Other Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Memory Machine ❯ The Van ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter 3-The Van

 

Laura walked right out of downtown and into the residential sections of Lawrence, for she loved nothing more than to see children at play, for it reminded her of her child life…the good old days where she would laugh and play. Fortunately, thanks to Jorgen, her shyness and memory of her brother's dying moment were gone. Yet, she still felt some depression, for she remembered him in particular. Of, course she would never discard of her memories of him. Too much happiness.

Heading to Prad Parry Park, Laura saw monkey bars and remembered when her brother had helped her play on them and taught her how to keep a steady grip on the bar when playing on them. She remembered falling several times, and remembered wanting to simply give up. When she said this, however, her brother had nearly popped a blood vessel. He said that without perseverance and the strength to endure pain, then progress is only a dream. He had then calmed down and helped her play. Laura didn't know it then, but that would be advice that would help her a lot in life.

And yet…it wasn't enough for her not to commit a felony. Sitting down on a bench, Laura wondered silently to herself if that her brother were still alive, if he would be ashamed that not only had Laura had been a coward and taken the easy way out, but also had committed a felony while doing so. Obviously, he would be deeply ashamed, and it would be hard for even him to forgive Laura. `What have I done?' Laura thought to herself, bringing her hands to her mouth.

It was then that Laura noticed the van: It was a large, white, beat-up van parked at the bottom of the hill leading up to the park. It appeared to be a…2053 model. About twenty-seven years old. No one drove those anymore. What's worse, it was creepy on several levels.

Laura never knew why, but something in her told her to talk to the man driving the van. Walking down the hill path, she went up to the driver's side window and tapped on the window. Nothing happened. Laura put her ear to the window, and heard snoring.

Curling her hand into a fist, she rapped on the window, harder this time. She heard an abrupt, “Huh?!” followed by the sound of a button being pressed. The window rolled down to reveal a twenty or so man with a cigarette in his mouth and a lighter in his hand. He had shaking, blue eyes, and messed up, blond hair. His clothing, however, was invisible behind the door.

Leaning his head out of the window, he said to Laura, “What the hell do you wa—well, hello, little lady.” His mood changed surprisingly quickly. “Need a favor?” Laura noticed a thick southern accent the second time he spoke.

“Uh…no,” Laura replied. “I just wanna know what you're doing parked—with a VAN, for christ's sake—in front of a playground?”

“Huh?” the man replied. He then looked over, then turned to Laura and said, “Yeah, sorry—been traveling all night. Needed sleep. Had nowhere to go but here. It was the only parking lot I could find.”

“Hy-vee is right down the street. Why not there?”

“Look, missy,” the man said, stepping out of his van, “I tried sleeping there, in the parking lot for Blockbuster, the street—don't matter where. A cop always pulls up and threatens to sue my ass if I don't get. That, my friend, is the life of a nomad. So just walk away, don't give a damn, and pretend this never happened. `Kay?”

Laura stood still for a second, observing the man, and then said, “Fine. I will once you show me the contents of the van. `Kay?” She said the last word sarcastically, as if to mock the man.

The man's face went pallid; the cigarette almost dropped out of his mouth from worry. He looked at the van, then at Laura, then tried to talk, but only croaked.

“What's wrong?” Laura asked. “You got something bad in there?”

The man continued to stand there, then looked into Laura's eyes. His face then restored to its original color, and he smiled. “Yeah, but I can show it to ya, now that I know you can't report me without being caught yourself.” Laura felt puzzled. What was he talking about?

“Follow me,” the man said, signaling to the back of the van. Laura hesitated for a moment, then—once again, she didn't know why—followed him to the back of the van.

Once they were both back there, the man pulled out a key ring and searched through various keys for a minute or two, then inserted one of the keys into the lock. He then took a deep breath and yanked open the doors. When Laura saw what was in there, she felt her heart skip a beat.

It was a “Memory Machine,” she was positive. It was more beaten up then Jorgen's “Memory Machine,” but it was still easy to tell what it was. However, this model didn't have “Memory Machine printed on the side. There were also boxes to the side of it that Laura guessed had medications for the symptoms of the machine. In the back, there was a desk that looked like something you'd find in a war room, with all kinds of different papers scattered atop it.

However, it was none of these items that terrified Laura; there was dried blood splattered on the walls and in the chair. It had to have been there for several years.

Laura felt her breathing intensify a million. The man saw her breathing tense up and sighed. “You think its scary now,” he said, “you should have seen how horrible it was the night she jolted. Symptoms caught up to her almost instantly; killed her on the spot.”

Laura couldn't hold it in much longer. Turning, she keeled over and puked all over the ground. The man, instead of trying to help her, simply waited until she was done. Then, when she was done, Laura said, “Sorry. I'm hemaphobic, but…” she paused for a minute, then turned to the man and said, “What the hell did you do? Whose blood is that?”

The man stood erect for a minute, and then said, “My sister's. It's her blood from the night she jolted.”