Of Royal Descent (2 page)

But
I did not sleep peacefully. 

Recurring images of faceless babies and people in chains, foaming at the mouth, plagued my dreams.  In one particularly disturbing dream, the photograph of my grandparents came alive
, and William held out his hand to me, beckoning me to join them.  When I did not accept, he managed to shove his hand outside of the picture and attempted to grab me in an effort to physically draw me in.

I woke up with my heart racing.  I looked over at the clock.  It was three in the morning
, and the house was silent.  Reaching over and turning on my bedside lamp, I saw the picture that I had just been dreaming about laying on the end of my bed.  I picked it up and studied it. 

They looked happy - well, as much as a family
could look happy
while posing behind bars.  I wondered what could have made William refuse to see his newborn son and wife, whom he had professed to love. 

I picked up the letters that had fallen to the floor during the night and placed everything in my bedside drawer.  I turned the light out and
pulled the covers up to my chin.  There were no more nightmares that night.

* * *

True to his word, Chuck's '72 black El Camino was idling in my driveway at 10:00 a.m. exactly.  On the way to class, I filled him in on the previous night's discovery. 

"Wow, that's messed up.  So, he just went crazy?  Like chemically imbalanced?"

"Yeah, I guess.  I mean, I don't really know why he went crazy - just that he did."

"So
, is he dead now?"

I stared at Chuck and realized that I hadn't gotten over the shock of past events to consider the possibility I could still have a living biological relative. 

"I don't know," I stammered.

"ROAD TRIP!"

"Chuck, even if he's alive, I wouldn't know how to find him.  And even if I did, I don't know why I would want to see him.  He practically disowned my father."

We pulled into a parking place, and Chuck cut the engine. 

"Doyle, I know you.  Whether it's now or later, you are going
to want to find this man.  So can we skip ahead to that place and get on with the road trip already?  I’d really like to ditch classes the next few days."              

I looked at my friend.

"Why are you even at college?" I asked, squinting my eyes slightly.

"Someone has to look after you.  Oh, and obviously for the girls.  Now is that a yes or what?"

"I already told you, I don't know where he is."

Chuck took out his
tablet from his book bag.  "No problem," he said, tapping around on the screen. 

He fished his phone from his pocket and punched in some numbers.
  After a beat, he said, "Hi, my name is Doyle Hawthorne.  I was adopted through your agency in 1992 and I'm trying to locate my biological grandfather, whom I have cause to believe is still alive.  His name is William Clark." 

I sat stock still and strained to hear the voice from the other end of the phone. 

"Yes, that's correct," came Chuck's response.  "Just a second, let me get it."  Covering the mouthpiece, Chuck whispered, "Dude, what's your social?" 

I wrote it down quickly and heard him relay the numbers to the person on the other end. 

"Right, that's right, William Clark." 

Chuck gave me a thumbs
-up, before cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder and scribbling something onto a napkin.

"Wow, really?  Ok, thanks," he said, before hanging up.  "Well, that was easy."

I just sat there, staring at Chuck, as he pulled out his GPS and plugged in the coordinates of the address.  "2301 Highland View, Kettering, Ohio,” he mumbled to himself as he worked the buttons.  “Okay, got it.  Do you want to stop by your house and pick up clothes first?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Chuck, I can't leave right now!  Are you crazy?  My parents would freak and we have classes."

"A, school just starte
d a couple weeks ago.  It's not like we're missing exams and B, I think your parents would understand.  But you could always just tell them you're spending a few days with me.  I mean, they know you're creeped out by the whole grandpappy went slaphappy deal, right?  Just tell them you want to spend some time away from home."

The fact that Chuck was making complete sense
to me should have been my first clue that something was horribly wrong, but I began to let the possibility of this road trip soak in.  He must have sensed the chink in the armor because he went straight for the kill. 

"Ok, I'll drive," he said, turning over the engine.  "First stop, my house, then yours.  You can grab some clothes
and all your nerd accessories."

"They're called books, Chuck."

"Whatever.  We can hit lunch in a few hours," he said, putting the El Camino into reverse and swinging out of the parking spot.

I was relieved to see that no one was home when Chuck pulled into my driveway.  I ran inside and shoved some essentials into a gym bag:  clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, laptop,
phone charger, the photograph and creepy letters, my homework, and a box of granola bars from the pantry.  I scrawled out a note to my parents, informing them of my intent to hang out with Chuck the next few days to think about things, which was not technically a lie, and left it on the kitchen counter.

I paused before stepping through the front door on my way out.  An unexpected shiver skimmed over my shoulders as a vaguely ominous premonition flickered for the briefest of moments.  I dismissed it quickly and rolled my eyes. 
What was the worst that could happen?

Before I knew it, we were headed
south on 95.

2

I stood on the covered porch to an older model Bungalow, debating on whether or not to knock, when the door swung wide, and an old man appeared before me.  Even through the dark screen, I could see he greatly resembled the man in the photograph.  His hair was now thinning and gray, and he was hunched over at the waist, but this was definitely the same man.  He peered at me through the screen.

"My name is Doyle Hawthorne," I began.  "You don't know me, but I believe you may be my grandfather.  Are you William Clark?"

There was no response from the man.  Not a blink.  Not a breath.

"My father's name was Dylan Clark," I continued.  "Did you have a son named Dylan?"

The old man’s eyes squinted past me, causing the creases in his forehead to deepen.  "Looks like we're in for stormy weather,” he said, his voice low and thick, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. 

I glanced over my shoulder to survey the skyline.  It was crystal blue with no clouds in sight. 

I turned again to face the old man, only to have found he was now on the other side of the screen door, so close to me that his breath was hot upon my cheek.  How he had managed to open the door and slide in front of me within a split second without making a sound wasn't my first priority.  My sole focus was on his distorted face.  His eyes had become large, glassy pools of pitch black.  His teeth, having at least doubled in number since the moment before, were too numerous for his lips to conceal, and long, jagged points protruded from his mouth. 

My mind screamed at me to run, but I was transfixed by the soulless eyes staring back into mine. 
I could not move even though it appeared my life was dependent upon it. 

"Welcome home," he growled into my ear, his foul, heated breath assaulting my face.

I awoke with a start.  I was still in the passenger seat of the El Camino, and a wide-eyed Chuck was at the wheel.

"Dude, you okay?" Chuck asked.

I calmed my breathing and settled back into the seat.  "Yeah, just stupid dreams.  How long have we been driving?"

"Only about six hours.
  We've still got a long way to go.  You ready to eat?"

Moments later
, we had pulled off the highway and were taking a seat in a booth at a local diner. 

"Do you boys know what you'd like or do you need a minute?" 

Our waitress eyed us with a firm, but not quite hostile, gaze.  She was short, maybe 5'2", in her early thirties, and her hair was a shade of red, that I feel confident in stating, is not a color found in nature.

Chuck smiled up at her. 

Uh oh
, I thought. 

I knew that smile. 
Chuck might have been my best friend, but I never understood his taste in women.  The weirder they were, the more notice he took.  I watched helplessly as he tapped out the opening steps of his mating dance.

"Hello there... Carla," he said, taking a moment to locate her nametag before meeting her gaze again. 

"My name's Chuck, and this is Doyle," he continued in his sickly-sweet, lilting voice.  "What would you recommend?"

Carla, either completely unaware of Chuck's attem
pted flirting, or else not fazed by it, proceeded to inform us of the day's specials. 

"Our soup of the day is cheesy potato
, and our grilled cheese baskets are half off," she stated with a less than enthusiastic expression. 

"And are those your
personal
recommendations?" asked Chuck, leaning in toward her with an air of familiarity, his "sexy smirk" plastered to his face. 

I closed my eyes.  Was I really the only one feeling awkward here?

"The cheesy potato soup is okay, but I don't recommend more than two bowls," began Carla, before continuing in a somewhat conspiratorial lower tone.  "All that cheese can be binding."

"Excuse me," I said, standing up.  "Chuck, can you order for me?  I'll be right back."

I didn't look behind me as I made my way to the restroom.  Some things were better left unseen. 

Once inside, I stood at the sink, staring at my reflection.  I looked like crap.  Tonight, we would get a hotel room and I would shower, shave, and hopefully get a good night's sleep. 

Had it really only been a couple days since I had last slept peacefully?
 

I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto my face. 
Drying off with some paper towels, I rechecked the mirror and wondered if it would be safe to venture back out to our table.

I cracked the door open and peered out.  Chuck was now alone at the booth, looking bored, and taking a drink from his glass.  I exited the bathroom and walked back to my seat.  Chuck looked up at me with a grin and held up a phone number
written on a napkin in the precise and bubbly handwriting of a female.  I rolled my eyes and slid into my side of the booth.

"First of all," I began, "she's got to be at least ten years older than you.  Secondly, we are six hours away from home.  How is that going to work?"

Chuck shook his head and grinned.  "It's not about the end product but the process of achieving.  Will I ever call this woman?  I don't know.  That's not the point.  It's the thrill of the hunt - just knowing that there is a mutual understanding that the woman is ripe for the picking if I so choose to act upon it."

There was a pause while we considered one another.

"It's times like these, I wonder if you would have turned out differently if your father had remarried," I answered in reply.

Chuck slouched
in his seat. 

"This sounds suspiciously of a continuation of
yesterday’s topic of conversation.  While,
no doubt
, I would have preferred my mother being around when I was growing up, I don't know how much influence it would have had over my end product."

"Seriously?
  You don't know how much influence a parent would have had on you?  Are you familiar with Lord of the Flies?"  I asked.

"Are you familiar with the sayings of Popeye?  I yam what I yam," Chuck countered.

It was at this time Carla returned with our soup du jour.  At least, I'm pretty sure it was Carla based on the nuclear red hair. Otherwise, her appearance was much altered from when she first waited on us.  Her red hair had been loosed from her previous updo, falling just passed her shoulders.  At some point, she had made time to apply a liberal dosing of makeup, focusing primarily on the eye area and the color green.  Her somber disposition had been replaced with a cheery one.  But the most obvious transformation had been to her neckline.  She had unbuttoned one too many buttons to be among polite society in my opinion.  Her heaving chest was clearly her intended focal point as she placed Chuck's potato soup in front of him, leaning over until her cleavage was an inch from his face.

She pulled herself away from Chuck long enough to slide my bowl over to me, sloshing a little of its contents onto the table in the process, and returned her attention to my friend. 

"I hope it's to your liking," she said, smiling broadly.

"I'm sure it will be delicious," Chuck replied, sexy smirk back in place.

"If there's anything
else I can get for you,
anything at all
, you just let me know," Carla said with a wink and what I supposed was her "come hither" look. 

She peeled herself away from our table
, and we watched in silence as she returned to the counter.

"Well... that wasn't uncomfortable
at all
," I said, looking at Chuck's grinning face. 

Twenty minutes and three unsolicited trips to our table by Carla later, we were climbing back into the El Camino.  Chuck backed the car out of its parking space and crept along the front of the diner's large front window in order to wave good
-bye to Carla, who had positioned herself up against the glass and was making a "call me" gesture with her right hand. 

I sat forward and turned on the radio as we pulled out of the parking lot.  After scanning the stations for a minute, I came across
Avicii's "Wake Me Up".  I leaned back and watched the world go by outside my window as we merged onto the highway. 

There's something to be said for comfortable silence among friends.  While Chuck drove, I began to lose myself in thought.  Of all the things I could have/should have been mulling over, my mind was on Popeye. 
In particular, the statement "I yam what I yam." 

If Popeye was proud of who he was, was content to remain loyal to himself, then why did he need the
spinach?  Here he was, going around, handing out the condensed version of the what-you-see-is-what-you-get speech and then goes and horks down a can of food with magical, self-altering properties.  Not that I blame him.  Hey, if I had a can of magical vegetables, I'd be making a beeline for the nearest can opener.  My point is, he comes off a little high-and-mighty to me for arguing he is what he is when clearly he is not. 

I glanced over at Chuck who was dutifully eyeing the road while he drove
, and I decided not to share my thoughts on Popeye's character.  My focus returned back through the window. It was around six o'clock and the sun was hanging low in the sky.  It was one of those peaceful autumn days where everything has an orange halo surrounding it and you can almost hear nature sigh.

My cell phone rang, bringing me out of my reverie.  I looked at the name displayed on the front of the phone.  It was my sister Jenny.  I flipped it open.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Hey
, Mom and Dad said you’re going to be staying with Chuck a few days?"

"Yeah, that's the plan," I replied warily.

"In that case, is it okay if I borrow your car?  Before you answer, please keep in mind, I've had my license for an entire year with absolutely no tickets, I do not partake in alcohol or drugs - recreational or otherwise, I fully intend to leave it as sparkling as I find it, and I really, really love you."  Her voice went up on the end and I could hear the hopeful smile she wore. 

"Please don't forget to put gas back in it like last time," I said reluctantly.

"You're the best brother ever!" she squealed before she disconnected.  I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket. 

Chuck and I passed the next couple of hours by discussing a variety of topics, including, but not limited to:  who would win in a fight between Laura Croft from
Tomb Raider
and Alice from
Resident Evil
, who would win in a fight between Alice from
Resident Evil
and Selene from
Underworld
, why a cucumber is a fruit, what our list of self-imposed rules would be in a post-apocalyptic world, which show is better between
Monsterquest
and
Destination Truth
, who would win in a fight between a Sasquatch and a Yeti, the correct pronunciation of the product Nutella, and the differences between The Joker and The Riddler.

Around eight o'clock, we came to the conclusion we were starving, having only had soup for lunch, and we chose to stop for the night.  We ran through a Taco Bell drive-thru and loaded up before we decided on a hotel. 
There were a few to choose from but only one obvious choice.  The Barracuda Hotel proudly displayed "POOL AND LAZY RIVER OPEN ALL NIGHT" across its marquee. 

Fifteen minutes later, we were hauling our small amount of luggage out of the El Camino and into the elevator
across from check-in. 

"
By the way, thanks for picking up the tab for this trip.  I'll pay you back when we get home," I said to Chuck as we began our climb inside the elevator to the third floor.

"Forget it.  It was my idea anyway."

The doors opened, and we proceeded down the hall to room 307.  True to the hotel clerk's word, the room was spacious and boasted two queen-sized beds, a kitchenette, and a balcony overlooking the lazy river. 

Chuck and I
changed into shorts and returned downstairs and out the back entrance to the aquatic amenities.  We wasted no time in diving in, and soon afterward, I was floating adrift on my back, allowing the heated waters of the pool to lap away the tension that had been mounting the last couple of days.  The possibility of meeting my grandfather and my recent unsettling dreams had affected me more than I cared to admit.

It was while I was positioned thus, lying supine in the water with my eyes clo
sed, that a soft female voice floated over to me from the left. 

"Where are you from?"

I righted my body to a vertical position and glanced in the direction of the unfamiliar voice.  A young girl, I guessed to be 16 or 17, was staring at me from the other side of the pool.  She gazed at me openly, with no shame to make her avert her eyes.  She was pretty, with brilliant green eyes and blonde hair, which falsely appeared darker with the approaching night and pool water dripping from it.