Chapter 5

The mind is a very curious thing, you know. And as far as the science of psychology has come (or at least, as I have imagined it to have come) it should be no surprise that I should mention that Warren’s state of mind was in a troubled state. Thoughts came and left him; questions bubbling ferociously like a giant cauldron of a witch’s brew filled with all sorts of unimaginable ingredients. But even beneath the surface of his cognition, I’m sure the matters of the past day affected the very core of his unconscious self: his brush with death, piling unanswered or unanswerable questions, even the small breaches of the absurd into his reality. What indeed churned inside his soul can hardly be described on a page—and it wasn’t until their effects came bursting to the surface, that Warren realized the truth of his situation. But how else should these inner burnings escape, but through the capable hands of fate, pulling a string of events together.
In an effort of hindsight, you could pinpoint the certain details that led to Warren’s epiphany. I shall come right out and give you the first: the article in the newspaper, of which he read only a quarter. While everything that had happened previously that day had prepared him for this moment, the only moment of lasting significance, I say, would be the foundation for a crucial paradigm shift. But enough of my rambling—on with Warren, who was now a good mile or so from the sleepy afternoon in Manitou Springs.
What had begun as a segmented sprint, darting from tree to bush to rock to tree, was now a mindless saunter through the long, punctuated shadows of the forest. Among the flawless bird chirps, an occasional pinecone plummet, and the continuous sigh of the breeze in the pines, Warren imagined he heard footsteps and whispers behind him. His eyes gave him suitable reason to disbelieve his ears—but he could not shake the feeling of pursuit. For surely they had pursued him…hadn’t they?
He supposed they had given up on him; he smiled at his escape—at the rush of adrenaline which had propelled him in the moment. But that had faded with the time he spent walking. In fact, the rest of this day was but a dim recollection, impressions of feeling in the web of his memory. Except for Sofi—she stood out among everything else. Her eyes, the gleam of a pleasant surprise lighting them when she first saw him, her hair, pulled to one side of her neck and draped over her shoulder, and her smile, filled with intrigue and possibility—all made her portrait stick clearly to his memory. He had to admit it to himself: she was beautiful—more so than anyone he had come across in his life.
That he would have only a memory to cling to bothered him to no end. At several points, he stopped, walked around in a circle, kicked a pinecone or two, planted his fist on the bark of a tree. But no, there was too much mystery to her, to Oscar, to the whole events of this tiresome day to change his mind. And so he walked on.
But the more he thought, the more each sound of the forest startled him. Each pinecone dropping from the influence of the wind, sent a shiver to his spine. But when he counted more than ten within the space of a minute, he began to suspect a squirrel was the one following him, and not the hobo. And of course, the moment he decided that this was indeed the case, three pinecones fell in quick succession.
Warren turned his gaze to the tree-tops, searching for the perpetrator—but found none. Two more fell behind him. As he turned, four fell to his left, and another to his right. And just when he thought that the odds of that happening were crazy, a whole slew of pinecones fell within a ten yard radius of him. He spun quickly, and found another wave of pinecones crashing around him. It was as if the trees themselves were assaulting him—wave after wave descended upon him like a hailstorm. When the thought to run finally occurred to him, Warren had his arms covering his head, face turned to the ground to avoid the storm of pinecones. Within moments, he was slogging and stomping his way through a thick sea of the bristling cones—he turned downhill, aiming for the river. But the sheer amount impaired his movement so much that instead of running, Warren more tripped and fell his way down the mountainside, in an avalanche of the prickly things, with more raining down on him from the trees.
As you might have guessed, Warren’s surprise at this occurrence equaled or possibly surpassed your own. When he stumbled into the stream and beyond—into the open field between the river and the road, his eyes were plastered wide open, eyebrows raised as high as they could go. He stood for a moment, allowing himself to pant audibly, looking at the sea of pinecones now coating the forest floor, a few remaining cones cascading down the hillside towards the oblivious river. Warren coursed a hand through his hair and exhaled.
He tried telling himself that it hadn’t happened, but every time he glanced back to the forest, there lay the brown blanket of cones on the ground. Instead of wasting time marveling at his own terrible luck or even approaching the thought that he was going crazy, he brushed broken bits of pinecones off himself and hiked the short distance to the road, in an effort to catch a ride to the Springs.
Warren had never hitch-hiked before in his life, but he had always (if he had room) picked up any hitch hiker he drove by. While his mother was a fierce adversary to this policy, he couldn’t figure out what the downside of picking up a hitch hiker would be. Of course, in discussions on the matter with his mother, she pointed out that you never knew what type of “weirdos” one might come across. “What if one got in, pointed a pistol in your face, and told you to drive to Ohio?” she had asked him.
“I guess I would drive to Ohio. So what? I’d say, ‘Dude, forget the gun, I’ll drive ‘till I’m out of gas. But I don’t have the money to fill up again. So…up to you, man. If you’ll pay for gas, I’ll drive as long as you want me to.’ And then I’d have a sweet adventure and probably an awesome story to tell,” Warren had replied.
But now the proverbial coin had been flipped and he wondered how many people like his mother would never dream of allowing a stranger in their car. The first vehicle he stuck his thumb out at passed without slowing. The second guy in a truck returned his gesture with one of his own. But the third car, a black sedan, pulled to the side of the road, and the driver-side window rolled down. Warren jogged up to the side of the window and found a young man, probably just a few years his elder, gazing back at him with deep blue eyes and a confident smile.
“Are you headed towards the Springs?” Warren inquired.
“Sure am, hop in the back; should be plenty of room,” the man replied in a smooth, comfortable tone. Warren nodded his thanks and opened the door. Slick leather seats and a fresh pine scent greeted him as he climbed in. When the door clicked shut, they pulled onto the highway.
“Thanks for the ride,” Warren offered.
“Not a problem at all,” the driver assured him. There was another in the passenger seat who had not yet spoken. A minute silence passed. “I’m Trent Caramov, and this is Scott Hastle.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Warren Spicks.”
“What brings you to Manitou, Warren,” Scott inquired, speaking for the first time in a similarly sugary voice to Trent’s.
“Um. Well, a friend had business up here and I have family in the Springs. But because I had never been to Manitou, he suggested I spend the afternoon there and find a ride to the Springs. Apparently he’s never had issue hitchhiking here. And you seem to have proved him right.”
The two in the front laughed and Scott turned back to face Warren. “Well it seems you don’t shrink from adventure then.”
“No, in fact I’m usually pleased when it confronts me.”
“So are you still in college?”
“Yeah, junior year.”
“Where at?”
“Small school in Denver. What about you guys?”
“We both actually just graduated last year.”
“With what degrees?”
“Ahh, mine was a CIS degree and Trent’s was business.”
“Very nice.”
“What are you working on?”
“Liberal Arts, actually. I have a hell of problem with indecision.”
“Well that’s understandable,” Scott said, laughing, “At least you’ve managed to beat off all the prof’s who want you to join their school. Am I right?”
“Too true, and friends don’t help the process at all.”
“Well said,” Trent offered, breaking back into the conversation. “So where in the Springs are you headed?”
“Southern half…ish.”
“South Academy then?”
“Fine with me,” Warren said, then after a moment, added, “So what brings you guys to Manitou Springs?”
Trent answered first. “We’re actually traveling salesmen. Been working our way east from Cali.”
“Really? What do you sell?”
“Electronics, mostly. We figured with my background in business and his background with computer information systems, we ought to be able to sell anyone all sorts of new gadgets.”
“Well that sounds like a handy duo.”
Trent laughed. “It’s actually much bigger; we have about fifteen on board. We’re meeting up with the others in the Springs this evening for dinner and a quick meeting before we head up to Denver and then on east.”
“Wow. Do you have much success? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever had a traveling salesman visit my door.”
“Business is good, if that’s what you’re asking,” Trent replied smoothly.
Warren found the two amiable enough to talk to—Scott chimed in only when Warren directly asked him a question, and seemed the less talkative, but the more genuine. Trent, on the other hand, made the perfect salesman—Warren figured he would probably buy anything the guy was selling if he had come to his door. But underneath the wide smile and blue eyes, Warren found the glint of intelligence, of a cunning that would stop only when he found the top of the ladder. And he wasn’t sure that he liked it.
But Warren dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came to him—he was grateful for the ride, his escape. The conversation between them proceeded in friendly fashion, until they pulled up to a gas station off of S. Academy. Warren thanked them and opened the door to exit when Trent turned around in his seat and sent him a question.
“Warren, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. We need men like you. If you would consider it, I think you would make a valuable addition to our team.”
“I’m…ehh…not really sure. It’s a generous offer to a total stranger,” Warren stammered.
“Hehe, it doesn’t take long for me to evaluate people, you have to be good at that to be a salesman. You’re a decent fellow with a knack for pleasant conversation. It’d be hard to say no to an honest man like yourself.”
“Well thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Warren said politely.
“Take my card. Give it think, will you? Like I said, we’ll be around for a couple more sale calls and then for dinner…probably up north…but then we’ll be heading out. So I’d appreciate hearing from you, one way or the other tonight.”
“Sure thing. Nice to meet you boys. Scott,” he nodded at the passenger and then to the driver, “Trent.”
“Take care, Warren. We’ll hear from you soon.”
Warren shut the car door and the two took off. The business offer had caught him off-guard. But could he really accept it? It didn’t seem likely to him that they would wait for him to head back home and—no, it was ridiculous to ponder. He had to get back home and find a way to tell his parents what had happened and figure out what in the world they were going to do.
First order of business, he thought to himself, was to find a bus service in the Springs and see if they ran buses to Alamosa…or if not there, at least to Pueblo. So he entered the convenience store and looked for a pay phone. He found one in the back, next to the refrigerated beer section. He picked up the phone book and flipped through the pages.
As he did so, he became aware of someone talking next to him. It was the voice of a man, asking someone a question. He tried to ignore him, to appear as though he weren’t eavesdropping. But when the question was repeated and he heard no answer, he began to wonder if he were the addressee. Warren looked up with a raised eyebrow—and promptly dropped the phone book and took a stumbling step backwards into the phone-bank. There was Livingstone, eating a pack of salted peanuts, asking a question of him.
“Wha? But. How?” Warren gasped.
Livingstone shook his head. “Are you going to join them?” He scrutinized Warren’s surprise, as if a chef inspecting a returned order. “Well? Are you?”
“But how did you? I thought you…how?” Warren’s stress was apparent, for Livingstone rubbed an eye and popped some more peanuts in his mouth and refused to answer until he had one from Warren.
“Were you going to join Trent?” he demanded, adopting a somewhat parental tone.
“I…no. That’s absurd. But how did you know?”
“No?”
“No! No, it’s crazy. I can’t…I don’t even know what I’m doing here; I need to get back home…will you take me back?”
“You want to die? I didn’t take you for a suicide…well, maybe a drugee, at worst though. Alcoholic would be more up your alley, I would think.”
“What? Whose suicide? Me? That’s ridiculous!”
“Agreed. So why don’t you join Trent?”
“What does that? And how did you find me here?”
Livingstone sighed and held a long blink. “So many questions. Which is why you wouldn’t commit suicide.”
“I’m going home, now. On a bus.”
“At least it wasn’t a question—but it’s every bit as confusing, because I didn’t think you were in a hurry to die.”
“I’m not going to die. I’m going home.”
“You seem incapable of grasping the concept that home equals death.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, what happened the last time you were home, i.e. the incident this morning?” Livingstone asked, folded his arms, and waited for an answer.
“They burned my house; but they’re gone now.”
“You’re sure?”
“What?”
Oscar rolled his eyes. “Are you sure they’re gone?”
“Yes. Why would they stay?”
“And they won’t come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re trusting your fate to an I-don’t-know?”
Warren sighed and stared at the ceiling for a second. “No. I just…I need to be there when my family returns to explain.”
“Watson, we’ve been through this. Here’s the long and short of it: you don’t need to go home ever again. I promise you, it won’t be the same and it’s best if you just move on. Trent gave you a decent proposal for a job—and it will give you some money to start your life anew. Work with him for the summer, then go back to college, get married, have a kid or two and then retire at 55.”
“But that’s not…I…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think I can handle that life; I mean I want to do something meaningful—not just life out my days working at some job I hate to make money to pay off a nice house and spend my nights with a beer in hand watching football.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes!” Warren said, exasperated with the hobo.
“Okay good, Watson. Very good. First thing you should do is take the job with Trent,” Livingstone advised, as if the weight of the world depended on his advice. “Second thing you should do is buy a Sobe, and third...”
“Wait what?” Warren interjected.
“Buy a Sobe. Then get in my jeep. We have to catch Trent before that meeting.”
Warren’s eyebrows couldn’t help but fold together in squinted confusion. “Why?” was all he could manage to say.
“Okay let me lay it all out here for you: A) you don’t want to die. B) that means you can’t go back home. C) you don’t want the American dream but something meaningful, like I suspected all along. D) that means you need join Trent.” Livinstone said, making each point with a new finger to help Warren follow along. “To join Trent, you need to come with me, and before you can come with me, you need to buy a Sobe. Now come along and hurry yourself up.” Oscar ambled to the front of the store. When he sensed little to no motion behind him, he turned around, practically yelling at Warren. “Are you telling me that forty years from now, when you’re far too immersed in the American Dream, you’ll have to tell your kids you were too frugal to buy a Sobe to start an adventure?”
“It’s not that…” Warren said, frowning at his feet.
“Come here Watson, I want to show you something.” Warren ambled forward, hands buried in his pockets. “Take a look at the newspaper,” Livingstone ordered. Warren obeyed and bent down, retrieving a paper from the stack. “A-12” Oscar instructed.
Warren flipped through the pages, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything…”
“Left hand column. Read it.”
The article had the title: “Mob Arson: 14 families destroyed statewide.” Halfway through, there was a list of names. Spicks, was the 11th, with his father’s mother’s and brother’s names all listed. “What is this?” Warren asked, dropping the paper. Livingstone bent and picked it up.
“Your family died in that fire,” he said matter-of-factly.
“But I was the only one home! And how would the papers know if it happened just this morning?”
“A fine question, check the date of the paper.” Livingstone held the front page out to him for ease of investigation.
“June 7th? But it’s the 14th, today…isn’t it?” Oscar only nodded. “But…it was this morning!” Warren’s eyebrows leveled into his stare—one of sheer anger. Livingstone held a hand out to him. “I don’t usually believe the papers, but what is written in there is true. If you go back, you will find only ashes and death. Watson, you need to keep moving or those guys will find you and kill you. They will hunt you down mercilessly.”
“But why? What did we ever do to them?”
“I don’t know, Watson. But this is why you must join Trent.”
At this point, perspective hit Warren like a truck. The man who had given him a ride was the same man whom Sofi and Oscar had been discussing earlier. Sofi had said that Livingstone was a recruiter, perhaps he was even in league with the men who had burned his house and printed that paper. Could this hobo really have such influence as to manipulate him into doing what he wanted? Perhaps he disguised himself as a hobo for that very reason—a well dressed man acting in such a manner would automatically bring all sorts of questions into play. But Livingstone could get away with a lot simply with his appearance. What sort of master plan had Livingstone? He could only imagine, and simply didn’t want to.“No!” Warren stepped backwards several feet. “Get away from me, you leech. I’m done with you and your lies!”