Timmault would have stayed. He would have played with his friends, eaten the cake, and opened his presents. He didn’t care about any of it - there were more pressing things on his mind, but he would have done it all for his father.
Luke was a good man. He was a single father who worked very hard to provide for his son. He worked full-time as a forklift operator in a warehouse. After he clocked out, he cut grass. Two or three properties every day to pay the bills, which Timmault suspected were paid late anyway. As much as Luke worked, he still found the time to spend with his son. He even helped with homework as long as it wasn’t math. He loved Cody. And Timmault loved him back. Which is why he couldn’t stay.
Once he convinced his father that the violent spasms from the Comeback had subsided, he was able to be left to himself in the house for a moment. It was enough time to swipe his father’s keys and a dirty $100 bill from his wallet.
“Sorry, Dad. Luke,” he corrected himself. “Luke.”
He found a sweatshirt and pocketknife in a closet and stuffed them into a pillowcase. He threw the pillowcase over his shoulder and snuck out of the same window he had earlier, sprinted across the front lawn, and jumped in the front seat of Luke’s old tan and rusted Chevy pickup. The truck was a stick shift with bench seats that couldn’t move forward.
“Great,” mumbled the man in a boy’s body. It wouldn’t be an easy drive. He inched his butt to the edge of his seat, pulling himself up by the steering wheel to see through the windshield. He took one last look at his Mom-mom and Pop-pop’s house before he turned on the ignition and pulled out of the cul-de-sac.
The first days of a Comeback were the most critical. Timmault was at his weakest and most vulnerable. Despite the regained centuries of wisdom, he was still a mere ten-year-old boy. And he was alone.
The vampires would be looking for him. They knew as much about the Comeback cycle as he did. No doubt, they knew the day Timmault would return. He imagined they had been preparing for months. Timmault couldn’t slip up. He wasn’t safe even in the daylight. The vampires had countless daytime custodians, humans who did their bidding while they slept in their coffins. Fortunately for Timmault, the wardens would be looking for him as well. And he had a protocol to follow.
His memories as Cody were as fresh as they ever were. He recalled the small convenience store just three miles away. He knew he could get there before Luke realized that he was gone along with the car and called the police.
As he sunk below the seat to press the clutch to the floor, he said the numbers out loud.
“40.0536, -75.0628. 40.0536, -75.0628.” Timmault thought for a moment before arriving at the rough estimate. “Northeastern US. Mid-Atlantic?” He couldn’t be sure until he looked it up, but he sighed in relief. “That puts me in the same damn country. What are the odds?”
Timmault pulled up to the light just before A&J’s Minimart and waited for it to turn green. In the rearview mirror that was tilted as low as it could, he watched a shiny blue-painted Honda with some kind of decal across the top of the tinted windshield pull up behind him.
“Dammit,” Timmault whispered. “Don’t give me trouble.” He couldn’t see the driver through the windshield, and since he didn’t sit much higher than the seat, he knew the driver couldn’t see him either. He could only hope they weren’t paying attention.
A moment passed, and the Honda flicked on its turn signal and pulled out from behind the truck. It inched forward in the lane to Timmault’s right. Timmault swallowed hard. He debated running the red light, but that would only draw more attention. The Honda stopped at the line, parallel to the truck. Timmault fought the urge to look over. Eyes straight ahead, he thought.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tinted driver’s side window roll down. Timmault couldn’t fight it any longer. He turned his head toward the Honda. Two teenage boys looked back at him, both with identical long blonde hair. The driver’s nose had a piercing through the septum. The boys stared blankly at the ten-year-old in the truck.
Finally, “Hell yeah, little man,” the driver said. He signed devil horns through the window, and the light turned green.
Timmault parked the truck with a lurching stop by the side of A&J’s. He looked around the truck. Confident no one was watching, he opened the door and hopped out.
A woman who looked to be in her twenties stood by a trashcan just outside of the convenience store. She sucked on a vape and stared intensely at her phone.
This might be my best chance, Timmault thought.
“Excuse me,” said the boy as he approached. The woman ignored him. “Excuse me, lady,” he said again.
The woman looked up from her phone.
“Um, could I use your phone to call my dad? I think I’m lost.”
The woman looked cynically back at Timmault. Then she looked around as if to see if anyone was watching. After what seemed like too long, she smiled and relented. She handed her phone to Timmault, with the dialer already pulled up.
Quickly, he swiped the dialer away and pulled up her map. He typed in the coordinates. 40.0536, -75.0628. The map pulled up a street in Philadelphia.
“I was right,” he whispered.
“Right about what?” the woman asked.
Timmault ignored her. The map displayed a pin on top of a church in the Northeast section of Philadelphia. Resurrection of Our Lord Parish. He tapped the pin and dialed the number to the rectory.
An older woman answered. “Resurrection rectory. Linda speaking. How can I help you?”
Timmault cleared his throat. “I’d like to speak to your visiting priest.”
“I’m sorry, we don’t have - oh,” the woman paused. “Please hold.”
The woman standing in front of Timmault grew impatient. She took a long drag from her vape and put her hand on her hip. Timmault held his index finger up and mouthed ‘one second.’
Someone picked up on the other end. “Timmault,” a man’s voice said. “Where are you?”
Timmault smiled at the sound of his name. “I’m in Des Plaines, Illinois, outside of Chicago.”
The man chuckled nervously. “Illinois, huh? That’s lucky. You’re not far. Let’s see, hold on.”
Timmault could hear the man flipping through the pages of a book.
“Get to St. Jerome’s in Rogers Park. We’ll bring you in from there.”
“St. Jerome’s,” Timmault repeated. “Got it.”
“And please be careful, Timmault,” the man said. Timmault hung up.
He handed the phone back to the woman, who snatched it away. “You’re a way’s from Rogers Park. Better get a move on.”
Timmault practiced his young, innocent voice. “Could you give me a ride?”
The woman didn’t look up. “Sorry, kid. I don’t drive, and I’m waiting for my boyfriend’s shift to end.”
A cool breeze brushed against Timmault’s face as the street light overhead turned on with a hum.
“Starting to get dark,” he said.
“Yeah,” the woman groaned, scrolling through her phone.
To Be Continued . . .
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