past couldn't follow me. I had also taken to reading a lot of Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey, and I envied the independent lifestyle and freedom of the cowboy. I longed to get away from the squeeze of too many people, to become invisible. And I became aware like never before of how intrusive the government can be, groping through our private lives and personal decisions. Things were heading in the wrong direction, getting to the point where people were going to be so micromanaged they wouldn’t even be able to breathe without a politician’s blessing. I could envision the day I'd be told how much sugar I could put in my tea or taxed for taking a piss!”
He shook his head ruefully and went to the stove for another cup of coffee.
“More?” he asked her, pot in hand. She declined.
Sitting back down, Lance continued, “I guess the final straw was the trip to the computer store. That was the day I stopped hiding the truth from myself. It was the day I made the decision to really leave and started actively planning my move.”
Brook cocked an eyebrow, fascinated and wanting to know more. She had never heard anyone talk this way. His dark eyes flashed as he delved into his recollection.
“I realized at that point that I not only wanted out, I needed out. Out of society, out of my life, out of my world.' He gazed into the past. 'I had gone to buy a laptop. I don’t know if the clerk was just trying to impress me with what he could do, or if he wanted to sell me some kind of snooping program, but, Brooklyn, he just knew so much about me it made my blood run cold.” Lance’s mouth was set in a firm line.
“What do you mean?” she asked, brow furrowed. “What did he know?”
“Well, I was going to buy the thing on credit, so maybe he got all this from a credit report. I don’t know. But he knew where I lived and worked. That’s not so amazing. But then he told me he could tell the types of books I was interested in. He knew I had recently purchased some fishing equipment. He knew my mother’s maiden name. He even knew where I'd gone to high school and which restaurants were my favorites. And then…he gave his condolences on my recent loss. He knew about Ellen. It was chilling. I walked out of that store and never went back.”
“I know a lot of our lives are a matter of public record,” Brook said. “And I guess I knew that most information is available to people who know where to look. I just never thought about it before, but you’re right. It’s spooky.”
“It is. And if a store clerk could pull up that much info, you know the government has even greater access to our personal information,” Lance said. “I hated that. Not that I was doing anything wrong. It was just the idea of it. It seemed like the days are gone when a man could just set out for parts unknown and start a new life, like back in the old days. Maybe I was born in the wrong century or something, but it seemed at the time like freedom was becoming a rare commodity.”
“In a way, I guess it is.” Brook shivered involuntarily. “So, then what? What did you do next?”
“I sold my house.” Lance gave her a quick grin. “Ellen and I had made some improvements and I cleared quite a bit more than I owed. I moved in with my folks temporarily and gave notice at work; told them a lie about taking a job out of state. I discouraged all inquiries from well-meaning friends and co-workers.” He recalled how the lying had made him uncomfortable, but he was fiercely protective of his plan.
“Ellen had been right when she said I was selfish. My family doesn’t even know where I am. My parents tried so hard to understand when I told them I was leaving. My little brother, Dave, had just joined the service and now I was going, too. It was hard on my folks. But still, I left. I pursued my own path without regard for the feelings of others. So, I admit I am a self-centered man in many ways. I am hopelessly flawed.” He was teasing, but only partly.
“They must be frantic, Lance,” Brook said gently.
“No, no.” Lance rubbed a spot on the table with his finger. “They don't know exactly where I live, but I call them regularly and let them know I’m alright. Plus, I have a box in Haylieville. We write, and I send them pictures. My dad was amazed at the fireplace. I don’t think he really believes I built it. Anyway, they know I’m okay. But they can't accept or understand why I changed my name.”
“Why
“I was sick of people knowing so much about me. At least, that’s what I told myself at the time,” he answered. “I wanted a completely fresh start. And, I was grieving so hard, it was an effort just to breathe. I also was struggling with a bit of remorse for the way I had handled Ellen’s last days, you know, refusing to honor her wishes and all that. Which, by the way, I still don’t agree with. But, all that aside, I knew I had done things that she wouldn’t like in trying to keep her with me and refusing to accept her condition. I felt bad about it, but nothing I could do would change it. So, I decided to bury Sullivan Proctor, in a sense.” He looked upward as he pulled the old memories up in his mind.
“On the last day of work, a half-hearted going away party kept me at the office longer than I wanted. I was itching to get my most recent acquisitions out to the cabin. I had cashed in my retirement, and I collected a check for all my vacation and sick pay. I still needed to clean out my personal savings and checking accounts, and I knew when I did, I would be disappearing with a tidy sum. I had the money from selling the house and the insurance money from Ellen’s death. And I wasn’t finished yet. I still planned to max out my credit cards; and my faithful monthly payments on Ellen’s medical bills would mysteriously stop. It still rankled every time I wrote checks to the hospital and that arrogant ass of a doctor who had killed Ellen. I’m telling you, Brooklyn, I just smiled with satisfaction at the thought that those butchers had gotten the last penny they would ever receive from me. Let them just try and track me down!”
“So you ran up a bunch of debt on your cards before you left?” Brook asked, not even trying to hide her surprise and disappointment.
“No, in the end I couldn’t do it. All the further I got was thinking about doing it. I’m a victim of my upbringing, I guess. My conscience interfered and I ended up paying all my bills and closing out the accounts.” Lance laughed. “But for just a little while, I toyed with the idea. Made me feel reckless, like a rebel.”
Brook was strangely relieved to hear it. Why she should even care, she didn’t know. But, she didn’t like to think this man, this man she was becoming fond of, could be a thief, a common criminal.
She returned her attention to Lance’s words.
Lance told Brook about those days, his plan, and his subsequent actions. He explained how, with a touch of resentment, he had remembered the computer store clerk and all the details the man knew about his private life. He was determined he would leave no further trail for anyone to follow, not that anyone would. It was just the principle of the matter.
He began withdrawing money from his bank accounts, hauling the cash in his briefcase like a secret agent or drug dealer. When he got it home, he laid it out on the table and began dividing it up and wrapping it for burial up at the cabin. He would have plenty of cash to fall back on, should he ever need it.
Sullivan had purchased, with cash, a battered old pick-up truck. He spent some quality time with it in his dad’s garage. Although it still looked like a heap when he was done with it, the engine purred like a tiger and sported a set of new snow tires. He never did file the title with the state, nor did he insure the vehicle. He lifted a tag off a derelict car on a side-street, one that was last tagged five years before and designed stickers to look like the real thing. He would have to drive carefully from now on, and as little as possible.
He sold Ellen’s SUV shortly before he listed the house. He didn’t want to see it in the drive or the garage and go through that split-second of thinking she was home, before reality caught up with his brain and reminded him she would never be home again. His own old car was paid off, and he donated it to a local charity that provides transportation for veterans to and from doctor's appointments. He then spent the most enjoyable evening he’d had since before Ellen’s death.
Walking the streets as Sullivan Proctor for the last time, he visited several classless watering holes. In each one, he ‘accidentally’ dropped one of his credit cards on the floor of the restroom. Then he sat at the bar nursing a beer, keeping a watchful eye on the men’s room door. It wasn’t concern for his credit card, but merely curiosity. He wondered if there were any Honest Abes left in the world that would trot up front and turn in the credit card. In each establishment, several men went into and out of the bathroom, but not one man brought his lost credit card to the bartender. Before leaving each tavern, Sullivan would revisit the toilet to make sure his card had been picked up. Without exception, it had. Even though he had closed the accounts he knew the unscrupulous could use the cards for the information that could be gleaned from them. He hoped someone would claim his identity, erasing his existence completely.
Why it made him feel so good to discard his identity, he could not say. But it did. It didn’t seem like a foolish
