Party in the USA

Posted on Mon May 1st, 2023 @ 11:33pm by Hale Stratton & Alonzo Blazevic

1,868 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Bangor or Bust
Location: Millinocket, Maine
Timeline: 25 August 2010 - 12:00 Noon

Teenagers were all around, had gathered for the festival, and there were swarms of Swifties were getting into it with KatCats, and it did not help that the Monsters were there spectating and instigating things. Tensions only escalated when the orders were announced and news was being circulated.

Alonzo had made the road trip and had managed to find the bus he was in search for, a bus from Bangor. Students from Bangor High School were relatively easy to find in their school pride attire. The cardinal red adorned with a ram.

Everything had pointed Alonzo to here to Millinocket. He had watched students come and go, leave the bus, but when one small figure with a cardinal red Hoodia on and the hood up darted off the bus, Alonzo exited his vehicle and followed the individual. The neighbor did say Ethan was always running. Let's hope that's true thought Alonzo.

He had grabbed his backpack and took after the figure who seemed to be following other students that had left the bus before them. "Ethan!" Shouted Alonzo as he ran after the boy. "Stop Ethan," added Alonzo.

How did they find me? He heard his name and flinched. A quick look over his shoulder through a tangle of long brown bangs was enough to set him running in earnest, his heart all but slamming itself against his ribcage. He thought about his parents, the spill of blood and body parts, that ... man ... and funneled every ounce of panic and self-preservation into getting his legs moving as fast as humanly possible. Not ... going ... to ... happen ... to ... me.

"Ethan!" shouted Alonzo. He was not a track and field sort of guy but he suspected Ethan may secretly been. At least he certainly felt like he did. For a brief second Alonzo thought what if this kid had killed his parents? Do I shoot him? he thought momentarily. No, he thought better of it.

Chasing after the boy, Alonzo did his best to pursue the boy. "Dam it, Ethan. Stop!" Alonzo could not keep up with the boy. "They think you killed them, Ethan...they think you did it."

Wild-eyed, he turned and stared back at the man, poised and ready to take off at the first sign of ... anything. "You said they ... just who are you," Ethan asked, suspicion stamped plainly on his youthful features.

"Your opportunity to write the story," Alonzo replied trying to catch his breath. "You know what happened. You hold the truth. I'm the only way that's going to get out, Ethan. I'm a journalist, a reporter. I want to help you."

Stay or go. Trust or Not. The internal struggle was written in the movement of his body as he took a step back, hesitated, and let out a slow exhale of breath. "Buy me breakfast," he said. "Some place busy and public. Not going anywhere alone with you." With anyone, he amended silently. He fought back the tears that threatened his pretense of calm and nodded. "I'll tell you what I saw."

"Kid, I'm not sure places will be open for much longer for breakfast given with what's been going on lately, but I'll buy you lunch," replied Alonzo. "My name is Alonzo, and I'm starting to suspect I can imagine what you saw and you shouldn't have had to see that. I know you have no reason to trust me yet, but I think for both our sakes, we need to start establishing it."

"I don't believe you," Ethan answered. "But I'm hungry and lunch would be good." He looked around at the people, most of them smiling and chatting animatedly. "Let's go. I'm not in a festival mood."

"Great, don't believe me," Alonzo replied with a sigh. "My car is not far away. I recommend we drive rather than walk. It's becoming increasingly unsafe, and I am not in the festival mood either."

"Yeah," Ethan said quietly, his expression turned bleak as he surveyed some inner landscape. "It's not ... safe."

[Appalachian Trail Cafe, Downtown Millinocket

Ethan followed THE REPORTER into the restaurant. That was how he thought about him. In capital-not-to-be-trusted letters because he wasn't stupid and he read more than anyone realized. The press had their own agenda. He'd heard that lecture more than once at the family dinner table; and then too, hadn't his English teacher done two whole classes in writing bias? And yet, the story was there, battering at the back of his closed lips, while the pain of the unexpected fast was visceral. Ever present.

He followed THE REPORTER into a restaurant that had the country, folksy feel that made him think of old people. When he sat, Ethan slide into the bench across from him and waited. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he turned inward, lost (again) in his own thoughts.

A waitress came over to take their orders. "What will it be boys?" she asked.

Alonzo had a rough approximation of what he wanted. "Coffee for me for sure. I'll also take some French toast with a side of home fries."

"I'll have the All American," Ethan said after a quick look at the menu, "with fries instead of hash browns and bacon."

"Toast or English muffin," The waitress asked.

"Toast," Ethan said and, as he saw her draw breath to ask another question, added, "I don't care what kind. And could I get coffee and a glass of orange juice, please?"

Once the woman left to put in the order with the kitchen, Alonzo looked at Ethan. "You seemed flighty back there. Do you usually run from everyone, or was I getting special treatment?"

Ethan stared at him for a long moment before answering. Shields up, gaze shuttered. What his Mom used to call his tower defense. After a moment, his gaze dropped and he sighed. "I don't know how to talk to you," he said. "What I should say or what I shouldn't and I'm too tired to try to figure it out. So, I'll just answer and when I can't handle it anymore, I'll leave." He nodded to himself as though the saying of that helped him move forward. "Right. Running. I run track in school," he said with a slight shrug. "So no, not you especially. I just run."

"Ethan, I'm going to be completely honest with you. I don't know you and you don't know me, but I know Bangor has that small town feel. I don't know if you were responsible for what happened to your parents, but I believe that you are innocent" stated Alonzo.

He looked sympathetic as his gaze fell upon the boy once the waitress came back with coffee. He didn't say anything more until she was well out of earshot. "You leave, the police will find you eventually, and unless I can help you clear your name, most of that town views you as a monster."

Alonzo took a sip of coffee. "But I've been doing some reading. News stories from various places. I don't think you are a monster, but I believe you saw one, and I suspect we're safer together than off on our own."

Ethan looked up, tears welling up before being impatiently brushed away, as he wrestled with the decision. Trust. Run. Talk. Stay Silent. And finally, he nodded, going on instinct more than anything else, because all of this was so far outside his world of high school, track, and racing. "No," he said, his voice hoarse with the emotion he held back, "I didn't kill my parents but I saw who did. Saw what he did."

"It," replied Alonzo nervously. "What you saw...I don't think was a human anymore, not like you or me, or any of the everyday folk of towns and cities. Worse yet, I don't think it was alone. There's been similar reports elsewhere, Ethan. I saw your collection of books and movies."

"You saw my ... you were in my house ... in my room," Ethan said, his voice rising in outrage and sudden fear. "Just how long have you been after me?"

"Not long after the yellow tape went up around your home," Alonzo replied. "They already took your laptop or anything electronic you left behind, but I saw the poster for the festival in your room and I did enough snooping to get an idea I'd find you on or near that bus."

"Kinda don't love that you were looking through my things, dude," he said as he looked at Alonzo, "but I guess it wasn't just you." Ethan sighed as he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, shoving the bangs back, only to have them fall forward again almost at once. "I'm living in a horror movie," he whispered. "Nothing I can tell the cops that won't get me thrown into a padded cell someplace. Who's going to believe me, huh?"

Alonzo sipped his coffee then sat it aside. "Me," he replied simply. "You aren't living in the horror movie alone. There will be more. Nothing you say to the police right now will clear you, but I think you will be old news soon."

"Hope not," Ethan said as he fixed his coffee. "About there being more, that is. No one should have to die like that." His expression turned bleak as he stared down into the depths of his cup. "Just how many people can one guy ... do that too?"

"Too many," Alonzo quipped. "If we aren't ready for it, but it won't be one guy we have to worry about. You sad yourself that you are living in a horror film. You know what you saw, Ethan. You know how the movies go."

"Yes, I do," Ethan said quietly and there was a wealth of sadness in the answer. He took a sip of coffee, grimaced, and added a bit more milk to it. "Once we're done here, I'll turn myself in to the police. Tell them what I know."

Alonzo scoffed. "The hell you will," the journalist said. "I can't keep you safe if they have you in custody."

Ethan looked up, the first flickering of hope in the depths of his eyes, and said, "then what's the plan? What do we do?"

"We finish our breakfast. Then we keep you out of the public eye, and we start trusting one another. We can work together to figure out what the hell is going on because something is in the air" Alonzo said metaphorically speaking. "I can practically feel it. This is more than just one man doing something horrible, and all eyes falling on a teenager."

Ethan nodded as the waitress brought the breakfast Alonzo said they weren't serving anymore and waited until she left, before speaking. It gave him time to think about what he wanted to do and the answer came rather quickly. He wanted answers and if this was part of something larger, he wanted to know that too. "Sounds good to me," he said as he picked up his fork. He grinned, a bit of the old Ethan slipping through, "especially the eating part."

 

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