Chapter Three: Dream & Arrival

DREAM

With his eyes closed, Stan Marsh felt warm hands gently touch his skin. They caressed his face, stroking the stubble. A soft, melodic voice of a woman hummed a soothing lullaby. He recognized the song because it was a favorite of his mother's, "Fade Into You." As the woman hummed the rhythm of the melody, he sang the lyrics in his mind:

I want to hold the hand inside you
I want to take the breath that's true
I look to you, and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth

Stan felt a sense of calm and relief that he had not felt in a very long time.

He opened his eyes slowly. Everything was hazy, but he could feel that he was laying his head on someone's lap. He gazed up to see who it was. When the blur of his eyes focused on her face, he instantly knew who she was.

"Mom?" he mumbled.

"Shhh, it's okay, Stanley," she whispered, gently wiping his forehead with her fingers. Sharon's warm touch was soothing to her son's weary body.

He turned his head to see that he was no longer in the passenger seat of Travis' truck. Instead, he was back home—not the one he left two months ago, but the very first house he had ever lived in, before Tegridy Farms. It was like going back in time; the layout of the living room and all of the furniture and decorations were exactly as he remembered. Even the smell evoked memories of his childhood. Surely, he was merely dreaming.

Shelley was there too, sitting on the single couch, watching TV, but she wasn't calling him a "turd" like when they were younger. That wasn't the only thing that Stan noticed was off about her. As he tilted his head to get a better look at her, she didn't have that signature angry face she wore for as long as he could remember. She was calm and pensive... and empty.

He turned to see his mom's face. Though Sharon continued being affectionate to her son, she didn't look at him, but he could see in her eyes the same emptiness that he saw in Shelley. When she then turned her head to meet his gaze, it was like staring into a mirror—his guilt. "Is something wrong, Stan?" she asked.

The warmth that Stan felt began to dissolve. "Yeah," he sighed, laying his head back on her lap. "Just about everything."

"Oh, Stanley. I wish I knew how to fix this."

"It's not your fault, Mom."

He wasn't sure if those words provided any comfort, but he reached out to take her hand. He gently massaged it, hoping to spread the warmth he had felt earlier. He hated seeing his mother in pain, even if this was a dream. He only wished he would've done this more often for the Sharon Marsh.

"You know," she began, looking down at Stan, "I don't know if I can ever truly forgive him for all the pain he caused us." She paused for a moment, her mouth slightly open in thought, and said, "But I have to say, this world feels so empty without him."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed.

"There's just no place where you can hide from the truth... even here. And it will always find you."

ARRIVAL

"Psst. Hey Stan, wake up."

Stan fluttered his eyes open; he recognized the voice of the person nudging him by the shoulder as Travis. Tiredness still lingered in his eyelids. His head felt heavy from leaning on the glass. "How long was I asleep?" he asked groggily.

"It wasn't that long," Travis chuckled. "An hour, maybe?"

As Stan battled to keep his eyes from closing, he could see the shadow of a building in the distance. It was eerie. "Whoa, where are we now?"

"Come on out and see."

Stan grabbed his backpack and exited the truck to take a good look. It appeared to have once been a cotton mill. He wasn't fluent in architecture, but he remembered what they were supposed to look like from black and white photographs in American history textbooks. He assumed it was built in the early 20th century based on its architectural design. It rose to five stories. Judging by its condition, it was shut down for years or decades. Many windows were shattered, while others were paneled with wood. The vines that grew out of the cracks in the wall looked like giant spider webs.

However, while the property may have been officially shut down, it was not abandoned. A lamp glowed above the front entrance. A few people walked around while music could be heard from within.

"What is this place, Travis?" Stan asked, feeling a tinge of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

"One of Easy Pete's bases of operation."

"Easy... Pete?"

"Yep. That's my boss's name. "

It was on the tip of Stan's tongue to ask what kind of business Easy Pete ran, especially in a place as neglected as this, until he turned his head and noticed a couple of masked men with rifles standing guard near a garage opening in the distance. Two white trucks—like the one Travis drove—emerged as the door rolled up.

Stan thought back to how, back on the road, Travis kept suspiciously looking in the side view mirror as if trying not to be followed or on the lookout for an ambush. Then it clicked: Travis was a drug trafficker.

"Don't worry about them; they won't shoot you unless you cause a ruckus," Travis assured as they walked across the concrete to the mill.

"What are we doing here?" Stan asked.

"Gotta' pick up Pete's shipment to take to California."

They entered through the front entrance. The interior had the hallmarks of a creepy abandoned building: paint peeling off the old graffiti-coated walls, cracked plaster with moss growing, and the faint smell of deteriorating plastic materials. However, the rooms and corridors were lit by industrial string lights that hung from the edges of the ceiling.

Stan continued to follow Travis' lead. At the end of the corridor, he could see what looked like stairs. The music on the second floor had gotten louder with each step they took. However, while Travis kept walking straight across, Stan glanced at the rooms they passed.

One of them appeared to have once been a janitor's closet, which now stored a generator that was the size of the room. It had cables coming out through holes that were cut in the wall—which explains why this place even had lights. Further up, they walked past a hole in the wall leading to a vast chamber that appeared to have once been an assembly room; now, mountains of crates filled the room.

"That's a lot of crates." Stan commented. "You know what's in them?"

"To tell ya' the truth, Stan, I don't know." Travis answered. "Morphine, maybe? I know it's drugs, but they don't tell me what's inside. I just bring the stuff from Pete to a drop-off point and they take care of it. No questions asked. It's pretty much a 'take-and-run' kind of job. I get paid and keep it going."

Stan took Travis's answer for what it was.

Then, Travis suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to face Stan. "Hey, listen, Stan," he began, looking apologetic, trying to find words that made sense. "I know that I shoulda' been honest from the get-go. It's just... I wasn't sure if I could take a risk telling you."

"I see," Stan replied, not knowing what to make of that. He wasn't sure if Travis was being sincerely apologetic for potentially placing him in a line of fire by bringing him to this place, trying to justify not telling him beforehand, or something far more sinister. None brought him any comfort. The itch to grab his gun never felt so strong.

"Look, when I told you I was gonna' get you to California, I meant it. As soon as I get the next shipment from Pete, I'll get you to California. I swear."

"Okay."

Not that he had any other choice in this situation. Even if he was pretending to be okay, Stan was in no position to make demands, for he was the hitchhiker. Travis was the one with the power over his head, whether the man realized it or not. Though Stan had his share of run-ins with unsavory characters out on the road, nothing could have prepared him for this. Even with the loaded revolver hidden in his backpack, it was times like this that made him realize how unprepared he was for the voyage ahead. For the time being, all Stan could do was hope Travis was being honest, but remain vigilant.

As they reached the staircase, his nose caught the overpowering scent of burnt plastic with cleaning agents coming from upstairs (it reminded him of Kenny's house). At the top stood two more guards holding rifles.

"Hey, Jericho!" Travis called out to one of them.

"What's up, Travis?" One of the guards called back. "You got the shipment yet?"

"That's what I'm gettin' around to. Have you seen Pete?"

"Yeah, Pete's inside." Jericho pointed at the door he was guarding. Just before Travis and Stan's feet could land on the final step, Jericho and the other rifle-toting guard stopped them in their tracks. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there." He pointed at Stan, who was as motionless as a deer blinded by a car's headlights. "Travis, who the fuck is this guy?"

"Oh, this here's Stan." Travis put his arms around Stan's shoulders as if he was trying to shield him from Jericho. "He's with me."

"Is he a new recruit?"

"He's been ridin' with me while I make the drop-offs."

Stan felt like a thousand eyes were staring at him, ready to pounce like jackals. And for a good reason: he sensed that Jericho and his silent partner weren't ones to trust easily. He tried to control his breathing by slowly inhaling, believing that it was the only thing that would keep him from panicking.

"Hand the bag over," Jericho ordered, pointing at Stan's backpack.

A thousand panic-stricken thoughts raced through Stan's mind at that moment. If they found the hidden revolver, things would become more than problematic.

"Go on, Stan," Travis said, releasing Stan from his grip. "Just give him the bag."

Stan's pulse pounded as a wave of emotions washed over him: terror, uncertainty, and helplessness. He wanted to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. Ultimately—and reluctantly—Stan handed his backpack to Jericho. His emotions quickly came to a grinding halt when the guard spilled the contents on the floor.

Jericho squatted down to inspect Stan's belongings. Luckily for Stan, the secret compartment was secure! All Jericho could sift through was his other set of clothes, a hydro flask containing water, a phone, a charging cable, a flashlight, deodorant, and some money. The gun was safe from Jericho's search.

"All right, you can both go through," Jericho said.

Stan quickly put his things in his backpack and followed Travis across the threshold, relieved he had "passed" the test.

Acknowledgment:
The lyrics in the dream sequence are an excerpt from Mazzy Star's "Fade into You," a song from the album So Tonight I Might See You (1993).