Post by Craig Lassiter on Jul 17, 2007 13:29:34 GMT -5
Lemuel Keane pushed the hair out of his eyes once again and leaned back in his chair.
"This really explains a lot, boys."
Sean Lassiter and Zeke were seated on similar chairs. They were arranged in a row so that all three men had a view of the 19-inch television that was set up in Dr. Keane's office. It was currently showing unaired footage of the LWA Iron Man Memorial, in which a bloody and beaten Craig Lassiter was being helped from the ring by referee Julio Suave and an unknown security guard. Despite his torn shirt, bloody hands, and inability to stand up under his own power, Craig had a satisfied look on his face.
Keane jotted down another note in his ever-increasing file.
Zeke got up from his chair, shut off the TV, and began to disconnect his camera from it.
"When Tony came here," Keane began, but then stopped. "Sorry, I still think of him as Tony."
"Where did that name come from, anyway?" asked Sean.
"When he came here, Craig refused to tell us anything. He carried no identification, and kept insisting he was nobody. Jared, one of our orderlies, said he looked like a Tony, and Craig said that name was as good as any other.
"You see, he was a very angry soul. He had spent a few nights in jail after they picked him up for disorderly conduct. He got into an altercation in the cell, and the police brought him here." A disappointed look crossed his face. "We get a lot of people who don't really belong here, violent types mostly, which is why we have to separate them from the other patients.
"Tony spent almost a week in our solitary cell, refusing any food or water. Eventually, we had to feed him intra-veinously, but by then he was too weak to put up much of a fight. After he had calmed down to the point where he wasn't a physical danger to himself or the others, we began a therapy program. At first, it was just one-on-one with him and myself. I'd never really met someone like him. He was just so angry, but when pressed, he couldn't really explain what he was angry about.
"I asked about the major issues, his childhood, his family life, friends, and his work. Although he refused to give any details, he never really seemed to find fault with the important things, and chose to go on these extended rants about things of little or no importance."
"Like the Snorks?" asked Zeke.
"Exactly. He was convinced that Steven Tyler should be put to death for crimes against humanity, and that George Lucas became sexually aroused every time a fan of his films broke down and cried."
"Well," Sean said, "he did tend to go off a little from time to time."
"His anger was so poorly directed, I fear that most of it just ended up coming back at himself. These videos you've shown me just back up what I've seen. He was a very self-destructive human being."
"Oh yeah," said Zeke, with Sean nodding in approval.
"Wait a minute. You say, he was?" said Sean, after a second.
"Oh yes," Keane continued. "Once we got him into the group therapy sessions, and he started to listen to the others, he began to make progress right away. I think the real problems of these individuals shed light on just how petty he was being. At first, he stopped contributing to the group, and I thought he was becoming more introverted, but then he began giving constructive feedback to the others. He began to help people."
"What?" said Zeke.
"Yes, he thrived on it. After a while, he was basically running the therapy sessions himself. I don't mind saying, he made more progress with some of the more difficult patients than I ever could have. He spoke honestly, and they really listened to what he had to say."
"You sure this is the right guy? Sean, show him the picture again."
Sean hushed Zeke with a finger, and indicated that Dr. Keane should continue.
"He's a changed man gentlemen. He's not the same man who was carried into this building in his underwear, spitting and screaming about how a longsword's d12 damage versus large-sized creatures is unbalanced. He's no longer angry."
"So, why's he still in the nuthouse... I mean, mental institution?" Zeke said.
"Because he likes it here. I would have no problem releasing him, but I was under the impression that he had no family and no means of supporting himself."
"Can we see him now?" Sean asked.
"Yes, of course. You understand, I wanted to explain all this to you before you saw him, so you had some idea what to expect. I'd like to remind you though, that he has been through an awful lot, and he may not be ready for his past to come flooding back into his life. I only ask that you take it easy on him."
"I understand."
"Good. Let's go see Tony."
---
Cheese on toast. That was a good one. Mrs. Miggins would always put some of that funny-sounding brown sauce from England on his, just the way he liked it. That was Thursday. It was only Monday today. He counted out the days on his fingers. He wasn't sure he could wait, but today's spaghetti and garlic bread would be a nice consolation prize. He briefly wondered if that English sauce could be put on spaghetti as well.
Tony stood in front of the weekly cafeteria schedule board in pyjamas and his bathrobe. He pulled a small ringed notepad out of the pocked and made a note that read, "Speak to Mrs. Miggins re: English sauce on spaghetti." Spaghetti took him three tries, but he was sure he had it spelled correctly on the last one. That made him smile.
Without turning his head, Tony shifted two steps to the right. He did so because Darren was walking up on his left, and he knew that Darren didn't like to be looked at, and also didn't like anyone standing too close to him.
"Hey, Darren."
"Oh," said Darren, in a faint-as-a-whisper voice, "hi Tony."
"Spaghetti today, hey?
Darrent just grunted in the affirmative, studied the board for himself just to be sure, then shuffled off in the direction he had come. That brief encounter would be Darren's most in-depth conversation of the week.
"Yep, spaghetti," Tony said to himself. "Hey, Rob." Tony turned to face the large orderly as he approached.
"Dr. Keane wants to see you in his office Tony. Sounds important."
"Sure thing, Rob. I'm on my way." Tony slipped the notebook back into the pocket of his robe. "Hey, Rob?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you know about that English sauce with the funny name?"
---
This was awkward. There hadn't been anything said since, "hi, my name is Tony." Now the three of them sat on their plastic chairs in a triangle, facing each other. Zeke looked disheartened, Sean looked hesitant, and Tony looked contented. Dr. Keane was in the corner of the room, watching intently and taking notes.
"Dude, it's me!" Zeke said, finally. Sean elbowed him in the ribs and took the lead.
"Do you know who I am?" Sean said, a little slower than was necessary.
"No," said Tony, content in his ignorance.
"I'm Sean Lassiter."
"Wow, that's a nice name. Like the dog, right?"
"Not exactly. It's spelled slightly differently."
"That's important. Spelling is the best way to tell the difference between words. Course, some words spell the same but mean two totally different things. That can get tricky."
"Tricky?" Zeke whispered.
"And this is Zeke," Sean said, pointing a finger at the man.
"Hi, Zeke." Tony waved, and Zeke waved back with a weak smile.
"Well," Sean continued, "my father is Johnny Lassiter. Do you know who he is?"
"Nope. He sounds like a cowboy."
"He's your brother."
"Really?" Tony's eyes beamed. "Man, I always wanted a brother. That's cool."
"And that means, that I'm your nephew."
"Hang on a minute here. If you're my nephew..." Tony pulled out his notepad and began to write in it. "Then, I must be your uncle!"
"Exactly," Sean said.
"Hey, Dr. Keane."
"Yes, Tony?"
"I'm an uncle!"
"Yes, I heard, Tony. How do you feel about that?"
Tony thought for a second. "Pretty good, I guess. I never had a nephew before."
"And did you know," Sean started, being very careful with his words, "that your last name is Lassiter too?"
"Hang on, I better write this down. It sounds important. Last. Name. How do you spell that?"
Sean spelled it out for him, and Tony copied down each letter as he sounded them out.
"And that your real first name isn't actually Tony. It's Craig."
This one didn't go down so well. Tony looked at Sean, and scratched at the stubble on his chin with one fingernail. "Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
"See," Tony began, "I'm not saying you're not right, because you seem like a real smart guy. But, the thing is... well, all my friends call me Tony."
"Can't argue with that logic," said Zeke, getting up from his chair and heading toward the window.
"Ok, but before you came here, your friends called you Craig."
"I had friends?"
"Sure. I was your friend, and so was Zeke here. And... um, there were others. Do you... um, remember before you came here?"
"Not really. Dr. Keane says I'm probably repressing memories, but I like to think I've been reborn."
"Yeah, he's a regular Shirley Mclain," Zeke mumbled. "Hey doc, is it ok if I smoke in here?"
"I'd really rather you didn't."
Zeke returned the crumpled cigarette packet to his pocket and just stared out the lone window of the office.
"Ok," said Sean. "I've got just one more question." He leaned in towards Tony. "Have you ever watched wrestling?"
---
"Absolutely out of the question." Dr. Keane paced back and forth behind his desk. "You simply cannot take a person as fragile as Tony and put him in that kind of environment."
"I know it sounds crazy," explained Sean, "but Zeke and I will be with him at all times."
"You heard him yourself, doc." Zeke was slumped up against the wall of Keane's office. "He said he thought it would be neat to be a pro wrestler."
"Tony thinks a lot of things are neat." Keane retorted.
"Dude, I don't mean to be a dick, but didn't you say he's free to leave whenever he wants?"
"Of course," said Keane. "We aren't holding him, but I beg you to reconsider. Right now his mental wellbeing is better than I've ever seen it. The only thing remaining is for him to regain the memories that he's lost. We're so close, and you want to take him away from us?"
"Maybe he just needs a good whack in the head," offered Zeke. "Like in the movies when someone loses their memory, a good whack usually sorts it."
"You're thinking about cartoons, Zeke," Sean said. "Dr. Keane, I understand that you're hesitant, but keep in mind that Craig, Zeke, and I are family. I think being with us will help him. Not to mention that he knows just about everyone in the wrestling business."
Dr. Keane slumped into his chair, still engrossed in thought. His stern expression seemed to be softening.
"Besides, this is a way for Craig to start supporting himself again. He will be earning money and meeting old friends again."
Keane let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. "Truth be told, I've been fighting with the province for months about Tony--I mean, Craig. They think he's ready to be released, and we certainly need the room. My replacement is looking to clear as much room for new patients as possible, so he would be released sooner or later."
"At least this way, he'll have family to watch out for him."
Keane leaned back, still looking hesitant. The room was silent for a few seconds, before Zeke bolted upright, startling the other two men.
"Dudes!"
Sean looked at Zeke with a little annoyance. "What?"
"Didn't you say you were going on a sabbath-tactical or something?" he said to Dr. Keane.
"Sabbatical, yes. I've got six months off to write my thesis."
"Dude, it's obvious. Come with us! You can still do sessions with Craig, and you can be sure that he's in the right environment."
"That's actually a good idea," said Sean, unable to cover the surprise in his voice.
Keane looked interested. "It might just work. Of course, I'd insist on paying my own way."
"That's good, dude, 'cause we're flat bus--"
"What Zeke means," Sean interrupted, "is that we can split the travel costs to Alberta, as well as living expenses once we're there."
Keane nodded and made motions with his fingers, as if going over something in his head. After a minute, he said, "I'll do it!"
"Yeah!" Zeke held up his hand for a few seconds before realising he wasn't getting a return on his high-five.
"On one condition. Although legally you and Craig are within your rights to do anything, I'd ask that if I decide that the change is too much for him, if his mental condition begins to deteriorate, you agree to take him out of it."
Sean stood up and extended his hand. "I promise." With that, the two shook hands.
---
Tony was wearing the new jeans that his new friend Zeke had bought for him. Apparently, they had once been washed in acid. He was also wearing a faded blue "Saturday Night Chaos" shirt that he didn't quite understand, another gift that had invoked his friend Jared to proclaim that it was badass. He felt a different man. They had even taken him to get his hair cut, and now there was no more blonde in his hair; just the mix of brown and grey. He had shaved and packed away all of his worldly possesions into a small suitcase, and now he was ready to leave the place that had been his home for as long as he could remember.
Laura stood in front of him, staring at her feet. She absent-mindedly plucked at her hair and never once looked up.
"I've got the address for this place, and I'll write you as soon as I get there," he said. "You can send me your stories through the mail."
"They monitor the mail," she said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Let 'em," said Tony with a laugh.
Laura smiled and scuffed at an imaginary speck of dirt on the floor with her slippered foot. "Ok, Tony."
"And Dr. Keane said the new boss agreed that if I get on the TV he'd let the whole ward watch it in the TV room."
"Be careful."
"You know it," he said and leaned his head awkwardly down to get a look at her eyes. For a split-second, their eyes met, then she sunk her head even lower.
"See ya, Laura."
"Bye, Tony."
He turned and walked out toward the front doors. Along the way he passed Jared, who had watched the whole scene and gave him a thumbs up and a wink. Once outside, Sean took his suitcase and packed it carefully in the trunk of the car. Tony took a second to look up at the sun, for the first time unobscured by glass or chickenwire, before climbing into the backseat of the car.
Once there, he took the ring out of his pocket. She hadn't given it to him, but he knew it was from Laura. He had found it on the foot of his bed when he woke up this morning. A simple selection of copper wire coiled into a circle. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and admired the worksmanship.
"What's that?" asked Zeke, who was already seated beside him.
"It's a Null Ring," Tony said without a hint of cynicism. "It makes it so you don't show up on alien scanners. They can't see you, so they leave you alone."
"Heh, I could've used one of those back in '88, let me tell you."
The front doors opened and Sean slid into the driver's seat, followed by Dr. Keane who sat in the front passenger seat.
"I appreciate you giving up your seat, Zeke."
"No problemo, doc."
Sean slipped the car into gear, and they were away. Tony pocketed the ring and stared out the window at the ground moving beneath them. Cheese on toast would have to wait. Next stop, Alberta.
"This really explains a lot, boys."
Sean Lassiter and Zeke were seated on similar chairs. They were arranged in a row so that all three men had a view of the 19-inch television that was set up in Dr. Keane's office. It was currently showing unaired footage of the LWA Iron Man Memorial, in which a bloody and beaten Craig Lassiter was being helped from the ring by referee Julio Suave and an unknown security guard. Despite his torn shirt, bloody hands, and inability to stand up under his own power, Craig had a satisfied look on his face.
Keane jotted down another note in his ever-increasing file.
Zeke got up from his chair, shut off the TV, and began to disconnect his camera from it.
"When Tony came here," Keane began, but then stopped. "Sorry, I still think of him as Tony."
"Where did that name come from, anyway?" asked Sean.
"When he came here, Craig refused to tell us anything. He carried no identification, and kept insisting he was nobody. Jared, one of our orderlies, said he looked like a Tony, and Craig said that name was as good as any other.
"You see, he was a very angry soul. He had spent a few nights in jail after they picked him up for disorderly conduct. He got into an altercation in the cell, and the police brought him here." A disappointed look crossed his face. "We get a lot of people who don't really belong here, violent types mostly, which is why we have to separate them from the other patients.
"Tony spent almost a week in our solitary cell, refusing any food or water. Eventually, we had to feed him intra-veinously, but by then he was too weak to put up much of a fight. After he had calmed down to the point where he wasn't a physical danger to himself or the others, we began a therapy program. At first, it was just one-on-one with him and myself. I'd never really met someone like him. He was just so angry, but when pressed, he couldn't really explain what he was angry about.
"I asked about the major issues, his childhood, his family life, friends, and his work. Although he refused to give any details, he never really seemed to find fault with the important things, and chose to go on these extended rants about things of little or no importance."
"Like the Snorks?" asked Zeke.
"Exactly. He was convinced that Steven Tyler should be put to death for crimes against humanity, and that George Lucas became sexually aroused every time a fan of his films broke down and cried."
"Well," Sean said, "he did tend to go off a little from time to time."
"His anger was so poorly directed, I fear that most of it just ended up coming back at himself. These videos you've shown me just back up what I've seen. He was a very self-destructive human being."
"Oh yeah," said Zeke, with Sean nodding in approval.
"Wait a minute. You say, he was?" said Sean, after a second.
"Oh yes," Keane continued. "Once we got him into the group therapy sessions, and he started to listen to the others, he began to make progress right away. I think the real problems of these individuals shed light on just how petty he was being. At first, he stopped contributing to the group, and I thought he was becoming more introverted, but then he began giving constructive feedback to the others. He began to help people."
"What?" said Zeke.
"Yes, he thrived on it. After a while, he was basically running the therapy sessions himself. I don't mind saying, he made more progress with some of the more difficult patients than I ever could have. He spoke honestly, and they really listened to what he had to say."
"You sure this is the right guy? Sean, show him the picture again."
Sean hushed Zeke with a finger, and indicated that Dr. Keane should continue.
"He's a changed man gentlemen. He's not the same man who was carried into this building in his underwear, spitting and screaming about how a longsword's d12 damage versus large-sized creatures is unbalanced. He's no longer angry."
"So, why's he still in the nuthouse... I mean, mental institution?" Zeke said.
"Because he likes it here. I would have no problem releasing him, but I was under the impression that he had no family and no means of supporting himself."
"Can we see him now?" Sean asked.
"Yes, of course. You understand, I wanted to explain all this to you before you saw him, so you had some idea what to expect. I'd like to remind you though, that he has been through an awful lot, and he may not be ready for his past to come flooding back into his life. I only ask that you take it easy on him."
"I understand."
"Good. Let's go see Tony."
---
Cheese on toast. That was a good one. Mrs. Miggins would always put some of that funny-sounding brown sauce from England on his, just the way he liked it. That was Thursday. It was only Monday today. He counted out the days on his fingers. He wasn't sure he could wait, but today's spaghetti and garlic bread would be a nice consolation prize. He briefly wondered if that English sauce could be put on spaghetti as well.
Tony stood in front of the weekly cafeteria schedule board in pyjamas and his bathrobe. He pulled a small ringed notepad out of the pocked and made a note that read, "Speak to Mrs. Miggins re: English sauce on spaghetti." Spaghetti took him three tries, but he was sure he had it spelled correctly on the last one. That made him smile.
Without turning his head, Tony shifted two steps to the right. He did so because Darren was walking up on his left, and he knew that Darren didn't like to be looked at, and also didn't like anyone standing too close to him.
"Hey, Darren."
"Oh," said Darren, in a faint-as-a-whisper voice, "hi Tony."
"Spaghetti today, hey?
Darrent just grunted in the affirmative, studied the board for himself just to be sure, then shuffled off in the direction he had come. That brief encounter would be Darren's most in-depth conversation of the week.
"Yep, spaghetti," Tony said to himself. "Hey, Rob." Tony turned to face the large orderly as he approached.
"Dr. Keane wants to see you in his office Tony. Sounds important."
"Sure thing, Rob. I'm on my way." Tony slipped the notebook back into the pocket of his robe. "Hey, Rob?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you know about that English sauce with the funny name?"
---
This was awkward. There hadn't been anything said since, "hi, my name is Tony." Now the three of them sat on their plastic chairs in a triangle, facing each other. Zeke looked disheartened, Sean looked hesitant, and Tony looked contented. Dr. Keane was in the corner of the room, watching intently and taking notes.
"Dude, it's me!" Zeke said, finally. Sean elbowed him in the ribs and took the lead.
"Do you know who I am?" Sean said, a little slower than was necessary.
"No," said Tony, content in his ignorance.
"I'm Sean Lassiter."
"Wow, that's a nice name. Like the dog, right?"
"Not exactly. It's spelled slightly differently."
"That's important. Spelling is the best way to tell the difference between words. Course, some words spell the same but mean two totally different things. That can get tricky."
"Tricky?" Zeke whispered.
"And this is Zeke," Sean said, pointing a finger at the man.
"Hi, Zeke." Tony waved, and Zeke waved back with a weak smile.
"Well," Sean continued, "my father is Johnny Lassiter. Do you know who he is?"
"Nope. He sounds like a cowboy."
"He's your brother."
"Really?" Tony's eyes beamed. "Man, I always wanted a brother. That's cool."
"And that means, that I'm your nephew."
"Hang on a minute here. If you're my nephew..." Tony pulled out his notepad and began to write in it. "Then, I must be your uncle!"
"Exactly," Sean said.
"Hey, Dr. Keane."
"Yes, Tony?"
"I'm an uncle!"
"Yes, I heard, Tony. How do you feel about that?"
Tony thought for a second. "Pretty good, I guess. I never had a nephew before."
"And did you know," Sean started, being very careful with his words, "that your last name is Lassiter too?"
"Hang on, I better write this down. It sounds important. Last. Name. How do you spell that?"
Sean spelled it out for him, and Tony copied down each letter as he sounded them out.
"And that your real first name isn't actually Tony. It's Craig."
This one didn't go down so well. Tony looked at Sean, and scratched at the stubble on his chin with one fingernail. "Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
"See," Tony began, "I'm not saying you're not right, because you seem like a real smart guy. But, the thing is... well, all my friends call me Tony."
"Can't argue with that logic," said Zeke, getting up from his chair and heading toward the window.
"Ok, but before you came here, your friends called you Craig."
"I had friends?"
"Sure. I was your friend, and so was Zeke here. And... um, there were others. Do you... um, remember before you came here?"
"Not really. Dr. Keane says I'm probably repressing memories, but I like to think I've been reborn."
"Yeah, he's a regular Shirley Mclain," Zeke mumbled. "Hey doc, is it ok if I smoke in here?"
"I'd really rather you didn't."
Zeke returned the crumpled cigarette packet to his pocket and just stared out the lone window of the office.
"Ok," said Sean. "I've got just one more question." He leaned in towards Tony. "Have you ever watched wrestling?"
---
"Absolutely out of the question." Dr. Keane paced back and forth behind his desk. "You simply cannot take a person as fragile as Tony and put him in that kind of environment."
"I know it sounds crazy," explained Sean, "but Zeke and I will be with him at all times."
"You heard him yourself, doc." Zeke was slumped up against the wall of Keane's office. "He said he thought it would be neat to be a pro wrestler."
"Tony thinks a lot of things are neat." Keane retorted.
"Dude, I don't mean to be a dick, but didn't you say he's free to leave whenever he wants?"
"Of course," said Keane. "We aren't holding him, but I beg you to reconsider. Right now his mental wellbeing is better than I've ever seen it. The only thing remaining is for him to regain the memories that he's lost. We're so close, and you want to take him away from us?"
"Maybe he just needs a good whack in the head," offered Zeke. "Like in the movies when someone loses their memory, a good whack usually sorts it."
"You're thinking about cartoons, Zeke," Sean said. "Dr. Keane, I understand that you're hesitant, but keep in mind that Craig, Zeke, and I are family. I think being with us will help him. Not to mention that he knows just about everyone in the wrestling business."
Dr. Keane slumped into his chair, still engrossed in thought. His stern expression seemed to be softening.
"Besides, this is a way for Craig to start supporting himself again. He will be earning money and meeting old friends again."
Keane let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. "Truth be told, I've been fighting with the province for months about Tony--I mean, Craig. They think he's ready to be released, and we certainly need the room. My replacement is looking to clear as much room for new patients as possible, so he would be released sooner or later."
"At least this way, he'll have family to watch out for him."
Keane leaned back, still looking hesitant. The room was silent for a few seconds, before Zeke bolted upright, startling the other two men.
"Dudes!"
Sean looked at Zeke with a little annoyance. "What?"
"Didn't you say you were going on a sabbath-tactical or something?" he said to Dr. Keane.
"Sabbatical, yes. I've got six months off to write my thesis."
"Dude, it's obvious. Come with us! You can still do sessions with Craig, and you can be sure that he's in the right environment."
"That's actually a good idea," said Sean, unable to cover the surprise in his voice.
Keane looked interested. "It might just work. Of course, I'd insist on paying my own way."
"That's good, dude, 'cause we're flat bus--"
"What Zeke means," Sean interrupted, "is that we can split the travel costs to Alberta, as well as living expenses once we're there."
Keane nodded and made motions with his fingers, as if going over something in his head. After a minute, he said, "I'll do it!"
"Yeah!" Zeke held up his hand for a few seconds before realising he wasn't getting a return on his high-five.
"On one condition. Although legally you and Craig are within your rights to do anything, I'd ask that if I decide that the change is too much for him, if his mental condition begins to deteriorate, you agree to take him out of it."
Sean stood up and extended his hand. "I promise." With that, the two shook hands.
---
Tony was wearing the new jeans that his new friend Zeke had bought for him. Apparently, they had once been washed in acid. He was also wearing a faded blue "Saturday Night Chaos" shirt that he didn't quite understand, another gift that had invoked his friend Jared to proclaim that it was badass. He felt a different man. They had even taken him to get his hair cut, and now there was no more blonde in his hair; just the mix of brown and grey. He had shaved and packed away all of his worldly possesions into a small suitcase, and now he was ready to leave the place that had been his home for as long as he could remember.
Laura stood in front of him, staring at her feet. She absent-mindedly plucked at her hair and never once looked up.
"I've got the address for this place, and I'll write you as soon as I get there," he said. "You can send me your stories through the mail."
"They monitor the mail," she said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Let 'em," said Tony with a laugh.
Laura smiled and scuffed at an imaginary speck of dirt on the floor with her slippered foot. "Ok, Tony."
"And Dr. Keane said the new boss agreed that if I get on the TV he'd let the whole ward watch it in the TV room."
"Be careful."
"You know it," he said and leaned his head awkwardly down to get a look at her eyes. For a split-second, their eyes met, then she sunk her head even lower.
"See ya, Laura."
"Bye, Tony."
He turned and walked out toward the front doors. Along the way he passed Jared, who had watched the whole scene and gave him a thumbs up and a wink. Once outside, Sean took his suitcase and packed it carefully in the trunk of the car. Tony took a second to look up at the sun, for the first time unobscured by glass or chickenwire, before climbing into the backseat of the car.
Once there, he took the ring out of his pocket. She hadn't given it to him, but he knew it was from Laura. He had found it on the foot of his bed when he woke up this morning. A simple selection of copper wire coiled into a circle. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and admired the worksmanship.
"What's that?" asked Zeke, who was already seated beside him.
"It's a Null Ring," Tony said without a hint of cynicism. "It makes it so you don't show up on alien scanners. They can't see you, so they leave you alone."
"Heh, I could've used one of those back in '88, let me tell you."
The front doors opened and Sean slid into the driver's seat, followed by Dr. Keane who sat in the front passenger seat.
"I appreciate you giving up your seat, Zeke."
"No problemo, doc."
Sean slipped the car into gear, and they were away. Tony pocketed the ring and stared out the window at the ground moving beneath them. Cheese on toast would have to wait. Next stop, Alberta.