Chapter 11: Uncle Lance

March 15th, 1995, 3:20 PM CT; Mile 5; 5 miles west of Chicago, IL

Jill lay on the long couch in the room trying to figure out how to entice George to snuggle with her, preferably without clothing. She remained anxious to embrace him in the ways he seemed reluctant to, longing for what she suspected to be the ultimate pleasure. Realizing that he was going to be stubborn about this, stubborn man that he was, she gave up for now. She’d have plenty of time this trip to figure out some way to get George to realize that the lines he didn’t want to cross had largely already been crossed; actual intercourse were not going to change the potential legal ramifications of his actions.

She sat up and decided to examine her surroundings. They were not as plush as George’s Roomette on the Broadway Limited. The walls appeared to be some sort of bare metal or fiberglass, and they were light grey, a very cold and almost depressing shade. There was bright blue carpeting, and the seats were also covered in a bright blue fabric, also icy as all hell. To her left was one seat facing the rest of the huge couch, while to her right there was what looked to be a closet. There was no toilet, which made the room seem sort of cleaner.

There were two pull-down beds hinged to the wall, one relatively narrow but regular length running much of the width of the car, and the other one being short and narrow, perpendicular to the other one, off to her left. She had no idea how the seats converted into beds, but the idea interested her. She’d figure it out later. Mechanical things had always interested her, and there were definitely mechanisms under the seats.

There were windows on both sides of the room, a little smaller than the ones in George’s roomette. She could see the world outside pass her by. She wrapped an arm around George and pulled him closer to her, feeling the warmth of his body against her. He returned the gesture, letting her head come to rest on his shoulder. He gently kissed the top of her head. It was a affectionate gesture, kind and warm, warming her soul in the manner a hot cocoa can warm your body on a cold winter day.

“I love you, Jill...” he murmured softly to her, his soul filled with a contentment he had never known before now. He understood why the world condemned his small sexual flings, now. He hadn’t realized how precious and valuable love was; now he saw how what he had been doing was essentially cheapening something invaluable. He felt something akin to revulsion at his previous actions. It was one of the reasons he was a more than a little reluctant to move his relationship with Jill right into bed.

Jill’s breath gently caught in her chest. She felt her heart pounding hard and fast, like a Heidelberg press. Butterflies moved through her stomach in a whirlwind. She suddenly felt lightheaded. Warmth seemed to radiate through her body. And down between her legs, she felt herself getting hot- and wet. She was swimming in a sea of her own happy emotions.

Is this what love feels like? If it is, it’s wonderful! she thought to herself.

“I love you, too, dearest George,” she said somewhat huskily. She was very horny; she was on the opposite end of George’s conundrum, although neither realized it. She had a lot of sexual events in her life which had been scary and cheap and unpleasant. She wanted to move quickly into the more valuable kind, so she could banish all her thoughts of how awful it was. She wanted to replace it with higher levels of the pleasure she was already feeling. She moved one of her hands to his thigh and rubbed it slowly and affectionately.

This was too much for George, who started to feel need flood him. He became aroused, sexually very aware of the beautiful young woman who was seated next to him. He was hard, and had very strong urges to engage in sexual play with Jill. These desires made him feel cheap and tawdry, and unworthy of her love. He was practically disgusted with himself over the way he was feeling.

“Well,” he said hoarsely, “I should show you the rest of the train.”

It truly is amazing how two people, close and in love, can fail to communicate to the other so totally. Had they simply been talking to each other about how the other felt, this situation could have been resolved very easily. But frankness and directness are often hardest with the people we care for the most. It is a paradox that messes up a lot of relationships, and not just causing frustration in both Jill and George.

March 15th, 1995, 5:01 PM EST, Vatavuk’s Diner; Johnstown, PA

Justin and Krista had finally dried out, warmed up, and were about eat something. They had been miserable and close to hypothermia when they finally got here, and in a nasty temper, too. The kind owner of the diner they were eating in even gave them some warm clothes- they didn’t fit at all, but they were better than nothing. Well, they would have been for somebody else. For Krista, they were almost offensive; under almost any other circumstance she would not be caught dead in such low end clothing. They looked like the came from some kind of low end department store like Boscov’s, not something more reasonable like Neiman Marcus, or even Nordstrom’s.

You’d think she would be more reasonable and celebrating that they were finally over that long and cold trek back to civilization. But Krista was a princess; everything for her had to be just right. Human kindness bounced off of her like a squash ball off a brick wall. She wasn’t even grateful that a nice man had happened to pass by near the grade crossing and had given them a ride into town. She had to endure an uncomfortable ride on the front bench seat of a nasty old pickup truck. It was demeaning.

After listening to Krista complain for what seemed like an entire hour about her survival not being in good enough style, Justin went in to the phone booth and collect-called a number he didn’t know all that well. He didn’t like the man; he creeped him out. Even by his standards of selfishness and obnoxiousness, this man seemed like he was overly self-centered. Almost immediately and operator came on the line.

“Sir, I cannot place a collect call to a cellular telephone.”

Damnit. He was afraid of that. He asked if he could place a credit card call instead. He didn’t want to have to read his credit card off in a public place like this. Also he really didn’t want to have to pay for the call, but apparently he had no choice in the matter. He had to call Lance. The situation was far too complex to call and involve the police; the last thing they needed was the police investigating what they were doing.

“Of course, sir,” the operator replied.

Justin rattled off a credit card number from his memory, then stated: “I’d like to call Lance Landis at the following number,” once again rattling off a number from his memory. Justin had an excellent memory; it served him well in his life, because he could keep track of financial things without leaving incriminating paper trains for the IRS and authorities to indict him with.

A few minutes later, they were connected over the phone network, the lack of clarity common to pre-digital cellphones being more than a little annoying.

“Hello,” said Lance, “Why are you calling me on this damned expensive phone and, secondly, where the hell are you? I was waiting for you in Chicago and you didn’t get off the fucking train you said you were on! Where the hell is my Jilly baby?”

“Johnstown, Pennsylvania.” Justin said, “Well, I’m in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Krista is with me, but Jill is not. We were thrown off the train, but she was not. She is probably somewhere in Chicago at the moment. Look, we don’t have too much time here, since the Southwest Chief leaves quite soon. There is a man, who I think took Jillian and he is going to Los Angeles on that train.”

Something flashed through Lance’s memory- he had thought he had seen his Jilly baby for a few seconds, then realized she looked a little different and was not with the right people. Still, she had been a looker so he had followed her for a while. She had distinctly turned him on and he had gotten really hard and had to go into the bathroom and relieve himself. He remembered fondly had he had gotten some on the toilet seat, and enjoyed the idea of somebody sitting on it later not realizing it was a present from him.

“Describe the man, although I don’t know how much it will help,” he sighed, “There’s a lot of people in Chicago, you know.”

“Oh, it’ll help. He’s very distinctive,” Justin continued, “He’s 6’1” tall, must weigh 225 lbs. He walks with a mild limp. He’s got neatly trimmed hair and a precisely trimmed Van Dyke beard. He dresses a bit old fashioned and surprisingly dapper. He is so arrogant, you would probably pick that up on him even in a crowd.”

“Fuck,” Lance said, “I did see him, you’re right, he is distinctive. I saw him with someone who looked a lot like Jilly. I guess it was Jilly. She looked a big different, but-”