Journals of Bayliss #2

Welcome to Paradise.

The I-70 had become I-68. The further I get away from Baltimore the better I begin to feel. I’m energized and I could drive for days without sleep. The Jeep stopped chugging now that I dumped all that nonsense miles back. Lousy calls that kind of thing karma, but to me, it’s just a choiceless choice.

I rolled down the window and the wind brought with it the smell of pike and walleye from the Tygart River. While I’m driving, my hands sometimes come off the wheel like I’m shooting out a line, a big one strikes my Undertaker, and I watch it spool out.

My Dad said fishing on the fly is a fine hobby. It’s a funny thing for a man to say it like that, but I know what he meant. It’s been six years since I’ve put on waders and reeled in some dinner. Soon though.

I’ve had a stretch of time to think about it - Frank still stumps me. The last time he visited me was two years ago. Sitting across that damn table from him in the Parlor, I tried, I don’t know why but I did, to get him to stop feeling guilty. I’d killed Ryland and I’d do it again if I had to run it back, so he was right to turn me in. I guess I didn’t give him a way out. Thinking back, that was an intense time. The burden I felt, carrying Ryland’s death, but knowing that by pulling the trigger I’d spoken for those women and stopped him from causing more pain and death. I put Frank in an ethical jam. But I didn’t think the conflict was so great that he couldn’t see me anymore.

So I’m stumped, but not angry. I was for a while. I wonder if all that screaming I did into my goddamn plastic pillow, pounding it with those secrets - can they interrogate a pillow? Take the pillow into The Box?

Ha! That’s funny pal. Back on the road again.

Dec. 19, 2006 X

I arrived just after sunset. Flat Hill hasn’t changed much. The quiet is almost unbearable, but I’ll get used to it. I’ll check in on Tony in the morning. He got voted Sheriff right after my trial ended, so I didn’t get to smartass him. I always got a kick out of Tony, he liked I didn’t call him his dumbass nickname, Tick-Tock. Tony was the one ready to go into Balto and gut Uncle George. I had to talk him down. Strange that it all turned out so different with George.

On the radio just now, some local show, they’re talking about real-life crime stories. They said, if you have any to tell, call this number and they’ll put your story on their show. Why are folks so interested in crime? They mentioned another missing person. That’s seven I’ve heard about in just a day and a half. Wouldn’t that be my luck? I clear out of Balto for Flat Hill, population 680, and it’s the Charm City of West V? Lousy would laugh his ass off - karma shit again, he’d say.

Dec. 20, 2006 X

Tony’s changed. He might be dirty. He’s got that feel about him. In his little dinky office, he’s the emperor and everyone who works for him looks impressed but ready to vomit, all at once. He came off nice enough when he said how my dad was an ignorant asshole and plain wrong about Uncle George. That felt good, coming from family, though he doesn’t know the whole story.

He said Flat Hill is still quiet as a cemetery. People have to get along - most have known each other for generations. When I mentioned those missing persons, he brushed it off and said that people are always disappearing around these parts, but come back. If he’s not dirty, at the very least he lacks the compassion toggle. He knows some of those families.

Who am I to judge? None of my business. Like that old Linji quote - “Be the true person of no rank.” Just proceed straight, ‘don’t-know mind’. But, should I ignore those weird sensations I get, like on the force when I felt lies being told in the Box? It happened at MCIH too. Those will always be there.

I had that dream again. So now, I’m going to put X’s by the dates to help me remember how many I’ve had and when.

Dec. 21, 2006 X

Tony invited me over for the Feast of the Seven Fishes this Sunday. It’ll be the first night I’ve seen Mom’s side of the family in years. The Flat Hill Syndicate my dad called them. They’d been in the Allegheny’s since 1901. Brought over by labor agents offering work and then put to it in the mines. They are hard working, full of tremendous feelings, loud, tragic, and have each other’s backs. Familiglia. Italian Hillbilly is a term dad used. My mom hated that. Fucking dad.

I boondocked Hildy behind Morningside Market last night. Mr. DiAgostino agreed I could sweep the lot for a few nights, stay and use the outlet, and have heat. I like sweeping. At Hagerstown, it brought some peace, even with the 24/7 chatter. I could just sweep, breathe, think, and notice all my desires.

Two beat to shit cars rolled up right next to each other while I’m out there being one with the broom - Maryland and West V plates. Engines stayed running, no one got out. I went inside Hildy, shut the door, then looked out the window. I saw a package pass between them. From the Maryland piece of shit to the West V worse piece of shit.

None of my business. I’m going to bed.

Some people say you can control your dreams and dictate if you do something in them or not. In my experience, that’s not so. The best I’ve ever been able to do is wake up. Besides if the Buddhists are right - that it’s all a dream and there’s no one dreaming it? There’d be no one who would even know that.

It might be crazy cold tomorrow, but I’m dipping into the Tygart for carp. See what I can catch for the Feast.

Dec. 22, 2006 X

This morning was crazy. The dream lasted longer than normal. It’s the same thing - turning down endless dark alleys and attempting to get to the waterfront, Fells Point, and some roller coaster. Then I heard my name called. I was a silhouette and I ran towards it. It might be Frank, might not. I ran forever to catch him, and then, I see huge lights in the distance - trucks, and trailers. Me, or the dream me, is confused and lost. I get woken up by a cramp in my leg - from dream running!

There was banging on Hildy’s door. I jumped up and out of habit I grabbed for my SIG, but it wasn’t there. Another ‘felon’ thing I have to live with. Sets me apart from others. The banging got louder. It was my cousin, on my dad’s side, Cassie. She was coming apart, said her husband Paul had been missing for three days. One or two she could handle because Paul hunted. But three? She said she went to Tony and Tony sent her to me. How did Tony know where she could find me?

I’ve only been in Flat Hill for two days. Now this crazy begins? I asked why Tony sent her to me. She said a couple of months ago Paul spent the night in jail, and that Tick-Tock said dumbass Paul’s showing his creeker card. He said go see Uncle Tim. I guess Tony’s got a lot on his plate. Seems the creekers are starting to cost more time and money than it’s worth.

Tony’s dumbass nickname is perfect - Tick-Tock. I don’t call him it, but that shoe fits to a T.

I don’t want this shit. But right when I think, fuck it, I just want to sweep up the lot, and go fishing - I get goddamn Lousy’s voice in my head, “It’s always right in front of you. It’s never the next thing. It’s just right here, right now.”

I’m getting a little tired of his voice.

I asked Cassie if she knew where Paul went or if he might have seen anyone after her. She said, this guy, Walt Jamison, they sometimes hunt together, he’s not a good guy she tells me. I’ll start there.

There was that ding again. That bell that goes off that gets my heart amped up, my head spitting out options and opinions, my eyes dilate and I’m dialed in - I’ve got to slow that down. It’s like I’m a character who was one way before and then I split off from it, went another direction, and now that original guy spun back, stalked me, and sunk his grisly teeth into my butt again.

Cass drove me to Walt’s place. I kind of liked Cassie growing up. We’re distant enough cousins, so it didn’t seem too weird back then, giving her rides on my Suzuki and playing grab ass in church. I thought she was pretty then. I can still see it, but some hardness has set in. She’s got tattoos now on her neck and arms. She’s had two kids, but she’s real lean and then there’s the acne she’s making no attempt to cover up.

We got out at an apartment complex. Even for West V, this is bad. Grafitti and overgrown grass, broken bottles everywhere. I adjusted the dangling Unit Available sign and Cass started screaming that I’m not serious about this, that I’m just like Tony, and that I hated all of them. Crazy stuff. I tell her to go back to the car and I go find Walt’s unit.

Tony being against them doesn’t sound right.

I stood outside Walt’s door long enough to know I didn’t need to knock. I went around back to a sliding glass door. It was slightly cracked and so dirty you couldn’t see inside. I looked around at all the other dingy windows in the complex, most of them with blankets and clothes instead of curtains. Not a whiff of a valued life anywhere. I had forgotten. I bent down and screamed into the earth. The dry heaving began.

It was the smell coming from the front door that made me do that.

I broke the window

But I sure wish I hadn’t.