Chapter 19
I don't know why-- but the thought makes me giddy.
Sometime, a slip of paper will arrive at the mansion-- a slip of paper that shows the last living action of Emily Quartermaine and the first of-- me. It'll probably go overlooked for weeks-- but when they open it they'll see--
ATM transaction: 12:04 a.m. April 21, 1999.
They should just write that on my tombstone.
I run my hand again over the warm bulge of money in my pocket. I'd probably feel nervous carrying almost my entire bank account in my coat were I able to feel anything... No scratch that-- I do feel something--
Completely, totally, and utterly insane.
The way I felt in the hospital is nothing compared to this. My mind keeps flashing back to the image of my credit cards, laying at the foot of the machine, partially sunk into the rain-soaked ground.... and for some reason-- this image of a piece of my prior life-- degraded and destroyed-- makes me smile. It makes my heart feel light in my chest. Too light-- it feels like it's not even there anymore.
I look out the bus window at the sun just beginning to rise on the horizon. I used to be a romantic-- really I was-- but I guess it's just another thing I've lost because this picturesque view of the sunrise does nothing for me. It serves more as a map of sorts... It tells me I'm about 6 or so hours out of Port Charles and heading-- let's see, sun rises in the east.... so I must be heading north? I don't know. I never was a girl scout....
I don't think the clerk at the bus station ever even told me where I was going. Not that he knew. I bought two tickets-- I know, great way to waste money-- but I loved the gamble of it. Two tickets-- two escapes-- which is my new life?....
All at the hands of 'eenie--meenie--minee--moe'.
I could just take the ticket out of my pocket and see where I'm going, but that would ruin the fun of it-- the fun of getting lost and never finding your way home.
That is what I'm doing-- getting lost.
Part of me knows I should be scared. I should have that sweaty-palmed, clammy-skinned feeling I had when I lost my mom at the grocery store when I was six-- but I don't. I feel like I've been travelling my whole life. The distant memory of a family and a home were just a dream I had the last time I slept, and my place in the world is nothing more than an aimlessly meandering path-- and I'm walking it like a little kid who's been spinning in circles.
I lean back, letting my body relax in the nothingness of it all. I can't help but wonder if they've discovered the empty hospital bed yet. No-- it can't be more than 6:30 in the morning--
They won't realize I've flown the coop with Emily Quartermaine's body until at least 8.
I can almost picture Lucky in my place. Here, in this uncomfortable bus seat-- he'd have his trusty backpack next to him, strategizing his next move.... This is the way I always pictured him when he used to tell me stories about being on the run.
Life's not fair.
AJ's voice comes to me with sickening reverberation. No it's certainly not. Were life fair, he would be sitting here--
And I would have the good fortune of death-- instead of envying his.
I could leave him behind, instead of him leaving me. I'm sick of people leaving me for the 'Great Beyond'. Now it's my turn.
Granted, the Canadian border isn't exactly the pearly gates.....
I focus harder out the window, but I can't shake where my mind is pulling me.
He's dead--
Dead, dead, dead.
I don't feel so light anymore.
I just have to keep moving. Keep going Em--
Ironically, this is the moment the bus chooses to lurch to a stop, and I sit uncomfortably for a second before my body decides this is my stop. I grab my backpack hastily and scoot my way down the isle. I feel strange being somewhere by myself where I don't know anyone. I guess it's never happened before.
Funny-- for all the times I've felt completely alone this is the first I literally am.
I make my way off the bus, feeling slightly healthier at the introduction of fresh air to my lungs. I can't help but smile at the people struggling to get their luggage out of the under-compartments of the bus. 'See,' I want to tell them, 'See the liberties death brings you?'
Of course I'm not really dead-- I just like to think I am.
I think it's a long time before I actually have another intelligible thought after that. Whatever city or town I happen to have stumbled upon seems to have eluded my attention, leaving only a vague picture of nondescript buildings in my mind. And soon I find myself standing vacant, in front of a run-down motel. The place looks as gross as I feel after a six hour bus ride, and none-too-safe. Grandfather would sh*t a goat if he knew a "Quartermaine" was somewhere so unrefined....
Good thing I'm not a Quartermaine anymore.
I look down, smoothing out my coat and rumpled pajama pants. I don't know why I bother. I actually fit in quite well-- I look like I've sifted my articles of clothing out of a dumpster, like the rest of the population of this part of town.
And for a second, as stupid as it seems-- I feel a flash of comfort. I've landed in the right spot for the moment. This place won't suspect anything of me. It won't care. It looks like the kind of place axe murderers frequent. I could probably walk in there holding a bloody chainsaw and they would just think it was part of the regular Friday night crowd. A runaway is the least of their problems.....
I ease myself to the door and inside. A bell rings above my head and I jump. I don't know why I jump-- I'm not feeling particularly anxious or alert-- but it startles me nonetheless.
I soon discover the man behind the counter is nothing less than nauseating. He's wearing a white undershirt, and sporting some mighty impressive 'pit stains'. It looks like a five o'clock shadow covers his whole body except for the small strip of stringy gray hair that circles around his head. I plaster on my phoniest smile and quickly discover how much it hurts.
I guess I haven't even attempted to smile in a long time.
I step up closer to the counter and move to rest my hands on top, but notice the grimy surface and bring them back down to my sides. The guy behind the counter still hasn't looked up from whatever he's doing........ uh... suddenly I don't think I want to find out what he's doing....
I take a step back unconsciously.
"Can I help you sweetheart?"
His voice is low and gruff, and I wonder for a moment if I've landed in Brooklyn. But for some reason, I'm not intimidated. I actually feel..... strong. Exhilarated.
"I need a room."
At my voice he finally looks up. A smirk unravels over his lips as he takes me in.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"
The smile leaves my face, and I stare at him openly-- my brows furrowed in confused, sarcastic, scrutiny. For some reason I find that oddly..... cliche-- and it makes me feel brave-- like a completely new person.
I am a new person.
The corners of my mouth quirk up ever-so-slightly, and I offer him a dangerous stare.
"I'm here to check your pipes."
The guy blinks once....... twice..... And then he bursts out laughing.
"What's your name doll?"
I pause only a minute, letting my first real smile break out on my face.
"Paige...... Paige Spencer."
I don't know why-- but the thought makes me giddy.
Sometime, a slip of paper will arrive at the mansion-- a slip of paper that shows the last living action of Emily Quartermaine and the first of-- me. It'll probably go overlooked for weeks-- but when they open it they'll see--
ATM transaction: 12:04 a.m. April 21, 1999.
They should just write that on my tombstone.
I run my hand again over the warm bulge of money in my pocket. I'd probably feel nervous carrying almost my entire bank account in my coat were I able to feel anything... No scratch that-- I do feel something--
Completely, totally, and utterly insane.
The way I felt in the hospital is nothing compared to this. My mind keeps flashing back to the image of my credit cards, laying at the foot of the machine, partially sunk into the rain-soaked ground.... and for some reason-- this image of a piece of my prior life-- degraded and destroyed-- makes me smile. It makes my heart feel light in my chest. Too light-- it feels like it's not even there anymore.
I look out the bus window at the sun just beginning to rise on the horizon. I used to be a romantic-- really I was-- but I guess it's just another thing I've lost because this picturesque view of the sunrise does nothing for me. It serves more as a map of sorts... It tells me I'm about 6 or so hours out of Port Charles and heading-- let's see, sun rises in the east.... so I must be heading north? I don't know. I never was a girl scout....
I don't think the clerk at the bus station ever even told me where I was going. Not that he knew. I bought two tickets-- I know, great way to waste money-- but I loved the gamble of it. Two tickets-- two escapes-- which is my new life?....
All at the hands of 'eenie--meenie--minee--moe'.
I could just take the ticket out of my pocket and see where I'm going, but that would ruin the fun of it-- the fun of getting lost and never finding your way home.
That is what I'm doing-- getting lost.
Part of me knows I should be scared. I should have that sweaty-palmed, clammy-skinned feeling I had when I lost my mom at the grocery store when I was six-- but I don't. I feel like I've been travelling my whole life. The distant memory of a family and a home were just a dream I had the last time I slept, and my place in the world is nothing more than an aimlessly meandering path-- and I'm walking it like a little kid who's been spinning in circles.
I lean back, letting my body relax in the nothingness of it all. I can't help but wonder if they've discovered the empty hospital bed yet. No-- it can't be more than 6:30 in the morning--
They won't realize I've flown the coop with Emily Quartermaine's body until at least 8.
I can almost picture Lucky in my place. Here, in this uncomfortable bus seat-- he'd have his trusty backpack next to him, strategizing his next move.... This is the way I always pictured him when he used to tell me stories about being on the run.
Life's not fair.
AJ's voice comes to me with sickening reverberation. No it's certainly not. Were life fair, he would be sitting here--
And I would have the good fortune of death-- instead of envying his.
I could leave him behind, instead of him leaving me. I'm sick of people leaving me for the 'Great Beyond'. Now it's my turn.
Granted, the Canadian border isn't exactly the pearly gates.....
I focus harder out the window, but I can't shake where my mind is pulling me.
He's dead--
Dead, dead, dead.
I don't feel so light anymore.
I just have to keep moving. Keep going Em--
Ironically, this is the moment the bus chooses to lurch to a stop, and I sit uncomfortably for a second before my body decides this is my stop. I grab my backpack hastily and scoot my way down the isle. I feel strange being somewhere by myself where I don't know anyone. I guess it's never happened before.
Funny-- for all the times I've felt completely alone this is the first I literally am.
I make my way off the bus, feeling slightly healthier at the introduction of fresh air to my lungs. I can't help but smile at the people struggling to get their luggage out of the under-compartments of the bus. 'See,' I want to tell them, 'See the liberties death brings you?'
Of course I'm not really dead-- I just like to think I am.
I think it's a long time before I actually have another intelligible thought after that. Whatever city or town I happen to have stumbled upon seems to have eluded my attention, leaving only a vague picture of nondescript buildings in my mind. And soon I find myself standing vacant, in front of a run-down motel. The place looks as gross as I feel after a six hour bus ride, and none-too-safe. Grandfather would sh*t a goat if he knew a "Quartermaine" was somewhere so unrefined....
Good thing I'm not a Quartermaine anymore.
I look down, smoothing out my coat and rumpled pajama pants. I don't know why I bother. I actually fit in quite well-- I look like I've sifted my articles of clothing out of a dumpster, like the rest of the population of this part of town.
And for a second, as stupid as it seems-- I feel a flash of comfort. I've landed in the right spot for the moment. This place won't suspect anything of me. It won't care. It looks like the kind of place axe murderers frequent. I could probably walk in there holding a bloody chainsaw and they would just think it was part of the regular Friday night crowd. A runaway is the least of their problems.....
I ease myself to the door and inside. A bell rings above my head and I jump. I don't know why I jump-- I'm not feeling particularly anxious or alert-- but it startles me nonetheless.
I soon discover the man behind the counter is nothing less than nauseating. He's wearing a white undershirt, and sporting some mighty impressive 'pit stains'. It looks like a five o'clock shadow covers his whole body except for the small strip of stringy gray hair that circles around his head. I plaster on my phoniest smile and quickly discover how much it hurts.
I guess I haven't even attempted to smile in a long time.
I step up closer to the counter and move to rest my hands on top, but notice the grimy surface and bring them back down to my sides. The guy behind the counter still hasn't looked up from whatever he's doing........ uh... suddenly I don't think I want to find out what he's doing....
I take a step back unconsciously.
"Can I help you sweetheart?"
His voice is low and gruff, and I wonder for a moment if I've landed in Brooklyn. But for some reason, I'm not intimidated. I actually feel..... strong. Exhilarated.
"I need a room."
At my voice he finally looks up. A smirk unravels over his lips as he takes me in.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"
The smile leaves my face, and I stare at him openly-- my brows furrowed in confused, sarcastic, scrutiny. For some reason I find that oddly..... cliche-- and it makes me feel brave-- like a completely new person.
I am a new person.
The corners of my mouth quirk up ever-so-slightly, and I offer him a dangerous stare.
"I'm here to check your pipes."
The guy blinks once....... twice..... And then he bursts out laughing.
"What's your name doll?"
I pause only a minute, letting my first real smile break out on my face.
"Paige...... Paige Spencer."