Adelaide Confused

Penny Greenhorn

Adelaide Confused

By Penny Greenhorn

Smashwords Edition

ADELAIDE CONFUSED. Copyright
© 2011 by Penny Greenhorn

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains
material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws
and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is
prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system without express written permission from the
author/publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

For Lord
Cosmotron…

Theodore Dunn was running
for his life, but from what, he wasn’t sure. Like trying to escape
time, running was useless. He could sense the unstoppable entity
behind him, dogging each step through the familiar brick
maze.

His feet grew heavy and
each footfall added to the pain in his knees. His breath was
labored, heart thrumming. The only thing that kept Theodore going
was the golden string wrapped around his neck. It shined even in
this dark web of twisting turns where light was little. The
delicate cord was knotted near his heart, loose ends swinging with
each step. Theodore imagined the strand turned ‘round, knot resting
on the nape of his neck—a noose. And that was what it was, a
precious death sentence. But even as it betrayed him, he sought to
protect it.

Down a narrow brick
corridor he ran, a twist, another turn. The thing was coming,
closer now. Theodore dove through a portal of blackness where a
foul stench greeted him. Having a small reprieve from his ghostly
assailant, Theodore cautiously walked toward a trickle of light
where a large green turtle sat patiently.

Excitement bubbled as he
hurried forward, pulling the golden string from his neck. A last
glance over his shoulder assured it wasn’t too late, he wasn’t
being watched. So without another moment’s hesitation, he thrust
the string down the turtle’s throat, forcing the hulking beast to
swallow his horrid treasure.

The deed was done, now run,
run fast! Theodore could not let him find it. Yes, it was a man.
Theodore could see his enemy then, growing closer, hunting
him.

His knees were throbbing
unbearably, the soles of his feet sore. Stumbling, Theodore lurched
forward...

Theodore Dunn jerked
forward in his seat. The high-pitched squealing of tires meeting
tarmac erased the last bit of drowsiness that might have
remained.

He hadn’t meant to fall
asleep. In fact, the last thing he remembered was reading a
magazine wide awake. And there it was, lying open at his feet.
Anxious, his fingers flexed around the briefcase, but it wasn’t
enough assurance. He glanced cautiously about before slowly
unlocking the case and easing it open just enough to peek
inside.

Seeing it safe and snug did
nothing to calm Theodore, the dream had shaken him. When sleep took
him so aggressively the message was usually dire, and interpreting
the dream a priority. But he balked at the task, choosing instead
to finish the last leg of his journey.

The airport was small, and
in a matter of minutes Theodore had collected his baggage and found
his car. The briefcase did not get locked in the trunk with the
suitcase. Instead it was put on the passenger seat, and even that
felt far away.

Driving toward Raindrop
Road, Theodore should’ve reached his destination in under thirty
minutes. And he would have if his check engine light hadn’t come
on. Swearing, Theodore glanced at the dash, half ready to ignore
the glowing light. But just minutes away from safely stowing his
burden, Theodore cursed some more before pulling the car onto the
shoulder of the road.

He was further south than
he’d imagined, stuck in the tourist trap of town. A series of small
shops lined the clogged and narrow lane. Hotels and restaurants
were peppered throughout until it all came to an abrupt stop at the
beach. A few blocks down was a small general store where Theodore
intended to buy some oil and coolant. If that didn’t do the trick,
he’d call his colleague for help.

Leaving the briefcase was
not an option. He clutched it to his chest as he locked his car
goodbye. Theodore hadn’t gone far when his left knee started to
ache, they often swelled and gave him trouble. He ignored
it.

Cutting through a hotel’s
manicured and picturesque lawn, the stately oaks with their hanging
Spanish moss seemed eerie in the muggy twilight. A creeping unease
crawled its way up his spine. He shuttered, glancing over his
shoulder. All was still. His feet stung as he picked up his pace,
each harsh step causing his knees to rebel. Theodore was jogging
around the brick corner, running down the empty alley.

His gift was the
interpretation of dreams, and yet it was as if he could sense
something following, stalking. But he couldn’t really, it was just
the dream coming to life—the warning. He’d dreamt his death
numerous times, but always it had held a symbolic meaning. Not this
time. And he’d known, known it the moment he awoke, and had done
his best to ignore and forget it.

Out of breath and aching,
he could see the general store across the street, a glow of neon
signs declaring milk and cigarettes available. He knew he wouldn’t
make it. And he knew his murderer drew near. Desperate to finish
his last task, Theodore backtracked down the shadowed lane. A
dumpster partially blocked the entrance, warding off the average
passersby with its reek.

The glow of a streetlamp
filtered in the far end, illuminating what could only be the big
green turtle. No need to look behind, from the dream he knew he had
just enough time to do what he must. Fumbling to unlock the case as
he ran, he extracted its contents and shoved them down into their
new resting place. Theodore hurried off then, going around the
brick building so as to make the general store his destination once
more.

But who was this being,
this creature, which pursued with diligence so extreme that the
dream warned it was unavoidable as time? Curious until death,
Theodore Dunn looked back just once, the image of a man his
last.

“Oh crap,” I muttered. “She’s going to talk
to me.”

Admittedly, these tiresome
trips to town were my own fault. Forced treatment, part of getting
well and becoming my old self, the girl I was before the
accident.

I’d bought a bag of yellow
apples from the general store and was strolling between shops. The
month was May, so the weather was tolerant, even pleasant. Shortly
the island would begin to fill with high income earners who could
afford a second house on the Golden Isles.

I’d just bitten into my
apple when a wave of emotions washed through me. They were quiet
emotions, not quite as addictive as the passionate types, but I was
caught all the same. I took in calm, content, serene, and my
favorite—relaxed. I had a hard time relaxing on my own.

Desperation interrupted
relaxation and I blinked my eyes open, glancing around to see if
anyone had witnessed my momentary slip—standing stupidly with apple
in hand.

That was the moment I
caught sight of desperation, and she was aimed right for me. “Oh
crap, she’s going to talk to me.”

A middle-aged woman with
frizzy yellow hair waddled closer, her eyes never leaving mine. The
inch of gray showing at her roots mutely confessed her lack of
vanity, along with the tunic top and peasant skirt. A mangled mix
of feelings stirred as she stopped a few feet before me, staring.
Mainly I could feel her confused reluctance.

I took a step away,
hesitantly, my own confusion surfacing. But my reaction spurred her
on, solid intent replacing all as she gestured lamely to my
transparent bag. “Could you spare an apple?”

“
You want an apple?” I
couldn’t recall having ever seen a homeless person on St. Simons,
but suddenly her frazzled appearance was making more sense, not to
mention the waves of desperation she was giving off.

I was desperate myself,
desperate to get away. But over the years I’d gotten better at
differentiating my feelings from the rest. And at the moment I
couldn’t possibly be feeling
this
desperate.

“
Well, I won’t just take
it.” She began to pull at her pudgy finger, twisting and turning
until a ring popped off. “We’ll trade,” she suggested, holding out
the ring for my inspection. It was simple, a thin brassy wire
twisted around twice and knotted to hold a milky glass bead in
place.

I shook my head, prepared
to just give her an apple, but her desperation increased. Jerking
her hand toward me, she insisted, “Take it. It’s just a trinket,
nothing more.”

Reluctantly, I accepted,
worried a refusal would insult her pride. I held the bag open,
allowing her to choose an apple. She did, and with one last look
which I couldn’t begin to interpret, even with her feelings as
guide, she turned on her outdated brown sandals and
left.

I got to work a few minutes
early. I covered the evening shift, manning the front desk from one
in the afternoon to nine at night for a small and outdated motel
called Sterling’s.

Years ago it had been
called Motel Mirage, the slogan: Too good to be true. Ben Sterling
and his wife Mary bought the place, changing the theme from exotic
desert to cozy seaside. The inside and out were done in shades of
blue and ivory, and luckily they hadn’t installed any cheesy
seashells or ocean paintings. Truthfully, the place was sweetly
quaint, even if outdated.

Ben was sitting in his
usual spot at a picnic table beneath the behemoth oak tree that was
tucked just off to the side of his lot. I passed the office to join
him, offering up an apple as greeting. He uncrossed his arms to
wave me off, the corner of his mouth lifting in a lazy sneer. Ben
was crotchety.

“Afraid you’ll pop your dentures out?” I
asked.

“
Piss off, Adelaide,” he
replied halfheartedly.

I sat down.

A few minutes passed while
I chewed on my apple. His melancholy trickled in as we sat in
silence. Eventually he leaned his weight forward, resting his age
splotched arms on the rough tabletop. “Arnie and Renee are still in
three.”

“Did you knock?” He looked at me blankly, but
I could feel the amusement. “No, of course you didn’t,” I answered
myself.

I dropped my apple and
stalked toward room three. The motel was L shaped; the office and a
few rooms making the little line while the majority of our rooms
sat parallel with the road.

Arnie and Renee occupied a
room where the two lines meet. I knocked a solid three times,
waited a few beats, and began to pound in earnest. Petit and
pretty, Renee opened the door while rubbing the sleep from her
eyes.

“
It’s hours past
check-out,” I stated. “If you’re not out in ten minutes you’ll be
paying for two days.”

I could see Arnie through
the gap in the open door, sitting in bed bare-chested and hairy.
“Aw, come on, Adelaide,” he griped. “Stephen won’t be cleanin’
rooms ‘til school lets out.”

“
This is a place of
business, Arnie, not your own personal bordello.” I glanced at
Renee. “No offense.”

Turning back to the clock
on the nightstand, she said, “No, you’re right. Peter’s probably
wondering. We’ll be out in ten.”

Peter would not be
wondering where his wife had spent the night, rather what had taken
so long. Adultery was frowned upon by most of the island’s
year-round conservative inhabitants, but the gossipmongers made an
exception for Renee.

Renee and Peter had married
young. He’d ignored his unconventional attractions, and she’d
ignored his subtle lisp. But things fell apart, their marriage was
a failure, and yet, they couldn’t bring themselves to split. They’d
built their relationship on a foundation of friendship, not
attraction, and so they formed a strange and successful Will and
Grace lifestyle. But while Renee cared for Peter and didn’t want to
leave him, she still felt rejected, lacking self-esteem.