Chapter 4
Jackson prepped himself for the call. He needed to exercise the utmost patience with this man. It wasn't so much the need to impress, as it was the need not to reach through the phone and choke him. Barnett was one of Jackson's most trusted friends. "He can't help his condition," Jackson told himself again and again.
He swallowed hard and dialed the number on the hotel room phone. After two rings, Barnett's friendly, familiar voice answered.
"Hello?" asked Barnett.
"Hey, Joey, it's me, Jackson."
"Jackson…" Barnett repeated. Jackson's nerves started to grind slowly. "What can I do for ya?"
Jackson sighed. "I need help. Ever hear of a town called Hillsdale?"
"A town called Hillsdale." Barnett echoed. Jackson lurched closer to the edge of insanity. "Sure man, that's about ten miles north of yours truly."
"Great, listen; I need a place to crash, off the radar."
"A place to crash, off the radar." Jackson's teeth began to grit. "Yeah dude, I know a guy who knows a guy."
"Hey," Barnett asked, "does this have something to do with Jill?"
"Jill? No, why?"
"Jill, No, why… she called me a month or two ago. Said she had some business in Hillsdale. Hey, I thought things were serious between you two."
"No," Jackson stated, "I loved my work more than I could ever love her. That and she's too eccentric for my taste. It ended two and a half years ago."
"It ended two and a half years ago… Sorry dude. Alright, I'll give this guy a call..."
The two men made their arrangements. Barnett echoed Jackson like a parrot, exasperating him further and further. By the conversation's end, Jackson's fist scrunched into a rigid ball.
"Thanks man. I'll see you tomorrow. I owe you one," Jackson stated. He hung up as he heard Barnett repeat, "…tomorrow, I owe you one."
Jackson laughed to himself. For years, he confided unspeakable secrets and confidentialities to this man. Talking to Joseph Barnett frustrated Jackson to no end. He entrusted his life to a man with echolalia. Luckily, Joey was coherent enough not to repeat vital facts at the wrong time. Still, the irony was never lost on Jackson. A man who repeated the last few words of every sentence he hears has kept Jackson safely in the shadows.
Jackson flicked the lamp off and lay, staring at the ceiling. West Virginia? A far cry from home, isn't it Leese? He pictured it, Lisa hiding in the wilderness. Maybe she would change her name. Maybe she would booby trap her lawn. Maybe she would get a hundred cats and die alone.
Not my Lisa… A twinge of guilt wrenched his stomach. I did this, didn't I. His logical mind strangled his brief moment of remorse with a rundown of tomorrow's plans.
First, he would wake up and shower. Then, check out and get to the airport. Fly to see Barnett. Restrain himself from strangling his old friend. Check in with this other guy, then look for 'his girl,' as Mason put it.
Then what… Jackson stared blankly at the ceiling; his thoughts abandoned him. What the hell was he planning exactly? Torture her? Kill her? After what she did to him…
You corner anyone, they'll do that. Just didn't expect it from her. He berated himself. Exactly what did he expect her to do?
The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. Logically, he resolved to see what comes to mind when he gets there. Who knows, maybe Lisa, the reason for months of physical therapy, would walk away intact. Maybe she would never know he was there.
Jackson then remembered the last words he rasped to her, and he never breaks a promise. "We'll talk again…" That alone was principle enough get a final 'hello' at least. And why the hell did she pick Podunk West –fucking- Virginia? He had to find out.
Jillian? They must not be too worried about Lisa putting up a fight. How have the years treated her?
His thoughts and anticipation chattered ceaselessly. Jackson stared at the ceiling sleepless all night, and into the early morning.