What Lies Beneath the Skin

Chapter One:

I Walk on Roads Paved with Broken Glass

Hayden

In the distance, lights from a blinking bus station beckoned me forward, their stagnant buzz filling the silence of the near abandoned road I limped down. The dust-coated sidewalks were a mix of sand and flash-flooding, making a cement-like mixture clog the sewer grates every few feet or so. I found myself kicking the thick substance off my abused sneakers more often than planned or scraping it away on the edge of lawns I’d passed. I forced myself forward until my legs could no longer move, and then some, at a chance of escaping that god forsaken town once and for all. I took the local bus as far as it would go, then trekked the remainder of the trip on a busted ankle, so desperate to see the lights of that rundown bus terminal that I would have crawled.

The bus itself was as decrepit as the stop it idly waited at; though the stop was in Pittsburgh, it was on the outskirts of the city, and less frequented by regular travelers. It was so neglected that only one of the five overhead lights weakly buzzed, and the vending machine hadn’t been restocked in God knows how long. The benches were plastered with wet newspapers from the steady drizzle that consumed the city over the last few days. I was careful to not slip in the numerous puddles as I rushed to catch a place in line.

The driver was no more than fifty, with a bristle-broom-like mustache that covered most of his upper lip. He kept his head low so he could monitor each ticket that was punched into the reader, to ensure he didn’t miss a single beat or penny. When it came my time to board, I stiffly pulled a fifty from my coat pocket and held it forward. He looked at the bill with wide eyes of disapproval, then scoffed and brushed his finger over the mustache rapidly. “You get tickets from the station, and the station just ran last call.”

“I need to leave, tonight. I don’t care where we’re going, I just need to leave.”

He looked at me over the bridge of his glasses and huffed loudly, “So do these people, hence why they got here earli-…” I brought my gaze up so that our eyes were interlocked. The expression I held clearly said what I could not physically convey; I was in trouble, and whether he liked it or not, I was not getting off that bus. The driver swallowed harshly, and begrudgingly took the fifty to slide into his coat pocket. “You sit behind my seat, and if you cause trouble, you’re off. I’m not in the mood for any nonsense tonight, kid.”

“Understood. Thank you, sir.” I pulled the transfer he procured out of his hand, nodded once, then slid into the seat directly behind his. He could see me fully in the large mirror this way and grumbled to himself a few times before pulling the doors closed. The bus squealed heavily as the driver pumped the brakes three times, and after he made a few bland announcements through the overhead speakers, we finally were on our way.

The bus had five passengers, not surprising with how small the station it left from was, but nonetheless an agreeable crowd. One set was a woman and her daughter, who were excitedly discussing their upcoming check in to a local resort with a stunning in-ground pool. They were a bit noisy, but easy to drown out. An elderly man, maybe sixty-five or so, had his legs crossed as he read the local paper. He kept sandwiching chewing tobacco in between already yellowed teeth, and made a few glances at the other passengers, but mostly kept to himself.

The final passenger was another woman who was dead asleep in the back, curled up on the seat she had obviously made herself at home in. Her belongings were stacked on the two seats in front of hers, and she was tucked under a throw blanket with a popular horror movie stitched into it. She looked to be a college student who’d taken this trip quite a few times.

The bus lights dimmed now that we were moving to try and convince passengers to rest for most of this long night drive. I didn’t exactly know where we were going, but I knew that the digital clock above me said we had sixteen hours to go. It acted as a steady countdown for passengers who intended to sleep, as they knew when to set their alarm depending on how far into the trip we were. I grimaced at the countdown; sixteen hours was definitely not far enough for me, but for now, it would have to do the job.

My phone wheezed its last breath hours ago, so seeing a grey wire sticking out of the compartment against my knees was a welcomed surprise. I carefully, to not piss off the driver, plugged the component into my dusty and cracked phone, then set it on the opposite seat to continue charging. When it was done, I would finally be able to listen to music again, and hopefully drown out some obsessive thoughts that were beginning to be too much.

The glass of the window my temple fell onto was bitterly cold from the air conditioning, but it cooled the sweat pouring down my cheeks. I didn’t realize how strenuous my walk to the station had been until I was actually seated. My legs held an agonizing ache that made me want to rip the bones out, and my feet throbbed from the hot asphalt that had worn the bottom of my sneakers beyond repair. I desperately needed something to eat, drink, anything, but all other thoughts beyond sleep were drowned out the moment the driver turned the air up.

╪

A crinkling wrapper and a soft hit to my right knee jolted me awake. My eyes abruptly snapped open as if I’d never slept at all, and when I looked up to see who had kicked me, a bag of fast food was being held in my direction. The driver was the culprit and leaned against his seat with a somewhat friendly smile compared to our earlier interaction. “We’ve stopped three times, and you haven’t hopped off once. You should probably eat something; I’m not gonna kick you off after we’ve gone this far.”

My vision was slightly blurry from being so tired, so it took me a second to fully recognize the logo on the bag he offered, “I… really, it’s…?”

“Just take it, kid. The ticket was only thirty-seven bucks, so I owe you some change.”

“T-Thank you…” I stiffly accepted the bag, and once the hot food hit my lap, my stomach growled loud enough for him to hear. He lifted a bushy eyebrow at that and set a soda into the cup holder beside me before sitting down with his own bag. I pulled a chicken sandwich loose and slid the wrapping back carefully, and when my teeth sunk into the bun, a tear physically slid down my cheek. The driver saw this but decided to not comment for both our sake.

We ate in silence for a few minutes before he cleared his throat and took a swig of soda. “So, you got a name, kid?” He attempted casually as he plucked pickles off his burger.

I shrugged delicately, “No, not really.” I lied, as I didn’t want anyone associated with Pennsylvania to know who I was. I realized this was a pretty odd response; I should have faked a name, something to keep him off my back, but didn’t think of that until after I answered.

“No? Who doesn’t have a name?” He questioned with a raised eyebrow. My grimace made him shrink back a little, and he clear his throat again, “Alright, not my place to judge. I’m sure you have your reasons for being reserved. You know where you’re headed at least?”

I bent a fry carefully and watched the oil ooze from the mush as I pressed it between my fingertips. “Away, far away. That’s the best I got.”

“I see. I’ve met quite a few of your type, but usually, they’re strung out on coke or covered in bruises. Which one are you?” A small scoff slid through my lips as I pulled the collar of my sweatshirt back. The driver exhaled deeply and shook his head as I tucked my hood back into place. “Hmm, I figured. So, you got some dark stuff you’re running from. Shouldn’t you have an idea what your next step is? You ain’t gonna get far without a plan, or a name, for that matter. Gotta be something we can do for you.”

“I appreciate your offer, but you’ve done enough. I’ll sort myself out when we get there.”

The driver ran his fingertips through his beard, obviously frustrated with my blunt responses, before crumbling his sandwich wrapper up. He tossed it perfectly into the trash can, then laid back in the seat to fold his hands over his stomach. He waited for me to finish eating before speaking again, though his eyes constantly hovered over the hunched ball I was in. “Connecticut; that’s where you’re going. New Haven to be exact. Figured you’d wanna know.”

“It, helps.” I offered awkwardly.

He laughed hardily and kicked his legs up on the opposite seat, “I think I like you. My name’s Jack, by the way. Some of us call ourselves something on this bus.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, “Jack, ok. It’s nice to meet you.”

“We’ve got a long trip, and I tend to check in with my passengers when we’re together this long. Harold in the back is a regular, as is Jen. Harold goes to get treatments once a month, and Jen is moving into her own place up there, finally; she goes to Yale, and her parents are damn proud of her for it. The mom and daughter are just breezing through. Then there’s you, little blackbird. What am I to do with you?” He waited for a reaction from me, but I had none to provide, so he continued. “You know your age at least?”

“Eighteen...” I offered while fidgeting with my shirt, biting the hard end of my sweatshirt string to keep my mouth occupied. I didn’t need it running away without me.

“Huh, ok, that’s a start. Well, mister eighteen, where’d you grew up?”

“I know where I don’t want to be. That’s enough to go by.” My tone shrunk to a dangerous level, serving as a warning for him to lay off. His questions were growing way too personal for what I had the ability, or want, to answer.

His tone softened, and he dropped his legs to turn to me with a blank yet serious expression. “I’m pressing, I get it. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and it’s none of my business. I just… I don’t know. I get this vibe from you.”

“A vibe?” I questioned standoffishly.

Jack crumpled our remaining wrappers and stuffed them into the foldable trash bin he had attached to his seat, but when he retracted back, he had a thin business card in his hand. “You're trying to play tough, but really, you're screaming for someone to help. Your situation isn’t exactly a normal ‘run away’ situation. I’ve had one or two of you before, believe it or not, so I can pick you out of a crowd well. No sense of direction, no luggage… you’re not exactly someone with a plan, right?” He placed the card on my battered phone, “That lady there, she’s good people. She’ll keep you somewhere safe while you sort things out.”

My hands were shaking within my sweatshirt pocket, but I managed to steady one long enough to take the card and peer over the writing. “I don’t think anyone can help me.” I whispered, pressing the card back into the seat.

Jack laid a hand on my shoulder, a firm one, but reassuring, that made me meet his sharp gaze. His eyes were full of honesty, trust, and above all, compassion. “You haven’t met Rachel. Give her a chance, and tell her Jack sent you her way. You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I promise.” He waited until I picked the card back up and slid it into my jean pocket to pat my back twice and move back to his seat. He paused before starting the bus up again, and smirked playfully in the mirror, “By the way, your name is Hayden.”

“Hayden?” I mumbled wearily.

“My grandson’s name. He was killed a few years back, and I’d like to see his legacy live on. You seem like someone I can trust with it, so take the name far and make good use of it.”

“I… I will.” I whispered, pulling my legs up on the seat to hide my blush in them.

╪

The station Jack dropped us at was all but abandoned, just as the one he had collected us from was. The benches were decaying beyond their years, and only a few homeless people and an elderly couple occupied the space. Jack stuffed the money I gave him back into my backpack pocket while I slept the night before, and I didn’t find this out until the bus was already leaving, coasting back down Kenzington Boulevard. The license plate gleamed under the midday sun and left me with a somber sadness as I watched it slowly disappear. I hoped Jack would have a good life, that maybe I’d see him again one day, and his kindness would be returned double fold.

The weather was calm, a little too calm, but I welcomed it. My back and legs were still incredibly sore from my walk, so even the decaying benches felt nice while I figured out my next steps. The business card from Jack burned in my pocket like a scolding lump of coal, yet each time I tried to reach for it, I coiled back immediately. I didn’t want to go to some homeless shelter and spend the rest of my days hiding under a cot with my backpack clutched to me, and feared that was exactly where’d I end up.

The card was nothing fancy; it simply had three lines of information etched in gold lettering on a plain, white background; Rachel Cromwell, 203-802-9842, 287 Summit Avenue, Eastern Lodgings. The name Eastern Lodgings didn’t give me nearly enough confidence to pursue this avenue, since I couldn’t tell what exactly the business was. I felt, at this point, my only option was to find my own footing, as I originally planned, so I left the card on a broken newspaper machine.

A coffee shop was situated on the corner, just a locally owned hole-in-the-wall joint, but one that had empty tables. The barista was polite enough when I ordered a black coffee and breakfast sandwich and set them on my table within ten minutes of ordering. I made sure to leave a five-dollar bill in her tip jar for the sweet smile she shared with me. This was probably the last thing someone on a tight budget should do, but I wanted to make sure I kept karma on my good side as I sorted myself out and figured this would be a good place to start.

The coffee was bitter, a bit too bitter, but still made my veins tingle in delight when it raced through my body. I wasn’t allowed caffeine back home, and this rebellious act made a grin twitch up the sides of my cheeks. “Ok, Mat-… Hayden… What do we do now?” I breathed to myself as I laid my head down on the table and exhaled loudly. I was able to relax like this for a full two minutes before my phone, now that it was charged again, began to play a theme song to my favorite anime. An icon for missed calls followed, and when I flipped the phone over, I shivered in horror.

47 Missed Calls from: Claire (Mother)

17 Missed Calls from: Liam

My throat tightened as I realized I still had find my phone active. Thankfully, since I had turned off my mobile data, the last location it gave off was on May twenty-first, when I was still home two days ago. I planned to dump the phone altogether as soon as possible, so nothing would potentially give away my new location. I made sure to turn the feature off and block their numbers before setting the phone down so I could stare at the numerous voicemails. Curiosity won, and after I plugged my ancient headphones into the jack, I hit play on the last one Liam sent me. It was from midnight the night before.

His tone was low and harsh, and raspy as if he’d been screaming. In the background, I could hear my mother’s frail voice pleading with him, but couldn’t make out the words exactly. “If you think this is a fucking game, Matthew, you are surely mistaken. You better have your ass back in this house by the morning, or so help me God, I will make sure you never leave it again when I find you. Do not make me come after for you.” Mom yelled something along the lines of ‘don’t say anything that would make things worse’ before the voicemail ended abruptly.

I ripped my headphone out and slammed the phone face down on my placemat, loud enough that it caught the barista’s attention. I forced a trembling smile at her so she would go back to cleaning dishes, but once she had her back turned, I slid a hand over my mouth and swallowed back an encroaching sob. God, I was really screwed this time. The amount of voicemails the two left me were more than overwhelming, and made my chest tightened until it was nearly impossible to breathe. I simply needed to escape reality for a while, and if I didn’t find a place to shower and sleep everything off, I was going to spiral.

The placemats had an assortment of local businesses plastered across it, and one that caught my eye happened to be a slightly run-down hotel, Eastern Lodgings, that was just a town over. My GPS confirmed it would be a quick fifteen minute ride, and the next bus would be here shortly. The nightly rates were affordable for my tight budget, and if anything, a place to lay down for a few hours. The address and name looked familiar for some reason, and after a moment, I realized it belonged to the woman on Jack’s card. Knowing the building was a hotel made me less reluctant to check it out, so I swallowed my pride and sauntered down the block with a scowl.

Before I left the coffee shop, I typed the owner’s name into a basic online search, and jumped in surprise when dozens of results popped up. Her name and picture were plastered over much of Hamden’s community pages, the town her hotel was in, mainly for her humanitarian work. She’d been the face of many charitable events through well-known non-profits, and was in the process of starting her own organization called Beyond Survival. The website was pretty lackluster, but had raving reviews and recounts of stories from others who’d reached out to her. These reviews were mainly from her time working for other organizations, but still, were hard to ignore. I was still very reluctant to pursue this avenue, but planned to not bring up my current situation so I could be left alone until I made any further decisions.

The local bus came fairly quickly, and after an awkward ride sandwiched between two very talkative bums, I was only a few blocks from my destination. On the way to the hotel I found a convenience store, where twenty dollars got me a working charger, two bottles of diet soda, some fruit pies, and a six pack of instant noodles. I could survive on this for a week if need be, and was happy that the clerk was half asleep and didn’t see me shove extra candy into my pocket. My cache fit well in what little space was left in my bag, though when I walked the plastic crinkled enough that I was ready to tear my hair out.

I passed numerous businesses as I made my way down the thankfully even sidewalk, that had an older charm I found mesmerizing. Many of the stores were family-owned, with actual families occupying the spaces as they enjoyed their carefree Sunday. Every time I looked towards the windows at them, though, I inadvertently caught a glimpse of the current state I was in, and that made me turn away in shame. It was obvious, now, why Jack had been so concerned about me; my clothes were still damp from walking in the rain, my hair stuck to the sides of my face from sweat, and the bags under my eyes matched the bruises creeping out from under my clothes. I looked no different from the bums I’d silently judged on the way to the hotel, and wished I had a chance to clean myself up before arriving, but it was too late now.

The hotel had a single bell above an old screen door, which clanged four times when I wrenched the forsaken thing open. Gnats swarmed around the holes in the screen, birthed by the rapidly approaching and agonizingly humid summer air, hungry for anything they could get their grubby mouths on. They followed me down the long hallway in search of the snacks in my bag, determined like none other to win the fight. I frequently smacked them between my palms, then wiped the evidence on some lace curtains no one seemed to touch since the nineteen-fifties.

The conference rooms to my left were full of building material, ripped up floorboards, and other assortments of construction material. It was obvious that someone was working on, at the very least, cosmetic changes to the hotel, and their blueprints were scattered across the surface of a folding party table. I was slightly curious about what the owners planned to do with the old place but realized that should be the last of my concerns at the moment.

The end of the hall opened to a sitting room, where a girl was lounging on a dilapidated couch. She had short legs with white socks pulled up to the knee, a lip ring that her gum got stuck in when she popped it loudly, and eyes ringed with black eyeliner to give her some edge. Her wavy chin length hair was dyed pastel pink, and pulled into a half up half down with a black ribbon. A copy of People kept her occupied, though when she heard my sneakers shuffling across the carpet, she raised a pierced eyebrow and peered over her magazine at me.

“Oh, a customer,” she slapped the magazine down and jumped up enthusiastically, “Hey Ma…! We got one…!” She bellowed down the hall before rushing behind a creaking mahogany countertop. I set my bag down carefully; she hit the bell, which made a powerful ring fill the empty lounge, before laughing at herself. “Looking for a room tonight?” She sang with a delighted smile, completely oblivious to the wrecked state I was in.

I glanced at the black chalkboard above her head and peered over the prices, thankful they accepted cash payment. “Weeks’ worth, for now. Maybe less, maybe more…”

“A week? Certainly seems like we’ll get to know one another well,” a woman with long auburn hair, a cool, deep voice, and high cheekbones came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked me up and down sternly before nodding to herself, almost in relief. “Paige, give him three-o-seven, and knock it to thirty a night.”

“Y-You don’t have to…!?” I exclaimed, my voice raising considerably with panic.

“You got it, Ma!” Paige ignored my plea and automatically started punching information into her brick computer system, humming something to herself as she did this. I uncomfortably clutched my left arm and warily eyed the woman in the kitchen doorway, who watched my every move with a somewhat loving smile. I had the feeling that continuing to argue would get me nowhere, so I pressed my lips together and attempted to behave.

Paige finished setting up the room before holding her hand out for identification and payment. I went to turn for my wallet, but the woman smacked her hand down on Paige’s forearm. “Just put Hayden as his guest name for now. I’ll deal with the rest.” She firmly stated.

“How did you know…?” I began to mumble, gripping my backpack tightly, protectively.

She winked slyly, “A friend told me you’d stop by.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond; Paige stuck two keycards into a white packet and handed me the bundle. “Enjoy your stay, sir! We bring fresh towels every morning at ten, and breakfast is between six and ten, on the house.”

“I… I…?” I could only weakly stammer in return.

“I’ll show you to your room.” The woman took my arm gently, but sternly, and guided me towards the staircase that went up the opposite wall back in the hallway. Paige waved at us with an unfazed, grand smile, but soon she was back on the couch, popping gum and laughing at the newly divorced couple on the cover of her magazine.