Invisible Roads

By Kenneth Lee

When Malcolm Freeman takes a vacation to Miami in the hope
of escaping a recent tragedy that has occurred he expects
to burn his past away and forge a new life from the ashes. However, not everything is as it seems and when people start mysteriously vanishing and a menacing vehicle starts following him around the city he quickly learns there is more to this trip than he may have ever imagined. A story about sex, drugs, murder and time travel and one man's last chance for a second try in a dark and lonely world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465375490

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Copyright © 2011 by Kenneth Lee .

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011917902

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-7548-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-7547-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-7549-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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CONTENTS

Miami

Indulge

Oblivion

Invisible Roads

The World We Make for Ourselves

You can let go now, a voice whispers into my ear as the buzzing slowly fades away. I can already tell before I open my eyes that something terrible has happened. I can faintly smell smoke and burnt rubber. The last thing I remember seeing is a black Chevy Tahoe smashing seventy miles per hour into the hood of our car. I remember seeing the glass shatter as we were lifted up into the air. My mother who was in the driver’s seat began screaming as we went upside down. Everything was in slow motion.

The console flies open, and all her CDs comes flying out like rain falling from the sky. I open my eyes. I can see my reflection in the shattered glass, my hair hanging down toward the ground, my face red, and my nose bleeding. I close my eyes because everything is blurry. Blood is rushing from my head. I am hanging upside down in my mom’s Kia Sorrento. I try to look over and see if she’s ok.

She was driving the car.

Today I had a job interview, and she thought, "What the hell, I will drive you." The interview went well, but I didn’t want the job. I told her this, and she didn’t like it. Now I can’t even see her.

I can’t hear her lecture me about life.

The roof of the car is caved in, and I try to see her in the driver’s seat. The seat belt starts choking me as I start to fidget around, so I place my hand on the ground and unbuckle my seat belt, catching myself when I fall to the roof of the car. The glass scattered on the ground slices up my hands as I try to gain my bearings. I take a deep breath. Smoke is filling up the car now, probably from the engine that now sits upside down, fuel leaking, and the chance of a fire is obvious. I lower my head and look under the caved-in roof, and I see my mom hanging from her seat: her long hair hitting the ground, her earrings dangling back and forth, her face shredded. I can’t crawl under to help her, so I kick open my door, cutting my foot in the process. An older man helps me up, frantically asking me if there is anyone else in the car. There are a dozen people surrounding the crash. Traffic is backed up for miles. The old man asks me again, "Is there anybody else in the car! My mother, I quietly pant out as I stagger around to the driver’s side door. A woman grabs my arms and shouts for me to go sit down. You’re in shock!" she shouts. I watch as the older man opens the door, my mom still hanging upside down, her arms lifelessly hanging to the ground. The old man unbuckles her seat belt and a younger man helps him pull her out; that’s when I see her jaw dangling under the top half of her face, blood covering her shirt. I slowly place my hand on my forehead as my eyes tear up. Right at that moment, I hear the siren of police cars and ambulances screaming in the distance. A little while later, a fire truck, a bottle of water, I collapse. I look up into the clear blue sky, and I can see a flock of pigeons fly overhead.

A voice shouts from somewhere, "Are you all right?"

Was there anybody else in the car?

The birds are gone.

Red and blue lights surround me.

The smell of smoke and burnt rubber fills the air.

I wonder if I am dreaming.

I throw up my lunch.

Cheeseburger and a milk shake.

Someone picks me up.

I close my eyes.

A voice asks me questions that I don’t have the answers to.

Is there anybody in there?

I didn’t shed a tear. Not one. I can’t place the feeling I have exactly, but I didn’t cry at her funeral. My uncles and aunts cried, and the priest spoke in riddles as the coffin was lowered into the ground, but not one tear came from me. My hands were buried deep in my pockets the entire time. Nothing anybody can say will help me. My dear friend Mandy pats me on the back. "It will be ok, Malcolm," she says. She’s in a better place. I want to shout, What better place is that? That is a lie! Better place? I know she’s trying to help. The thing is, she can’t help me. No one can.

I pull into my driveway a few days later. I have been trying to avoid this situation, but it’s time I come to terms with it. I am alone now in this house, and that’s just the way it is. I wish it would burn down, but that’s just wishful thinking. I walk up the stairs and into my room and pass out on my bed. A few hours pass, and I wake up to a loud crash coming from the kitchen downstairs. I grab the baseball bat I have in my closet, and I slowly move down the stairs.

I see my mom.

She’s baking her famous chocolate chip cookies. The warm smell fills the kitchen, and I drop the bat and sit down at the table. When she turns around to greet me, I notice all the skin on her face shredded off. Blood is covering the front of her shirt. Her bottom jaw is hanging from her upper jaw by small strands of muscle. This is when I remember she is dead, and I am alone now in this fucking house. I lay my head against the wooden table and start to cry.

The smell of cookies—gone.

That’s when I realize what I have to do. I have to run away. I can’t stay in this house. I have to find out what I want to do. I lift up my head and wipe the tears off the wooden table with my shirtsleeve. I can’t let go just yet.

Miami

My alarm wakes me up at ten in the morning. My flight is in an hour. In the bathroom, looking through the mirror, I notice I haven’t shaved since the funeral. I decide not to. I look older with the stubble anyway, but I am not sure if that’s such a good thing. That’s what everyone tells me at least—everyone meaning my close friends and family. My hair looks black in the reflection but only because I never turned on the light. The bathroom feels wide and narrow, and I notice a cockroach crawl out behind the toilet and disappear behind the sink. I still don’t turn on the light. I am leaving soon anyway. With my hand, I brush my bangs out of my eyes. Should I get a haircut? It’s going to be hot in Miami this time of year, but I will worry about it when I arrive. Leaning against the sink, I notice a drop of blood plop against the vague whiteness. I watch as it slowly morphs into the shape of a heart as it slowly slides down the drain. When I start to laugh, another drop plops into the sink. I wipe my nose with my hand. The blood sticks to the hairs on my arm. When I reach for the toilet paper, I notice someone standing in the doorway of the bathroom. I jump back, startled.

It’s just me, the figure says, leaning in the doorway. It takes me a second to recognize the voice.

Fuck, Mandy, I say, catching my breath.

Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you, she says, flicking on the light switch. I squint for a second and let my eyes get adjusted. I notice she’s wearing the black Ramones T-shirt I got her last summer.

Well, you did, I say, grabbing a piece of toilet paper and squeezing it against my nose. What are you doing here?

I am here to talk you into staying, she says, stepping into the bathroom. She has changed her hair since I saw her at the funeral. It’s cut a little shorter and dyed blond. She looks better as a brunette.

I got to get out of here, I answer, my voice muffled from squeezing my nose tightly.

And go to Miami? Really, Malcolm?

I saw her again last night, I tell her while I toss the bloodied-up paper in the toilet and subtly look around for the cockroach. Mandy’s quiet for a second, watching me.

You want to talk about it? she finally asks, sincerely. I am watching the blood from the paper spread in the water as the paper slowly sinks.

Not really, I finally answer her when all the water is faintly red. I flush the toilet and watch as the red water spirals and disappears until nothing is left. I look directly at her for the first time since she arrived. She has beautiful brown eyes and a few freckles around her nose. I walk past her and into my room across the hall.

Please stay, she says, following me.

No, I answer, picking up my suitcase, which was lying open on my bed.

Please, she urges while grabbing my arm as I walk out the door. I stop and look back at her.

Mandy, I am only going to be gone for a couple of weeks.

I really think you should stay. Running away isn’t going to correct anything. My father talked to a shrink when—

A shrink, Mandy? Come on! I shout, yanking my hand away. I turn off my light and head downstairs. She follows.

I think you really need help, Malcolm. I will have Dad give you the number. The doctor truly helped my father after the… She stops when she’s halfway down the stairs.

Listen, Mandy, I don’t want to be alone in this house, I say, opening the front door.

I will stay with you, she shouts to me while jumping in front of me.

Mandy— I try to say, but suddenly, she kisses me hard on the mouth. I slowly push her away, and she just looks at me blankly.

I am sorry… I tell her as I brush her aside.

Well, at least let me drive you to the airport, she asks while wiping her tears away.

A familiar song plays in Mandy’s car. I recognize the lyrics and the melody, but it sounds different somehow, almost out of place. Since we left my house, she hasn’t been able to look me in the eye. I know I am hurting her by leaving, but I can’t stay here. I am sitting in the passenger’s seat, looking out the window at the people in the neighborhood. Nothing seems different to them. They all go on living their normal lives. Only when something happens directly to them does it embrace them. I will never even know what their problems are, and I won’t wonder what things will pass for them in the time they have. A blond woman in black sweatpants jogs down the road. Ten years from now, her husband will cheat on her, and she will divorce him and open up a small coffee shop in Chicago. A young child, maybe six years of age, plays in his front yard. He will direct a hit movie that innovates the way CGI is incorporated in movies. An older man walks out to his car, nodding his head at me as I pass by. He will never skydive. We turn down Chestnut, and I see the elementary school I went to as a child. I met Mandy right there in the playground. It was in the third grade. Willis introduced us. Mandy was trading Pokémon cards, and she had a rare one I wanted. I remember Willis moved away in sixth grade. He works at a Starbucks in Tallahassee, or that’s what his Facebook page says. We pass by Mandy’s house, and I remember that’s where we first kissed. It was during the summer going into seventh grade. Jason had just found a stray puppy, and I remembered Mandy always wanted a dog. I carried it all the way to her house and gave it to her. She was so thrilled, she kissed me. Two years later, that dog was bit by a poisonous snake and passed away. We had a funeral for him in her backyard. Jason and I grew apart during high school, and I haven’t seen him since we graduated two years ago. I heard he’s getting married. Maybe he will be happy. The song ends and another one begins.

We pull into Evergreen Hospital. Mandy’s little brother, Peter, lives here. She keeps urging me to go in.

Can’t you at least say good-bye to him? she moans in a crying voice. We are parked in the visitors’ parking lot, and the windows are rolled down, and she’s smoking a cigarette.

You’re acting like I am going to be gone forever, I reply, turning the radio down.

I know you keep saying it’s just a couple of weeks, but to Peter, she takes a drag and spits the smoke out the window, that’s a long time.

I don’t want to be late for my flight, Mandy, I say, tapping my fingers against my jeans.

You’re not. Just go in and say hi, she says while tossing the cigarette outside and blowing smoke in the car.

All right, all right, I am going, I mumble, unbuckling my seat belt and opening the door. The floor in the hospital is solid white and makes a blinding glare when you pass under one of the fluorescent lightbulbs. The walls are a pearl-type color, and the air has a faint smell of shit. Mandy follows behind me. She has walked this hall every day of her life. We pass by a nurse, and I nod at her, and she smiles at me and continues watering the plants. On the wall outside Peter’s room, I notice a small framed picture of a redbrick house in the middle of a pasture. Peter’s room is at the end of the hall. I stop at the door and look back at Mandy who smiles a sadly and nudges me into the room. Peter is sitting on his bed, fidgeting with a toy of some kind. He looks up when the door opens.

Malcolm! Peter shouts, flinging his hands up in the air.

Hey, Peter, I answer back. Peter has Down syndrome, and I have known him since he was born. Mandy walks in behind me and closes the door.

Look, Malcolm, I made you something, Peter says, excitedly pointing to the table near his bed.

What is it, pal? I ask, making my way to the table. It’s covered with Nickelodeon magazines and chocolate milk cartons. I notice an arrowhead lying on top of a picture of Mandy and Peter at his seventh birthday.

It’s a necklace, Malcolm, Peter informs me as I pick it up. I notice the string is carefully tied around the arrowhead, and I realize Mandy probably tied it for him. I look over at her, and she smiles at me and then looks back at Peter.

You didn’t make me anything? Mandy asks him in a playful voice.

Of course I did, sis, here! he shouts, giving her a piece of paper. She looks at the paper and laughs.

Oh my, Peter, she says excitedly. She holds up the picture to me, and I see a drawing of her.

For my sweet sister, Peter says, clapping his hands together.

Thanks, little bro, she says, hugging him tightly.

Malcolm, are you going to stay and watch cartoons with me today? Peter asks, still hugging Mandy. She looks up at me and then lets go of Peter.

Oh, Peter, I forgot to tell you. Malcolm’s leaving for a little while, she answers him, sitting down on the bed. Peter looks at me.

Malcolm, you are?

Yeah, buddy. But I promise I won’t be gone long, I try to answer as nice as possible.

No, he says quietly and looks back at Mandy.

Oh, Peter, don’t cry, she says, brushing his long brown hair over his ear.

No no no! he yells. Mandy stands up and looks at me, disappointed.

You was… gonna take me to see… movie! You said.

I will when I get back, I answer him, but he begins crying.

But you promised, Malcolm. You promised you would take me! he screams.

All right, Peter, he said he would take you when he gets back. Now we got to go, Mandy says, hugging him again.

Malcolm! Peter yells as I head for the door. Mandy, make him stay!

Let’s go, she mouths to me. I step outside and lean against the wall, waiting for Mandy. I look at the picture again. The red house looks like a peaceful setting, and I wonder if it is a real place or if it’s just the dream house the artist wished he had. After a minute, she steps outside Peter’s door.

Mandy… I am sorry, I try to say, but she walks right past me. The last thing I hear her say before she drops me off at the terminal is Let’s go. You don’t want to miss your flight.

I am still holding the necklace Peter gave me, the arrowhead dangling between my clenched fingers. My eyes have just gotten used to the terminal and the dim lights. I can hear rain tapping on the glass ceiling that hangs above me. When I first stepped in the terminal, there was a loud rumble, possibly a plane taking off, and one of the lights falls off its hinges and crashes into the floor, spilling mercury everywhere. I watch as a small crowd circles the spill before they are broken up by airport security. I am standing in the middle of the terminal with twenty minutes to kill and nothing but