in the lot, he shouldered his bags with relief and made his way to the dark green '58 coupe parked closest to his own door.
Success. The keys fit and he opened the trunk and loaded his belongings. He would not be returning here. Whatever boss expected him to report for work tomorrow morning would be disappointed. Whatever utility bills he had accumulated would go unpaid. Whatever human connections he had made were just as well severed. When traveling down the road to insanity, one learned to travel light.
The first stop had to be a service station. With the tank filled and the oil, air, and water checked, Cole studied the road map the gap-toothed attendant had provided him. He was in Cleveland, a city he had never visited before to his conscious knowledge.
"Going on a trip, Nick?" the attendant asked as he counted out his change.
It took a moment for Cole to respond to the name. He was not used to being called that anymore. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Ann Arbor," he lied. It was close enough. "Got any advice on the fastest route?"
"Sure. My cousin lives there. Used to go up there all the time and fish with him. Gimme that map."
Cole handed him the map and his pencil, and the attendant sketched out the roads for him.
"Sure would be nice to be able to go fishing right about now. Is that what you're up to?"
"Naw, family business, I'm afraid. Not a vacation." It was another talent necessary to the pretense of sanity -- to be able to fake familiarity with total strangers who knew you on a first name basis -- a first name that wasn't really yours.
"Sorry. Not sickness, I hope."
"Not serious."
"That's good. Here." He poked a grubby finger at the penciled map as he handed it back. "You'll wanna watch this junction at Toledo. Heavy road construction. This way is shorter. I marked it, see."
"Thanks. Catch you in a couple weeks."
"You betcha, Nick. Drive careful now, you hear? Say, hey, what about your gal? You're not leaving her here unattended, are you?"
Cole felt a claw of anxiety clutch at his stomach. "No, uh, she's gone. You know how these things are. Hot one day. Cold the next." This Nick and his 'gals' would be the ruination of him yet. He shrugged and flashed the attendant a knowing, who-the-hell-cares smile.
"Ah, well, shit. Plenty of fish in the sea. See ya, Nick." The attendant thumped the counter to send him on his way.
Images of Nick's gal haunted the drive toward Lansing. Cole would find out soon enough how close the imagined came to the real. There would be a picture of her in the file or undeveloped in the camera. They always turned up there. He had found no other evidence of her in the apartment he had left, so it was probably true that she had gone on her way sometime in Nick's regime.
The headache he had been fighting since he read the telegram burst upon Cole full force, blurring his vision and constricting his chest. He would have to stop near Toledo for the night. The mental disorientation he could manage, but when the torture of it began twisting at his heart, driving was impossible. Not that he would sleep, he couldn't chance the dreams.
He looked like hell when he finally slouched in the chair across from Dr. Fitapaldi. He could see the look of judgmental concern on the good doctor's brow. It was part of his couch side manner, an expression that was probably fifteen percent of his grade in Patient Manipulation 101. That and the smoothly cultivated sincerity in his tone as he told him of his father's present condition and whereabouts had probably earned Fitapaldi a place on the honor roll in his student days.
"The research grant simply went unfunded this year, and the state decided they could no longer manage this placement. The state facility is quite adequate."
"Quite," Cole responded with flat emotion. "I'm sure."
"You needn't worry about him. He'll be taken care of."
"I never worry about him. Your telegram, however, hinted at some urgency in this matter."
"You sensed urgency? Yet, I sent that telegram ... oh, it's been about three months now, I think." Fitapaldi stroked his hand over his hairless pate as he must have done when whatever locks he once possessed fell onto his brow. Taking up his pencil, he made a few notations in the file he had opened on his desk then closed it and shuffled it to