel said, “It is a long story. I want to tell you the whole truth, please don’t judge me harshly. I did something horrible.”

“To Sharon?” Gladys bristled in shock.

“No,” Miguel started to tear, “Not to Sharon. It’s a really long story, Mom.”

“What happened, darling?” Gladys said, resting her hand on his.

“The train ran late,” Miguel started, “It took several days for it to arrive in Houston, but we got on it. I - we, actually - met some friends on the train, a group of teenagers. Two couples; an eighteen year old and a fourteen year old who live in California, who are apparently boyfriend and girlfriend, named George and Jill, and they are a little ... a little nuts. And a really sweet couple named Akilah and Josh, one is Arab and the other Jewish, but they were apparently in love with each other. It was nice. They became friends with Sharon’s oldest, and Jill, she became friends with Sharon’s second oldest.”

“This doesn’t sound bad,” Gladys said.

“Did you hear about the derailment?”

“No,” she said, “You know I avoid the news.”

“The train we were on was derailed by, well, the government thought it was terrorists,” Miguel said, “But George figured out it was actually a robbery gone wrong. Anyway, Sharon got hit on the head pretty bad in the derailment. She doesn’t actually remember even meeting me, or, worse, divorcing her husband.”

“That’s horrible,” Gladys’ said, “How likely do you think it is that George is right?”

“I know he’s right, that’s part of the problem, mom.”

“How do you know for sure he is right?”

“Because we tracked down the people responsible,” Miguel gulped, “At least George did. I went with them to confront them. They admitted that George was right after a time. But ... but it turned out that, um, this guy who used to work for the, um, railroad was primarily responsible for, um, derailing the wrong train.”

“Is George crazy?” Gladys asked, “Putting you in a situation like that.”

“No,” Miguel said, “I asked him to let me go, Mom, Jill sort of told me I perhaps shouldn’t. She told me that when you set out for revenge you have to dig two graves; one for the man I seek vengeance from, and one for the man I used to be. She was so right, Mom. God, I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what?” Gladys asked, “What did you do, Miguel?”

“I ... I k-killed him, mom,” Miguel started to cry, “I killed the man responsible for it.”

“I can’t imagine you killing somebody in cold blood,” Gladys said, clearly in shock but forcing herself to listen to the whole story.

“It wasn’t cold blood, no,” Miguel said, “He ... I told him that he had made my girlfriend forget me, and he told me she didn’t matter. I lunged at him, I pushed him against the wall with my arm across his neck, and I must have crushed something. God, I see him dying over and over again, all day long. He deserved it, but ... it wasn’t my place to do it. Oh god, Mom, can you forgive me?”

“It was an accident, Miguel,” Gladys said, crying with him, “He was a bad man, apparently, and you are ... you are my son, Miguel. Of course I forgive you. But you don’t really need my forgiveness, darling, you need to forgive yourself, so you can go back to Sharon.”

“I can’t go back to Sharon, mom,” Miguel said, “She doesn’t remember ever meeting me. She called her ex-husband, who she thinks she is still married to. He came and kicked me out. He’s an abusive prick, and I had to leave her with him. I don’t know what to do. I am so lost.”

“I will help you, Miguel,” she said, hugging him to her breast, and kissing him on the top of the head, “You will move near her, I will buy you a house. You can stay and watch over her, and make sure she is ok. You will get through this, Miguel, you will save her. You have always done the right thing, darling, that is why I love you so much.”

“I killed a man,” Miguel cried more, “He wasn’t a good man, but he was still a man. David is not a good man. What if I kill him? It is not my place to kill him. I’m scared ... I’m scared of myself, Mom.”

“Oh, Miguel,” Gladys said, “You will be more careful this time, I know. You are one of the best men I have ever known, Miguel, you don’t really have killing in you.”

October 16th, 1995, 1:20 PM PT, Union Passenger Terminal, Los Angeles, CA

The Southwest Chief finally pulled into Los Angeles at 1:15 in the afternoon, four hours and 45 minutes late. It was a horrible performance for the storied train, considered by the Santa Fe as the highest priority train on their entire network, and treated with appropriate deference for that status. The problem had not been with Santa Fe; but rather a car that tried to beat the train and failed just outside of Lamy, NM. There had been four people in the car, and all four had died.

The train had been fine; the locomotive had sustained almost no damage from the impact with the 1980 Ford Fairmont that it had obliterated. The investigation had taken almost three hours, and for some reason, it had taken another hour to get a replacement engineer to take the train to Albuquerque. At Albuquerque they had changed the entire crew, but somehow, because everything was totally out of alignment on the Santa Fe system, they had ended up putting the train another hour or so late into Fullerton, some gained back with the padding between Fullerton and Los Angeles.

In any case, it was home now, and Baruch and Miriam got off the train, and went into the magnificent blend of Art Deco and Southwest Mission that is Los Angeles Union Passenger Terminal. They walked inside and got their other suitcase from checked baggage; that had taken a while. They had booked a room at a hotel that was supposedly near the station called the Metro Plaza hotel. They asked the checked baggage red cap where to get a taxi to the Metro Plaza hotel; the red cap laughed.

“You wanna get a cab there?” the red cap said, “Shit, that’s like a five minute walk from here. Just go out the station onto Alameda, make a right, cross the next street and turn left, and then cross Main and turn right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Miriam said, “Vee can do de valking, Bar.”

“Of course we can,” Baruch said, and they walked out of the station carrying their two suitcases and Miriam’s purse. It was an easy walk, as the red cap had said. It was hot and dry out, as it always is in Los Angeles, with the bright California sun beating down on them. As they approached the hotel, it looked old and dumpy, with a white and brown exterior and a variety of shops on its lower floor.

The front desk clerk was Chinese, and there was a line; it was apparently a popular hotel with Amtrak travelers. Eventually they were taken by the front desk; they had a reservation for a room with a single queen bed. The staff member was efficient and polite, and gave them keys to the room; they were standard pin-and-tumbler keys, but they worked.

They rode the old elevator up to the second floor, and walked down the hallway ... it smelled decently clean, especially for the low price. They were dressed for the heat, with Baruch in a polo shirt and shorts, and Miriam wearing a sundress she often took to Rockaway Beach in the summer. They threw their suitcases on to the luggage rack as they got into their room kicking off the shoes from their feet as they entered. They were tired; riding the train was tiring, and so had been the walk in the hot California fall day.

Baruch pulled off his shirt and his shorts, planning on laying down for a bit of a nap, but looking at Miriam, radiant in her sun dress, he changed course and embraced her in a kiss and a hug, moving her towards the bed.

“Too much, yuh awh,” Miriam whispered huskily into his ear, “De tings vee haff to do.”

“Yes,” he replied, pulling the sundress over her head, “We have to do the things.”

“Baruch!” she hissed in a sham of irritation.

“Mimi,” he whispered as he intentionally fell backwards onto the bed, landing with her on top of him, and kissing her very passionately. The warmth of her skin on his, and the feeling of her still svelte curves in his hands worked him up to no small end. He broke from her lips and started kissing the side of her sweet smelling neck, as he unsnapped her bra and pulled it off.

“Always vith tryin’ tuh make out vith me,” she said perhaps softer than she meant, “As if de love-machen vas all yuh wanna do vith me.”

“See, that’s why I love you,” Baruch whispered huskily, “You are very perceptive.”

She kissed him, “Shut up, Bar,” as she rolled him on top of her and started working his briefs off. Miriam tried to act like she was immune to his charms, but she wasn’t. She had heard that in old age your drive for this sort of thing went down, but apparently nobody had told Baruch that.

October 16th, 1995, 3:20 PM CT, Sharon’s House, Malvern, AR

Sharon woke up feeling a bit revolted by having David next to her; she didn’t know why she was feeling this way. He had been unusually patient and kind to her since picking her up at the hospital. She got up intending to eat breakfast, and found there was little in the fridge, and nothing in the cupboards. She found her spare key for Chex, and went outside and realized the car wasn’t there. She was very confused about this; she had been too tired when they returned home the night before to realize it was missing.

She was reluctant to wake David and didn’t do so until Jackie and Jeff woke up feeling quite hungry.

“David,” she said once she finally did wake him up, “Do you know where Chex is?”

“I don’t know where your stupid old car is, Sharon,” David said, “Why does it matter where it is?”

“We have no food in the house, apparently,” she said, “I need to make breakfast for the kids.”

“We’ll go food shopping,” he said, “later.”

“Ok,” she said, trying to be nice, “I’ll take them to McDonalds. I have a little money on me.”

“You do that,” he said, turning over and going back to sleep.

As she walked the half-mile to McDonalds, she thought back to what Miguel had said about planetary orbits, and behavior not making sense. David was being unusually nice. The car was missing. She would never have sold Chex; she treasured the car. There was no food in the house; some of the furniture was even missing. The house was far neater than she ever remembered it being; David was a slob.

She bought the kids Egg McMuffins for breakfast; they were mostly taking it as a treat.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mom?” Jessica said, “You look very confused.”

“I’m trying to make sense of what is happening,” Sharon said, “I don’t understand why we were on that train, I don’t understand where Chex is, I don’t understand why your father is acting so strange, I don’t understand why I was with that Mexican man.”

“Miguel,” Jessica said, “His name is Miguel, and he is a very nice man, I liked him a lot. You were-”

“He might be nice, but he isn’t your father,” Sharon lightly scolded her.

“Exactly,” Jessica replied, “As I was saying, you were running from him because he tried to beat up you and Chex with a baseball bat. Don’t you remember? He’s acting so strange because you threw him out and divorced him last year. I wish you remembered that, but its not really my business. You told Miguel to store Chex in a garage in Houston, by the way.”

I’d trust that guy with Chex? I don’t even let David drive Chex.

“I don’t understand why you hate your father so much, Jessica,” Sharon said, “He puts a roof over our head.”

“I’m just going to quit while I’m behind,” Jessica said.

When they walked back to the house, there was another car in the driveway, a Cadillac Fleetwood of recent vintage.

As Sharon got to the front door, she heard words from David... “That stupid bitch didn’t fucking sell our house to you, asshole.”

“She did, actually, Mr. Roberts,” another voice, “And I was planning on showing the house to a potential renter this afternoon, so you really need to vacate the premises.”

“I am not fucking leaving my goddamned house,” David said, “That stupid bitch of a whore I married certainly did not sell it to you, so get fucking lost.”

“I have the paper work showing the sale,” the man said, “And it is quite legal.”

“What’s going on?” Sharon said.

“Your ex-husband doesn’t understand that you sold me your house before you left.”

“I did?” Sharon asked, “Who exactly are you?”

October 16th, 1995, 3:30 PM PT, Silver Penthouse, Los Angeles, CA

The Desert Wind had pulled into Barstow two minutes hot, and Santa Fe had accepted the train happily, since it was fully in its slot. It pulled into each succeeding station running slightly early for each stop, and waiting until the second of the departure time before leaving. They pulled into Fullerton at 1:50 PM, thirteen minutes early, dispatched their passengers quickly, and left at 1:52, since it was a disembark-only stop. The train was lucky, as there was no other major traffic operating between there and Union Station, and it pulled into its final stop at 2:23, 47 minutes early.