Journey's End

By Sydney Mann

He was lost.

She was lonely.

Both were running away

And found each other.

In the spring of 1967, Jesse hops onto a train to skip out of town for a few days. Five hundred miles away, Sara does the same, desperate to escape a dark shame. When their paths cross in the middle of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flight Fancy
• Release date: Sep 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953122018

Book preview

1

Come Away Midnight

JESSE

Tuesday, April 18, 1967

11:55 pm

Detroit, MI

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Damn, it was cold.

Standing in the massive shadow of Michigan Central Station, I reached into my pocket for my pack of Lucky Strikes. It was officially spring, but the chill that penetrated my leather jacket declared that stubborn winter didn’t care. I struck a match to light my cigarette, the tip glowing red in the darkness. As a wisp of smoke curled away from it, I watched it twist this way and that before dissipating into the surrounding mist.

That had to be a metaphor for something. The aimlessness of my life maybe, how it would amount to nothing in the end.

Yeah, that was pretty bleak. Even for me. But here I was, sneaking out of town for something stupid. Strike that, because I was stupid. Yeah, it was all my own fault and I had no one else to blame but myself—yadda, yadda, yadda. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with the consequences. I might be in a better mood if I didn’t have to stand around outside, but the station’s waiting room had just been shut down. Even the once grand M.C.S. couldn’t escape the city’s steady decline. The train was supposed to come soon anyway. I just hoped I didn’t get stuck sitting beside some fat, smelly dude or an old lady eager to talk my ear off.

Exhaling a puff of smoke, I scanned my surroundings for the dozenth time. Rows of steel tracks ran east and west, disappearing into the fog. A few train cars sat silent and empty, some waiting to run come morning, others permanently abandoned, their services no longer required.

All was clear.

The few people waiting for the train were mostly older couples or loners like me. If Sean O’Malley wanted to get me, he had five more minutes to try. That was if the train was on time. It better be on time. Not just because I didn’t want to cross the pug-faced punk, but because I was freezing my balls off.

I stuffed my free hand into the front pocket of my jeans, my backpack shielding my back from the unseasonable chill. Inside the bag were another pair of jeans, two shirts, four pairs of socks and underwear, as well as a book someone had forgotten on the bus. ‘The Outsiders.’ Probably no good if it had been left behind, but I hadn’t read anything new in a while, and who was I to pass up something for the taking? As for my wad of cash, I kept it hidden in the inner pocket of my jacket. It was enough to float on for maybe two weeks. Any longer and I’d need to find some way to get my hands on more.

While working out how I might manage such a feat, three spots of lights appeared in the distance and the ground began to tremble under my scuffed-up combat boots. The train was finally here. It screeched as the brakes were applied, slowing until it ground to a full halt. Refusing to run, I hurried with long, determined strides, passing people up to get to the train door first. My size and scowl were usually enough to discourage protest, and in this case it worked in my favor yet again. Handing the attendant my ticket, I picked a seat near the door so I could make a quick exit if I had to. Then tossing my ratty backpack onto the seat beside me, I sat by the window, an arm slung over my bag as I watched the other passengers lumber up the aisle.

When everyone had boarded, the train pulled out of the station. Dull street lights and drab buildings slid past at a steadily increasing clip. Soon, we were speeding past familiar streets, quickly leaving them behind. There was the alley where I’d been jumped two years ago. There was the park where Chaz sold his drugs. And there was the intersection where a motorcycle crash had nearly taken my head off.

If nothing else, Detroit and I shared a tumultuous history. I had no deep love for the city I called home, but it was the only place I had ever known. I knew its streets and I knew how to survive them.

For an instant, I wondered if it was a mistake to skip town. But no, Sean O’Malley needed time to cool off and he would never leave Detroit himself, not when he had to stay behind to run his little operation. Like Rick said, I just had to lay low until I coughed up the money I owed.

The city lights soon vanished, replaced by long stretches of darkness. Tina would be pissed, but it wasn’t her I thought about as my consciousness began to fade. My last thought was of my ma, sitting at her usual spot at the kitchen table, staring blankly out the window, no doubt wondering what trouble I had gotten into this time.

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SARA

Tuesday, April 18, 1967

11:58 pm

Mt. Pleasant, IA

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Shutting my spiral-bound notebook and capping my pen, I stuffed both into my already crowded backpack. The train wouldn’t be arriving for several more minutes, but I wanted to be ready. Even though I had been ready...for the last three years. Three years I’d labored for this moment, waiting countless tables at a greasy diner and changing hundreds of soiled sheets at a seedy motel. But the sacrifice was worth it, because finally—finally!—I’d be leaving Mount Pleasant for good.

The late night air was brisk, invigorating, but I didn’t mind the way it bit at my cheeks or stung my lips. If all went according to plan, I would soon be basking under the warm, golden California sun. The very thought buoyed me.

Glancing around, I noticed about a dozen other people waiting for the train. For a population of less than seven thousand, I was surprised there were even that many. Especially at this hour. But then again, who wouldn’t want to escape this soul-sucking town? I eyed the familiar faces warily. Most I knew by name, some by reputation, as no doubt they knew me.

Yet another reason to flee.

Checking to make sure no one was watching, I plucked the stale gum from my mouth and stuck it to the lamp post beside me. A rare act of defiance and my last mark of rebellion before I dusted off this town. Ignoring a twinge of guilt, I pulled out a fresh stick. Cherry, my favorite. As I chewed, I picked up the navy blue duffel at my feet only to drop it again. I fidgeted, restless, my gaze falling on the green benches that lined the outer wall of the red brick station. Maybe I should take a seat? No, it made no sense to get comfortable now.

Despite its moniker, Mt. Pleasant had never been a place of comfort, at least not for me. The years I’d spent here were years I’d rather forget; unlike nearby Westwood, where most of my childhood had been spent. Sadly, there was no reason for me to return there either, not since Grams and Poppy had died. All that place held for me now were bittersweet memories.

Sooner than expected, the train came squealing down the tracks, a trio of lights and a flash of silver in the moonlight. Excitement filled me, but it dampened slightly when I thought of my mom. Maybe I should have said goodbye? Then I remembered that she hadn’t gone to bed alone. No, she wouldn’t miss me, not until it was too late. Maybe not at all.

I wiped a stray tear from my cheek as the train shuddered to a stop. A line formed, so I made my way to the end of it. By the time it was my turn to board, my eyes were dry once more. I paused at the steps, noting the significance of the moment. Then I stepped onto the train—resolute, determined—and never once looked back.

2

Must Head Backward

SARA

Wednesday, April 19, 1967

3:20 am

Galesburg, IL

⠀

Sometimes you had to go backwards to move forward. That’s what I told myself when my train rolled into Illinois a few hours before dawn. It was in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go, but Galesburg was a necessary stop to hop onto any westbound train. It was from here that I could catch my ride to sunny L.A.

Though I was anxious to head west as soon as possible, it was a relief to exit the car and stretch my legs. Glancing around, I spotted the information booth and made my way toward it to get directions to the right platform. But before I could reach it, I was unexpectedly detained.

Looks like we’re traveling the same way.

I turned around, coming face to face with a woman named Pamela, one of the other passengers who had boarded from Mt. Pleasant. She was an older woman, the kind whose faded features were made worse by a heavy hand. Thick foundation caked the lines of her face and bright red lipstick bled into the fine wrinkles around her mouth. An absurdly large bouffant and short mod skirt completed her desperate attempt to cling to lost youth.

Oh? I replied, cocking my brow.

Us girls ought to stick together. It’s not safe for single ladies to travel alone, you know.

Oh? I repeated, wondering why she was doing just that if she believed such a thing.

Totally! I’m Pamela, by the way. Pamela Brewer, she said with a saccharine smile.

Sara, I offered with reluctance.

Oh, I know. Her smile lost some of its fake sweetness. So what led you to leave town? Wait, let me guess. A guy?

My gut churned. Did she think I was just like my mother? Or her? I shook my head with vehemence. A job. At least I hoped to get one as soon as I reached California.

Oh. She looked disappointed and less than impressed. Well, that’s not nearly as much fun as the wedding I’m headed to. If I’m lucky, I hope to meet my own Mr. Right there.

I offered her a weak smile, not knowing how to respond to such a ridiculous remark.

Come on, let’s go grab a seat together. It’ll be nice to have someone to chat with the rest of the way.

I kept a smile plastered on my face, while I cringed on the inside. The last thing I wanted was to sit with the town’s second biggest floozy—my mom being the first—but I could think of no good reason to refuse. Unable to come up with even the flimsiest of excuses, I forced my feet to follow after Pamela, hoping our time together passed swiftly.

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JESSE

Wednesday, April 19, 1967

5:30 am

Chicago, IL

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I jerked awake as the train came to an abrupt stop.

Chicago Union Station, the PA garbled out, before announcing a half hour stop.

Grabbing my backpack, I hurried off the train and went in search of a bathroom. But as soon as I entered the main waiting room, I stopped in my tracks. Michigan Central Station might be impressive in its own right, but Chicago Union Station blew it away. White marble floors kissed my black combat boots as my gaze traveled up Corinthian columns to an arched ceiling of cut glass soaring over a hundred feet above me.

I gawked at the morning light that filtered through it, illuminating the main hall with a soft, almost heavenly glow. Heavenly. Right. Scoffing, I hurried on, remembering that the clock was ticking.

After finding and using the john, I washed up at the sink as best as I could, brushing my teeth and applying another layer of deodorant to my damp pits. When I finished, I headed back outside to find a secluded spot to smoke.

From where I stood, I could look out at the surrounding buildings of the waking city. Chicago was just as congested as Detroit, but somehow its streets appeared less gritty. Even the air seemed cleaner, I thought, as I pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Taking a long drag, I toyed with the idea of staying to do a little exploring. I’d always wanted to check Chicago out, but funds were limited and it was probably best I put as much distance between me and Detroit for now. Maybe on the way back.

With my cig in one hand, I rubbed my eyes with the other. It was strange to be awake so early. I couldn’t remember the last time I was up at this hour, when the sky was mostly gray and the birds were just beginning to sing. Usually, I was still in bed, wasted after a bender. But even sober, my nocturnal pursuits ensured I remained in bed until noon. Some things were best done under the cover of night.

By now, Ronnie and Joe would’ve noticed I was missing. They knew I was in trouble with O’Malley, but I hadn’t told them I’d be skipping town. Saved them the trouble of having to lie for me. Like Tina, though, I knew they would be pissed. But they weren’t the ones in danger of getting their face rearranged or their digits permanently damaged. I was fond of my fingers, while the girls were fond of my face. It would be a shame to ruin either.

I sighed. How was I going to get the money to pay back O’Malley? And where would I go to find it? My ticket would take me as far as Topeka. I suppose I had until then to try to figure it out.

Taking a look around, my eyes landed on a suit who was busy reading the Chicago Tribune. I snorted when I saw the headline for one of the articles. ‘Even Nice People Get Syphilis’. As amusing as that was, I was seeking something a little more interesting. Something more rewarding. So my gaze continued to roam before landing on the gold watch on the man’s wrist. It was shiny and impressive, but impossible to lift without his notice. I kept searching until