Joel's Journey

Song-- "Boston" Augustana

Stepping off the plane, the familiar smells of Boston settle over me, but it just adds to my desolation. Pushing through the myriad of passengers all heading here or there, I feel like karma is against me.

Kisses and joyful reunions are happening all around me, and they’re just a brutal reminder. A reminder that I'm alone here, keeping my eyes towards the ground in a futile attempt to ignore the greetings. My mind is picturing every one of them, and I just want to run.

I can't. I can't run. I need to take this next part step by step, eyes on the ending, whatever that may be.

I’m finally at the luggage claim, and my bags are right there. I'm in luck for the first time in a long time. Grabbing them, I head out to the long line of cabs and jump into the first one.

"Where you off to, man?"

The thick accent takes me back for a second, before I give the address. No one knows I'm coming, and they have no clue what I've got planned. Except one person.

The cab tears off, and I'm thrust back into the world of Boston driving. It's almost unsettling in a way. I've become so used to driving in Manchester and London that this is like a demolition derby waiting to happen.

Grabbing my phone, I immediately text my new contact and tell him I'm almost at Jason's office, and to bring whatever he found. I don't care if I'm just off an international flight with three bags of luggage. I'm starting now.

Watching out the window, my hand immediately goes to my wedding ring, and I spin it on my finger, thinking of her, wondering what she's doing, if she's ok, and then wondering if she's happy. My mind replays our final conversation over and over again. I can almost feel her tight, almost desperate hug.

"The meter’s runnin’, man. You just want to sit here?"

My mind snaps back to the present and what I'm about to do. Pulling money out of my wallet and handing it to him, I silently grab my luggage and walk up to the huge glass building.

"Joel? Mr. Fairchild?"

The voice causes me to turn, and I take in the three piece suit and dark sunglasses.

"That'd be me. I'm guessing you are Chuck Reynolds?"

Chuck. My ace in the hole. Ever since I decided to see what Jason was up to, he's been my eyes on the ground. Private investigator, forensic accountant, and general shark all rolled into one.

"Tell me you have good news. Please!"

His smug smile tells me everything I need to know. Jason, the leech, is about to get his.

Chuck and I walk into the building as if we own the place. The receptionist's eyes widen as we approach, so I'm pretty sure the "don't fuck with us" look is on both of our faces.

"Ca-can I help you, gentlemen?"

I look at Chuck, and he looks at me, before we both speak.

"Jason Sanders’ office."

She pulls the phone towards her, and Chuck places his hand over hers.

"Give us five minute head start. Your job might depend on that, capice?"

His demeanor and smile totally contradict the ice in his eyes. The lady pulls her hand off the phone, and we walk by.

The entire ride in the elevator is spent in silence, my eyes jumping back and forth to the satchel in Chuck’s hand. I don't know what is in it, but I'm sure the contents will cause an epic shit storm.

The doors silently open and at the end of the hall, I see the frosted door with the name "Jason Sanders, Esq" etched into the glass. Game time has begun.

I feel the stares of others as we silently walk, and Chuck raps sharply on the door.

"I'm busy. Slide whatever it is under the door."

Chuck rolls his eyes and opens the door, catching Jason mid put on an indoor putting green.

He whips around, sending the ball careening across the floor. He sees Chuck and then me.

"Mr. Fairchild, do we have an appointment?"

Silently shaking my head, I point to Chuck who takes the lead. He slides into Jason's seat and softly places the satchel on the desk.

"Hey! That's my desk."

I slowly shut the door, and take a seat on the couch, carelessly crossing my legs.

"Jason, if I were you, I would shut up and take a seat."

He puffs his chest, and retorts, "And if I don't?"

Chuck chuckles as he opens his satchel, pulling the first paper out.

"Well then, I guess I will go public on the triple billing of the Fairmont suite you are charging Joel here."

I sit up, and a tightness fills me. I knew there was shit be found, but... this? I watch him pull out a thick folder, and I'm suddenly scared to find out what else there is.

"THATS BULLSHIT!" Jason sputters as his face gets redder by the moment. "I pay what they bill, and that's it!"

Chuck tsks as he pulls out more papers. "Funny. Mr.Fairchild has sent me the last four months of billing statements, along with power of attorney to dig deeper. Do you really want to go there, Jason?"

Jason collapses in the chair, defeated and sweating.

"No... No... What do we do now? I have a reputation. A job." The panicked sound of his voice irks me beyond belief.

"Are you fucking serious? Your REPUTATION?"

I jump up from the couch and stand over his chair, shaking with rage.

"What else, Jason? I don't want to read it. I want to hear it from your lips. Speak."

He starts speaking, rambling out his confessions. Each one floors me more than the one before, until I ask the final question.

"And my mother?"

He looks up to me, fear in his eyes, and I know what he's going to say before he even mutters the, "I don't know."

The rage that has simmered explodes into one punch right in his face. The crack of my knuckles along with the pain radiating through my hand is so satisfying, I pull back to hit him again.

Chuck jumps over the desk and grabs my hand, dragging me away from the sprawled and bleeding Jason. I want to hit him again, and again, until the rage inside me is gone.

I don't know where it's all come from, but it's there.Rolling and begging for release. Thoughts are swirling, the argument with Paris, being here alone, dealing with this shit. It's all too much to keep contained and separated.

Chuck pulls an expensive linen cloth out of his pocket and tosses it to a now whining Jason.

"Well, Mr. Sanders. We have an issue, don't we?"

He returns to the desk after making sure I'm sitting on the couch and back in control of my emotions. Or so he thinks. One comment or action from Jason, and game over.

He slides a paper over to him and then uncaps a fountain pen.

"This is your resignation of being the trustee of the entire estate. Sign it, and it won't be as bad as it could be."

He shakily signs it, begging as he does. "Does this mean this is all I get?"

I snort and Chuck glares at me to shut up, so I walk to the wet bar, and pour myself a drink. My hand shakes as I empty the entire glass in a gulp.

"Now I didn't say that, did I? No. This isn't all that happens. You owe the estate a whole lot of money, and you will pay back every dime. Every penny. Do you get that?"

He nods, and I pour another drink. I'm floundering, and my aching hand twitches to call her and get support, but I can't. It's her space, her call to make, just like she asked me to. Walk away.. Find me, and let her find her. Maybe, just maybe, we can find each other again at the end.

Chuck and Jason are going back and forth, but I'm tuning them out, just living in my memories for a moment. The clap on my shoulder gets me re-focused, and Chuck grabs my arm and drags me out of the office. The silent journey out of the building abruptly ends when he hands me a manilla envelope.

"Here's what you asked for. A furnished apartment, paid for three months, and longer if needed. There's a map and keys to the pickup truck you asked for, paid in cash and in my name. Finally, there's the cell phone. All the numbers you need are in here. Now give me yours."

My hand shakes. Handing him my cell with all my numbers inside might be too much. I need space, anonymous Joel. I need to start from scratch and get back to the real me.

"Come on, Joel. Hand it over. You told me what to do with it, which messages to pass on and which to ignore. I will keep my word. I promise."

Staring into his eyes, I see the truth in them, and hand him the phone. It hurts so fucking much, but I get it. He's going to handle all the hard stuff, be my filter, until I'm ready.

"Call me. For anything. Chuck... Promise me this."

"I promise. Now go get in that used ass truck, go to your new place and decompress. What happenshappens... And that's all we can do."

Nodding, I grab the envelope and head to the truck. Climbing in, I rest my head on the steering wheel and breath deep. I can do this. I have to. I have no other choice I can accept. Step one... Complete.

--TBC--