Catch Me If You Can - Part 11
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten
“Beeerr-eerrrt....” said Gerard a few minutes later “I think that car’s following us!”
“Oh, Gerard, stop being so paranoid,” Bert told the older man flippantly.
Gerard stopped and turned to Bert with a dead-straight face. “Bert? You do realise that saying ‘stop being so paranoid’ makes me even more paranoid, right?”
“Does it?”
“Yah.”
“Huh.... never thought of it that way.”
Gerard sighed at the amused tone in Bert’s voice as he wrung his fingers nervously.
A minute later, Bert parked outside a motel. Gerard watched as the car - a Honda civic, he noted - drove straight past the motel without even slowing down. “Phew...”
Bert rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s see if they’ve got any rooms.”
----
Gerard had just put the oranges in the fridge when there was a knock on the door. He closed the fridge and rounded the corner, walking to the door.
“You’re back awful quick, Bert,” Gerard called, unlocking the door as he did. “I haven’t even had a chance to get dinner started and.....” He opened the door and froze, shaking his head. “And... you’re not Bert...”
----
“Hey, Gee, I’m back!” Bert said, pushing the door open. “And I’ve got the paprika! Gee?”
Bert walked around the corner and into the lounge room. He stopped. Gerard smiled faintly at him. The short, red-head glared.
“Hi, Bert. Guess what? I was right. We were being followed....” Gerard giggled nervously “It was Patrick.”
“Oh boy.”
Gerard smiled tautly.
----
“What were you thinking?!” Patrick cried “You have no clue the drama you’ve caused!”
Gerard flinched as he stirred the potatoes. Bert shirked away a little, sinking back into his seat at the dining table a little further.
“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell us...” Bert murmured.
Gerard turned and glared. Patrick wheeled around. Bert let out a soft ‘uh oh’.
“DAMN STRAIGHT I’M GONNA TELL YA! Hell! I’ll fuckin’ show ya!” Patrick exploded. He then dug around in his pocket to fish out a letter. “Read it!” He shoved it at Bert. “They’ve sent one to a few people.”
Gerard walked over to read the letter over Bert’s shoulder.
Dear Patrick,
This letter is to let you know that Gerard and Bert have up and vanished on us. If you see them, please, please contact us. It’s been over two weeks now.
Sorry the letter’s so brief, but there’re a lot to write.
From,
Mikey
The only sound was of the water in the pot of potatoes boiling.
Gerard was staring at the paper. Bert was staring past it.
Patrick looked back and forth between them. “Yeah...”
Gerard walked back into the kitchen and went back to making dinner. Bert ducked his head.
“I...I didn’t know they were so worried,” Gerard said, shaking his head.
“Are you gonna stop then? Turn around? Go home?” Patrick asked.
There was a moment of silence. “No.”
“What?”
“We’re not going back. Not yet.”
“Gerard, why?” Patrick sighed.
“Because I’m not ready to go home.” The green-eyed man turned off the heat under the potatoes. “The chicken will be done in a few minutes,” he said offhandedly as he drained the water into the sink.
Patrick looked to Bert. Bert nodded. “I’m with him.”
The red-head pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair with sigh. “At least tell me why.”
The two technically missing men stopped. They turned and looked at each other.
The oven timer went off.
-----Day 19-----
“Why?”
Why? What a good question... Neither of them knew why... did they?
They were back on the road. Bert was driving. They’d hardly spoken since they’d left.
“At least tell me why.”
“Why?”
“Why did you do it?”
“...”
“Please, tell me you know why?”
“....”
“You don’t know why, do you?”
“No, I... guess not...” Gerard mumbled.
“Is that why you don’t wanna go back?”
“I... maybe?” Gerard answered looking up at Bert. Bert’s blue eyes were wide, confusion sitting just behind his irises. “I don’t know.”
Patrick looked back and forth between. “Oh...” He paused for a moment. “ Well... I’m gonna let you go.” They turned and smiled at Patrick. “But...” They drew back a little. “I am going to call them.”
They were both thoroughly confused. Hadn’t he just said he was going to let them go?
“Tomorrow, at 10am. Buuuuuut... maybe, just maybe, I can be convinced to make it 12 o’clock.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bert asked. “How?”
“Dinner!” Patrick grinned. “But seriously, if you want something to do while you’re thinking. Go to the Axe Murder House in Iowa. It’s about 7 hours straight driving from here, but, it’s pretty cool. Pete took me there years ago.” Patrick’s eyes grew distant as he smiled wistfully. He shook his head. “I’ll write out the directions for you.”
“Why are we on the road?” Gerard wondered aloud. “Bert?”
Bert didn’t let his focus drift from driving, even as he replied. “I, honestly don’t really know.” He thought for a moment. “I remember not being able to write anything, and it was driving me mad! And... I remember waking up one morning, and thinking - no, knowing - that I had to get you, and we had to get away from everyone. The next thing I knew, I was in the airport in Jersey. As I was leaving, I ran into Frank. He was... asking how much it would be to ship a car to L.A. and I kinda ended up telling the little shrimp my plan. So, instead of stopping me, he drives me to his house, draws me instructions to your place from his, hands me the keys to the sweet little red convertible in his driveway and says, ‘go for it’.” Bert laughed. “It was like my sudden need to kidnap you was being given the go ahead by whatever higher power there might be!”
“You can’t kidnap someone if they go willingly, Bert.”
Bert turned to look at him. Gerard smiled sweetly. Bert grinned back.
----
By the time they reached Villisca at 9PM, they were both exhausted and more than ready to pass out for the night. They drove around until they found the Axe Murder House (as per Patrick’s map).
“I’m thinking.... I’m thinking we’ll sleep in the car tonight,” Bert mumbled, barely audible over the hum of the still running engine.
“Yeah... Why am I so fucking tired?” Gerard asked no one in particular.
“Same reason I am.”
“And what’s that?”
“Beats me.... Just, put the top up-,”
“Bert, you put that up ages ago.”
“Cut me some slack. I’m sleepy.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not, but anyway... shut the engine off and we can either sleep in these seats or crash in the back seat.
“From what I remember, these seats are pretty darn comfy. And it’s not as cramped as having both of us crashed out on the back seat.”
“True, true... well, you sleep on your front seat, and I’m gonna sleep on the back one,” Bert said as he clambered out of the passenger’s seat and into the back.
“Fine then.” With that, Gerard got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Bert watched him, thoroughly confused until he saw him getting back into the car, into the seat Bert had just vacated. “No steering wheel or pedals to fight with.”
Bert merely nodded before sprawling out across the seat, thoroughly enjoying the warmth of his new jeans and hoodie.
Gerard pushed the seat down into as much of a recline as it would go before curling up on his side on it. “Night, Bert,” he said, snuggling down into the collar of his jacket.
“Night night, Gee.”
-----Day 20-----
When Bert woke up the next morning his first thoughts were, in order: is it morning already? What’s that tightness around my waist? Why does it feel like the car is moving? Is that Gerard singing? And finally; my fucking face is stuck to this goddamn leather interior again. He decided to address number 3 first.
“Why is the car moving?” he asked.
“Because,” the singing stopped which meant that, yes, it was Gerard singing. “The place doesn’t open ‘til 9 and I need coffee.”
“Nine? What time is it?” Bert decided that then was a good time to deal with the ‘face stuck to seat’ issue. He pushed himself upright, peeling himself off the seat. That also answered the question ‘what’s the tightness around my waist?’ Gerard must’ve buckled him in.
“It’s.... just going on 8.”
“Then why didn’t you sleep some more?”
“Because I need coffee.”
“We got told to move along, didn’t we?”
“There’s that too.”
“Okay, coffee it is.”
----
They used their time at the McDonald’s they found, not only to eat, but also brush hair and teeth, put on deodorant (which was necessary if the terribly disguised look of disgust on the lady at the counter’s face was anything to go by) and change what needed to be changed.
They made it back to the Axe Murder House just before 9:45. They parked the car and headed in, ambling nervously in through the front door.
They spent a little over two hours checking out the Axe Murder Museum before going to get lunch. They were back on the road by 1 o’clock.
Around 2 o’clock, Gerard noticed a storm brewing in the distance, but didn’t point it out to Bert, knowing he’d freak out.
At 2:30, Gerard demanded that they pull over so that he could drive. He did not want Bert driving when they found their way into that storm he’d been watching grow steadily closer the further south they went.
By 3:30, he knew he’d made the right decision. There was thunder and a little bit of rain beginning to pelt them and Bert was beginning to withdraw.
By 3:45, he definitively knew he’d made the right choice. The storm was getting worse the further they drove. Bert probably would have run them off the road and into a ditch by then if he’d been driving.
Just after 4 o’clock, Gerard pulled off the highway. He drove around for about 15 minutes before he came across a fairly nice motel with a mostly vacant lot. It took a lot of convincing, but he finally got Bert to get out of the car with him, although he insisted on climbing out through the driver’s door just so he could keep a hold of Gerard.
They quickly ran in and got a room. The man behind the counter informed them that, just in case, the storm cellar entrance was located in reception before pointing down a hallway that he claimed the entrance was at the end of. Bert squeaked and sunk further into Gerard’s side. With much cajoling, he managed to get Bert to run with him up to the room on the second floor of the two-storey motel. He opened the door and switched on the light to cut through the darkness, even though it was only 4:30.
As soon as they were in the room, Bert turned into a quivering mess. He sunk to the floor by the door and refused to get back up. Gerard had to physically pick him up and carry him around if he wanted him to move. He lugged Bert over to the couch, closed the curtains and tried to convince him to watch TV with him. Every time Bert would even begin to start unwinding a little, a crack of thunder would frighten him back into his taut little ball, curled in and crying on Gerard’s side.
Eventually, Gerard gave up and carried Bert to the bedroom. He tucked them both under the covers and allowed Bert to wind his wiry body back around him. After a while, Gerard fell asleep. He’d like to think Bert did too, but he seriously doubted it, and kind of felt bad.
Part Twelve
“Beeerr-eerrrt....” said Gerard a few minutes later “I think that car’s following us!”
“Oh, Gerard, stop being so paranoid,” Bert told the older man flippantly.
Gerard stopped and turned to Bert with a dead-straight face. “Bert? You do realise that saying ‘stop being so paranoid’ makes me even more paranoid, right?”
“Does it?”
“Yah.”
“Huh.... never thought of it that way.”
Gerard sighed at the amused tone in Bert’s voice as he wrung his fingers nervously.
A minute later, Bert parked outside a motel. Gerard watched as the car - a Honda civic, he noted - drove straight past the motel without even slowing down. “Phew...”
Bert rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s see if they’ve got any rooms.”
----
Gerard had just put the oranges in the fridge when there was a knock on the door. He closed the fridge and rounded the corner, walking to the door.
“You’re back awful quick, Bert,” Gerard called, unlocking the door as he did. “I haven’t even had a chance to get dinner started and.....” He opened the door and froze, shaking his head. “And... you’re not Bert...”
----
“Hey, Gee, I’m back!” Bert said, pushing the door open. “And I’ve got the paprika! Gee?”
Bert walked around the corner and into the lounge room. He stopped. Gerard smiled faintly at him. The short, red-head glared.
“Hi, Bert. Guess what? I was right. We were being followed....” Gerard giggled nervously “It was Patrick.”
“Oh boy.”
Gerard smiled tautly.
----
“What were you thinking?!” Patrick cried “You have no clue the drama you’ve caused!”
Gerard flinched as he stirred the potatoes. Bert shirked away a little, sinking back into his seat at the dining table a little further.
“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell us...” Bert murmured.
Gerard turned and glared. Patrick wheeled around. Bert let out a soft ‘uh oh’.
“DAMN STRAIGHT I’M GONNA TELL YA! Hell! I’ll fuckin’ show ya!” Patrick exploded. He then dug around in his pocket to fish out a letter. “Read it!” He shoved it at Bert. “They’ve sent one to a few people.”
Gerard walked over to read the letter over Bert’s shoulder.
Dear Patrick,
This letter is to let you know that Gerard and Bert have up and vanished on us. If you see them, please, please contact us. It’s been over two weeks now.
Sorry the letter’s so brief, but there’re a lot to write.
From,
Mikey
The only sound was of the water in the pot of potatoes boiling.
Gerard was staring at the paper. Bert was staring past it.
Patrick looked back and forth between them. “Yeah...”
Gerard walked back into the kitchen and went back to making dinner. Bert ducked his head.
“I...I didn’t know they were so worried,” Gerard said, shaking his head.
“Are you gonna stop then? Turn around? Go home?” Patrick asked.
There was a moment of silence. “No.”
“What?”
“We’re not going back. Not yet.”
“Gerard, why?” Patrick sighed.
“Because I’m not ready to go home.” The green-eyed man turned off the heat under the potatoes. “The chicken will be done in a few minutes,” he said offhandedly as he drained the water into the sink.
Patrick looked to Bert. Bert nodded. “I’m with him.”
The red-head pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair with sigh. “At least tell me why.”
The two technically missing men stopped. They turned and looked at each other.
The oven timer went off.
-----Day 19-----
“Why?”
Why? What a good question... Neither of them knew why... did they?
They were back on the road. Bert was driving. They’d hardly spoken since they’d left.
“At least tell me why.”
“Why?”
“Why did you do it?”
“...”
“Please, tell me you know why?”
“....”
“You don’t know why, do you?”
“No, I... guess not...” Gerard mumbled.
“Is that why you don’t wanna go back?”
“I... maybe?” Gerard answered looking up at Bert. Bert’s blue eyes were wide, confusion sitting just behind his irises. “I don’t know.”
Patrick looked back and forth between. “Oh...” He paused for a moment. “ Well... I’m gonna let you go.” They turned and smiled at Patrick. “But...” They drew back a little. “I am going to call them.”
They were both thoroughly confused. Hadn’t he just said he was going to let them go?
“Tomorrow, at 10am. Buuuuuut... maybe, just maybe, I can be convinced to make it 12 o’clock.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bert asked. “How?”
“Dinner!” Patrick grinned. “But seriously, if you want something to do while you’re thinking. Go to the Axe Murder House in Iowa. It’s about 7 hours straight driving from here, but, it’s pretty cool. Pete took me there years ago.” Patrick’s eyes grew distant as he smiled wistfully. He shook his head. “I’ll write out the directions for you.”
“Why are we on the road?” Gerard wondered aloud. “Bert?”
Bert didn’t let his focus drift from driving, even as he replied. “I, honestly don’t really know.” He thought for a moment. “I remember not being able to write anything, and it was driving me mad! And... I remember waking up one morning, and thinking - no, knowing - that I had to get you, and we had to get away from everyone. The next thing I knew, I was in the airport in Jersey. As I was leaving, I ran into Frank. He was... asking how much it would be to ship a car to L.A. and I kinda ended up telling the little shrimp my plan. So, instead of stopping me, he drives me to his house, draws me instructions to your place from his, hands me the keys to the sweet little red convertible in his driveway and says, ‘go for it’.” Bert laughed. “It was like my sudden need to kidnap you was being given the go ahead by whatever higher power there might be!”
“You can’t kidnap someone if they go willingly, Bert.”
Bert turned to look at him. Gerard smiled sweetly. Bert grinned back.
----
By the time they reached Villisca at 9PM, they were both exhausted and more than ready to pass out for the night. They drove around until they found the Axe Murder House (as per Patrick’s map).
“I’m thinking.... I’m thinking we’ll sleep in the car tonight,” Bert mumbled, barely audible over the hum of the still running engine.
“Yeah... Why am I so fucking tired?” Gerard asked no one in particular.
“Same reason I am.”
“And what’s that?”
“Beats me.... Just, put the top up-,”
“Bert, you put that up ages ago.”
“Cut me some slack. I’m sleepy.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not, but anyway... shut the engine off and we can either sleep in these seats or crash in the back seat.
“From what I remember, these seats are pretty darn comfy. And it’s not as cramped as having both of us crashed out on the back seat.”
“True, true... well, you sleep on your front seat, and I’m gonna sleep on the back one,” Bert said as he clambered out of the passenger’s seat and into the back.
“Fine then.” With that, Gerard got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Bert watched him, thoroughly confused until he saw him getting back into the car, into the seat Bert had just vacated. “No steering wheel or pedals to fight with.”
Bert merely nodded before sprawling out across the seat, thoroughly enjoying the warmth of his new jeans and hoodie.
Gerard pushed the seat down into as much of a recline as it would go before curling up on his side on it. “Night, Bert,” he said, snuggling down into the collar of his jacket.
“Night night, Gee.”
-----Day 20-----
When Bert woke up the next morning his first thoughts were, in order: is it morning already? What’s that tightness around my waist? Why does it feel like the car is moving? Is that Gerard singing? And finally; my fucking face is stuck to this goddamn leather interior again. He decided to address number 3 first.
“Why is the car moving?” he asked.
“Because,” the singing stopped which meant that, yes, it was Gerard singing. “The place doesn’t open ‘til 9 and I need coffee.”
“Nine? What time is it?” Bert decided that then was a good time to deal with the ‘face stuck to seat’ issue. He pushed himself upright, peeling himself off the seat. That also answered the question ‘what’s the tightness around my waist?’ Gerard must’ve buckled him in.
“It’s.... just going on 8.”
“Then why didn’t you sleep some more?”
“Because I need coffee.”
“We got told to move along, didn’t we?”
“There’s that too.”
“Okay, coffee it is.”
----
They used their time at the McDonald’s they found, not only to eat, but also brush hair and teeth, put on deodorant (which was necessary if the terribly disguised look of disgust on the lady at the counter’s face was anything to go by) and change what needed to be changed.
They made it back to the Axe Murder House just before 9:45. They parked the car and headed in, ambling nervously in through the front door.
They spent a little over two hours checking out the Axe Murder Museum before going to get lunch. They were back on the road by 1 o’clock.
Around 2 o’clock, Gerard noticed a storm brewing in the distance, but didn’t point it out to Bert, knowing he’d freak out.
At 2:30, Gerard demanded that they pull over so that he could drive. He did not want Bert driving when they found their way into that storm he’d been watching grow steadily closer the further south they went.
By 3:30, he knew he’d made the right decision. There was thunder and a little bit of rain beginning to pelt them and Bert was beginning to withdraw.
By 3:45, he definitively knew he’d made the right choice. The storm was getting worse the further they drove. Bert probably would have run them off the road and into a ditch by then if he’d been driving.
Just after 4 o’clock, Gerard pulled off the highway. He drove around for about 15 minutes before he came across a fairly nice motel with a mostly vacant lot. It took a lot of convincing, but he finally got Bert to get out of the car with him, although he insisted on climbing out through the driver’s door just so he could keep a hold of Gerard.
They quickly ran in and got a room. The man behind the counter informed them that, just in case, the storm cellar entrance was located in reception before pointing down a hallway that he claimed the entrance was at the end of. Bert squeaked and sunk further into Gerard’s side. With much cajoling, he managed to get Bert to run with him up to the room on the second floor of the two-storey motel. He opened the door and switched on the light to cut through the darkness, even though it was only 4:30.
As soon as they were in the room, Bert turned into a quivering mess. He sunk to the floor by the door and refused to get back up. Gerard had to physically pick him up and carry him around if he wanted him to move. He lugged Bert over to the couch, closed the curtains and tried to convince him to watch TV with him. Every time Bert would even begin to start unwinding a little, a crack of thunder would frighten him back into his taut little ball, curled in and crying on Gerard’s side.
Eventually, Gerard gave up and carried Bert to the bedroom. He tucked them both under the covers and allowed Bert to wind his wiry body back around him. After a while, Gerard fell asleep. He’d like to think Bert did too, but he seriously doubted it, and kind of felt bad.
Part Twelve