LTF o2: Penn's Station

How do you rate with new YWS? Can you still do that? This contains swearing and mentions of suicide.

Chapter One is posted separately. I'm not good with travel situations so if you can assist me I'd appreciate it. Thanks!

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Learning to Fly

o2: First Train out of NYC

The man who shows up at Penn station at four o'clock in the morning is a desperate man.

It was December 30th. Dave gave no announcement that he was leaving or that he intended to leave. The decision had been finalized the minute it had entered his mind. The gravity of the situation sank in and raised his heart rate, making him panic and shake, and the thought that came into his head was:

I need to get out of here.

David considered himself a reasonable, logical person, but there were times when instinct took over. In the blackness of the gloom-sodden early morning, he'd decided to make a break for it. His instinct and calling was to the front seat of his mothers car, and then to a train out in the Big Apple.

All David knew was that it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, and he had to do something or the pain would consume him. His suitcase didn't have much in it but four changes of clothes, some photographs, a couple of books and his toothbrush. Everything else he needed was in his head, and the bills in his wallet.

He’d always been advised to save for an emergency or a rainy day, and it sure as hell was raining, both inside and out.

Penny hadn't moved from the couch in two days; she lay with her eyes closed, sound asleep, as David headed for the door. She’s been wracked with a terrible guilt, and finally cried so hard and so quiet that she just about fell over for the exhaustion.

He didn't know much about trains, but he knew he sure wasn't going to wait until seven or eight to take one out of Trenton. He couldn't sleep or eat or relax or anything while he remained chained to New Jersey, this land that he loathed.

They’d just finished collecting the fragments of Quin’s head, called it cleaning up the crime scene. The thought kept David wide-eyed for hours, tossing and turning. He’d thrown up and dry-heaved most of the afternoon, which seemed at first to calm his system down, but at night, he felt alone and restless.

It was hard for him to wrap his head around the idea that Quin was gone, when in these last two years, they’d become so close. There was nobody, save for his father, David admired more. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t alone, but the fact remained his brother and friend was gone. The world had lost a good thing, and he was never coming back.

Which was why he was surprised to see his oldest brother hunched over a cigarette, looking like a kicked dog outside on the front lawn.

“Shit!” He said, shaking his head. Quin’s head came up fast to look at him, first in surprise; then it dropped, and the expression changed to one of shame.

It was only by some of the sharper, almost indistinguishable details that Dave managed to see it wasn’t Quentin.

“Hey, Dave,” Freddy whispered, his voice uncharacteristically low.

Freddy had ghost-torn eyes since Quin had died - They made him shrink away from any prospect of social interaction. His mother hadn’t been able to look at him in two days.

“You okay?” David asked, moving over to stand beside him, his eyes off in the distance. Fred didn’t miss that, either – He shook his head.

“Stupid question, Davey. And I thought you were the bookworm.”

“Right,” David murmured, plucking the cigarette from Freddy’s lips. Fred glanced over tiredly, watching his brother inhale.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” He said, his voice carrying a tone of self-righteousness and judgment. He was smirking, an echo of the jokester he’d been just a few days before.

“If you tell mom,” David said sternly, walking towards the car. “I’ll tell Mom.”

It was a standing lesson of Mrs. Blytons that when she caught her children smoking, she made them eat a half pack of cigarettes. He seemed to remember Marilyn and Quin, 13 and 20, sitting down at the kitchen table, looking guilty and green, an empty pack of Lucky Strikes between them. It would’ve been funny, now, if he didn’t feel so sad.

“Whoa, what’s the suitcase for?” Fred asked suddenly, but David didn’t turn around.

“I’m getting the hell out of Dodge,” He called, opening the door. Fred rushed over, putting a hand on his brothers shoulder.

“No way,” Fred snapped. “You can’t just go.”

“I can’t just stay,” David answered, shaking off Freddy’s hand and sliding into the drivers seat. He rolled down the window, and for a moment, he just looked at Freddy – Just looked at him – and a shudder passed through his spine.

“You’re going to your girls house?” He asked, almost hopeful.

“I’m pushing west.”

The tone of his voice was one that was definite. Freddy knew he was not going to be moved. Argument was useless and irrelevant. The way David turned his eyes to him now, it didn't matter what Fred or anybody else thought; He was going. The longer the silence hung between them, the more possible it seemed to become, until

Freddy wondered suddenly why he had said, initially, you can't.

David didn't say anything when Freddy got into the passenger seat, just started pulling the car out. He had bigger things on his mind.

There was an anxiousness quelled in his stomach, though, a feeling he had been wrestling to get to sleep these past few nights. It settled down a bit at the thought, now, that he was not alone.

Freddy grinned at him. "Let's get the hell out of Dodge, brother."

He flicked the cigarette out the window, left it behind to burn itself out on the side of the road.

His smile was sad.

David had never driven so far before, but Freddy had; His brother didn't even bother to try and sound joyful when he pointed out the signs on the way to New York city. They didn't get lost as they wove their way through the interconnecting grid of the New York City streets.

"Where are we going?" Freddy asked, looking to David for guidance.

He was surprised to hear his brother answer, with unwavering certainty, "Montana."

He shifted in his seat, pulling out a map; It was marked up and crumpled. "We'll take a train to Indiana, and then the bus from there, and then we'll be in Montana by the end of the week."

"Why Montana?" Freddy asked.

David just smiled.

The ticket office didn't open until five -- The two staggered over to the front of the station, which was open but still relatively deserted. They stood near the door, where Freddy lit another cigarette. David leaned his head against Freddy's chest, his eyes fluttering closed.

Freddy shook his brother's shoulder gently. "Ticket office opens in an hour. Let's get some coffee or somethin', yeah?"

David nodded against his shirt. The two, both functioning under crippling exhaustion, managed to get moving again.

Eventually, the two ended up in a little cafe within walking distance to Penn's Station. It was nearly deserted; one or two people tumbled in and out in a way that suggested ninja-like discretion, smooth to the point that they became nothing more than a blur of blue business suits and baggy eyes. Thrown out of their houses, thrown out by their wives. Up at dawn to make a plane or meeting.

David gave them none of his attention and none of his pity.

Freddy ordered him some coffee from the red-head at the counter, but Freddy bypassed the nametag; In his mind, he had already labeled her as Red. By her grimace she seemed just as displeased to be there as he was, but she was young and pretty and if Freddy were in a better mood, he may have tried his luck with her. As things stood now, he doubted a woman's temper was what he needed.

He had gone through five cups himself by the time the clock struck five. As the dawn began to spill over the skyscrapers, David's cup of coffee sat untouched. The light played against his face in sharp, dramatic shadows as he hunched over a map, squinting and murmuring to himself. Freddy had never seen him so tired or so determined. There was a fire in his eyes and it manifested in the way he traced the routes with his fingers.

The jazz music from the radio was light and low, humming in the background with no attention paid, like some movie with no sound in a high school classroom. Freddy had been drifting in and out of consciousness in between cups of black and hadn't said much to his brother, other than asking him if he wanted another cup or something to eat.

The door opened and the bells rang; Freddy glanced to see who it was.

They still had another hour to kill, and Freddy's nerves hadn't let up one bit; It still felt like he was on the edge of his seat, at the edge of a cliff. He shifted a bit in his seat before fishing in his pocket for a cigarette. His pockets turned up empty. He resorted to asking his brother for a favor.

"Hey, Dave, you got a smoke?"

Davey didn't even look up, but he reached in his pocket for a pack and handed them over. Freddy examined the brand for a moment and then shrugged, extracting a singular cigarette.

"Hey!"

There was something in Red's tone that made Freddy almost certain she was talking to him - So he turned towards her, and Lord, did she look like his mother with that look and her hand on her hip. "There's no smokin' here, ya got that?" Her accent was thick and stereotypical and it made

Freddy smile a bit.

"Hey, buddy, you hear me? I said, there's no -"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya, I heard ya," He answered, waving his hand as he made his way to the door. What a bitch. He was willing to concede that it might've been him in his weariness that made him so easy to get to, and his reaction so strong.

God, he needed some fresh air. His heart felt heavy in his chest, and he could feel the blood in his head. What Freddy needed was sleep, but he knew it would never come.

It was cool outside, and there was snow on the ground; the whole city was all in love with Christmas, but the thought of Christmas without Quinn made Freddy feel seriously ill.

"Shit," Freddy murmured, patting at his pockets. A little ahead of him, there was a woman leaning against a lamp post. He could only see her back and her dark, dark hair, along with the the smoke from her cigarette and her lips.

And this is how Freddy met Claudia.

"'Scuse me, miss, you got a light?" Those were his first words to her. And she turned to him with a pretty face devoid of amusement and snapped, "Motherfucker, this is New York. Of course I have a light."

Even with his misery eating away at his soul, he couldn't help but find that funny; The burden was a few ounces lighter when she tucked the cigarette between his lips.

She looked like she was a model, all heart-shaped face and tight body. The fur she was wrapped up in was fake, but the diamonds on her wrist weren't, and neither were the studs on her watch. He watched her hand as it dove into her coat pocket, then returned with a lighter. He was reading the time; When she picked up on it, she rolled her eyes. "It's five thirty."

Claudia watched with an arched eyebrow as Freddy's mouth hung open. The cigarette tumbled from his lips. "Shit!" he snapped, spinning around. "We have to get our tickets for six! Gotta run!”

Claudia stepped back a bit, confused; there was a slight spark of amusement in her eyes as she watched him scramble back towards the coffee shop. He caught sight of her in the rare moment when her lip upturned; her eyes closed, and she bent graceful over her cigarette.

If she could’ve caught him, she would’ve slapped him – But by the time she’d spun around, the kiss he planted on her cheek still wet, she saw only the phantom blur of his form disappearing behind the glass-plated door.

David’s eyes were snapped suddenly awake when Freddy dragged him out of the shop. Freddy did stop, only once, to see the girl; but by the time he’d re-emerged, she had gone, as the streets of New York began to wake up, he couldn’t see which way she’d gone.

So the trip to the train station was unremembered, uneventful, and played through like an old tape recording in front of Freddy’s eyes; His exhaustion had not lessened but the automatic movements of his body were brought on by necessity. As David slumped around at his side, he doubted that the kid would’ve been able to get this far alone, even if he was only surviving by his drive.

The wait for the train seemed to last ages; the sound of the metal and the tracks rolled together in a distant, gentle whirr. And David couldn’t tell you if the train was late or when, but he remembered the feeling he got when the doors opened and the sight of the conductor. He remembered thinking that this felt like redemption; like something new. Let the angels and the brakemen keep his fate.

And as soon as the two settled down in their car, David blacked out. Freddy wasn’t long after, and none of them noticed the black suit shuffle in with his newspaper, making way for Indiana.