Mr. Freetail

Fiction from the Desert Vol. 3

It was on the evening of October 25th when we saw Mr. Freetail. He was on the city walking trail, not exercising but standing near the edge of the path, with a face that was indiscernible as we approached. The encounter wasn’t eerie by any other means than this, and possibly the way in which he had come down the slope as if gliding over the rocks. His shape was dark, like a void against the glowing Autumn scene.

Until now, I had been holding Megan’s hand, under the orange skyline, feeling the crisp breeze after a long summer. We had walked a mile and a half from the parking lot and there had been no one else around, which was very unusual for a night like this. While we never sought socialization, we were always friendlly to whoever we passed. But Megan insisted on stopping and talking with Freetail, because she recognized him as a regular customer at the deli where she worked. Before we reached him, she whispered that he came in each Tuesday morning for breakfast, without fail.

“Hello, how are you?” Megan said to Freetail. We had stopped in the middle of the trail. “How was your breakfast the other day?”

“Fine, thanks,” Freetail said in a soft, singing kind of voice. It wasn’t cold yet, but the sun had dipped below the horizon. Freetail stood with his arms folded and his hands touching his shoulders. His posture was strange and rigid, with his skin too low over his eyes, and his forehead longer and thicker than it should’ve been. His ears poked through his messy brown hair like Cypress roots in a swamp. He was overly lean but still had an element of power. “Do you live here in St. John then?” Megan asked.

It was a deep question for what should’ve been a brief exchange, but Megan must’ve felt an obligation to make the most of it. We were still in the middle of the trail. I was hoping for some reckless cyclist to speed by or anyone for that matter who could force us to separate.

“Yes, I actually live up there,” Freetail said, grinning and pointing toward a high ledge. We could see a cave about ten feet long and about the same deep. “It’s not ideal, I know. I’m hoping it’s only temporary, but you never can tell. I’m just getting used to it now. After five years on the streets of Milan, sleeping in alleys, up against hard buildings, it seems doable. You know, I played violin for petty change outside the Milano cathedral, which was not for the faint of heart. I got clothing out of trash bins. So this is nothing really.” I turned to see Megan’s face desperately holding a smile, like someone gripping the edge of a bridge.

“Well,” Megan said, trying to recover. “There’s no shame in that. My grandpa lived in his car for three months back in the day. He sold plug-in air fresheners door to door. And he ended up a millionaire.”

“Sounds nice,” Freetail said. “Although I don’t have much need for money these days or air-fresheners. There are higher aims in life, anyway. When you mentioned your grandpa, I thought about mine. He lived in the Adirondacks for nearly fifty years. He never slept in a car, but he had a two-bedroom house and a horse that was only good for keeping the weeds down. He had other, superior, ways of traveling.” Freetail’s feet shifted a little, but the distance between them remained the same. Then his hands came out, almost in a stretch, and he lowered them slowly to his sides.

“You know, freedom is more important than wealth,” he said. “Some say you can’t have freedom without wealth, but freedom isn’t so narrowly confined. Mobility, pursuing unique tastes and seeing what no one else sees, now that’s true freedom. And observation goes right along with this, because it’s independent of any circumstance. So long as there’s consciousness, there can be observation, mobility and freedom.” The ideas seemed innocuous, but there was something more calculating.

“Believe it or not, I actually like the cave,” he continued. “The rocks stay warm well into the night. There’s about six inches of soft, clean sand on the floor, and you can see all around you from an elevated position. I tried sleeping on the grass in the park but couldn’t ever tell who was walking up on me. And there was dog shit everywhere. And I felt very vulnerable. The cave is more advantageous.” It was a strange choice of words. I had expected him to say it helped him feel “safe,” or “protected.” And the way he grinned through his wrinkled lips made me even more eager to leave. Besides, the daylight had turned blue now, and nighttime was coming fast.

“Well, it was nice to talk to you,” I said to Freetail, interjecting myself before he could expound further. Megan took the hint and began to turn away with me. “Yes, nice to see you,” she said. “Hopefully things will start looking up for you soon. I’ll try to remember to say hello the next time you stop in. And if you ever need help paying for things be sure to let me know. My manager is actually very nice and wouldn’t have a problem helping you out in that way. We sometimes have more food than we know what to do with.” She made a nervous laugh and began to walk away.

“I have plenty of food,” Freetail said, abruptly. “It’s usually more a matter of selection than anything. But that’s a story for another day.” He smiled and ran his long fingers through his hair, pulling it back so that the skin around his eyes stretched.

“For sure,” I said, nodding. I took Megan by the elbow and urgently pulled her. We continued south toward the river bridge. A few fallen leaves had gathered in yellow piles beneath the trees. Lizards scampered through the leaves, startled by the sound of our footsteps. A lone streetlight came on, near where the trail met the bridge and we paused underneath the pool of light. “It’s so weird we haven’t seen anyone else,” Megan finally said, nearly out of breath. It had been a light walk but we were drained.

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said. “How many times have we come here? Usually you can’t go 100 feet without someone zooming past on a bike or running up on you from behind. Where are all the old folks and the moms pushing strollers? It’s not even that late, and the temperature’s perfect.” I found it hard to keep my voice calm.

“I don’t know,” Megan said, with a tone of concern in her voice. “But the car is back that way. We’ll have to walk past him again.”

“Which way did he go?” I asked insistently.

“I didn’t see,” Megan said, shrugging. “I thought he headed off toward the parking lot, but I was just trying to get away so I didn’t notice.”

“I never even heard him walking,” I said. “He was so quiet.”

“We’ve gotta decide soon,” Megan said. “I guess we could walk up to the interstate, and make our way back. It’ll take a lot longer.”

“It’ll take an hour at least, and we’d probably get hit by a car,” I said.

“This is silly,” Megan said. “We know who he is. We even know where he lives now. What could he do anyway? If we see him again we’ll just say we can’t talk anymore.”

“Alright,” I said, thinking she was probably right. “Maybe he left to see someone. Maybe they were waiting in the parking lot.” We began to walk back, away from the pool of light, past the fallen leaves. “What if he’s up in the cave?” Megan whispered. I gave her a sideways look and raised my eyebrows. If the idea had been crazy it would’ve been easier to dismiss. But there was something that told me the possibility was there. And then I imagined Freetail grinning down through the darkness, watching us pass from his elevated “avantage” where he could observe everything and be surprised by nothing.

I shivered under my coat. The chill of the desert night crept through my collar, and the damp air from the river bottom smelled like metal and dust. I didn’t like how Freetail had never looked at me during the conversation, instead staying fixed on Megan, his black eyes and the tip of his nose lifting as he spoke so that his nostrils were visible. But I was probably taking liberties with my memory now. It had been just a normal meeting on a popular trail. Now I was imagining details I couldn’t be sure of. Freetail seemed like a nice enough person. There was nothing beside his unusual appearance and a couple of strange statements worth worrying about.

When we came nearer to where we had seen him, the view of the trail was washed out momentarily from bright lights in the distance. Thankfully there was a painted yellow line down the middle of the pavement, and we used it as a guide. The parking lot was still a mile away, and still no one had passed us. This had become the most disturbing reality. It was as if we were alone on the planet, in the middle of town. Even the sound of traffic on the interstate, usually a continual roar, had faded away.

As we began to pass below the cave again, I gripped Megan’s hand and she squeezed mine until I could feel her fingernails digging into my skin. Her breathing was louder, and I felt my pulse rising uncontrollably in response. There was nothing but darkness and dull forms above us. I resisted looking up there, instead focusing on the yellow line.

Then we could feel him watching. He was above us, on the ledge, looking down. There was no doubt. And when I did look, compelled by fear, there was no firelight or flashlight. There was only darkness, stillness, and a sudden terror that caused my mind to blur. Instinctively, our hands separated and we began to run.

“Look at all those bats,” Megan said, as we finally reached the parking lot, panting. Overhead, I could see the little forms flitting in and out of the streetlights. There were dozens of bats, probably hundreds, chasing through large swarms of bugs, divebombing over the rooftops of the cars. “They’re everywhere,” I said, not really thinking as I fumbled for the keys. “Everywhere and nowhere.”

“They’ve got all the food they could ever want here,” Megan said as she quickly slipped into the passenger seat. When she had closed the door, she looked at me as if to acknowledge the terrible relevancy of what she had said. We drove out of the parking lot and back across the glittering city. As we went, we could see other people again, doing what they do, the same as any other night.

But when we came to a red light on the outskirts of town, the shadows seemed darker and for a moment we seemed alone again. I turned on the high-beams and Megan checked to make sure the doors were locked. Then a shadow crossed over the hood of the car, dark and swift, from something passing above us. In an instant it was gone, somewhere into the night. And when the traffic light turned green, we were already rolling. “Did you lock the house before we left?” Megan asked, putting both hands on the dash and leaning forward.

“I don’t remember,” I said. “But we can’t go home if I didn’t.”