Getting back to the street, this hellish, tormenting street that is holding him hostage for some reason. He looks around and sees the same thing he saw when he started, a row of burned out houses, piles of rocks and cement tore up by some kind of storm it seems. He had seen pictures like this after a tornado went through a town or a bomb had gone off, but he would have known if one of those had happened recently, this wasn’t that big of a town.
His name is Matthew Aron Fryer, but he goes by Maty, with only one T. . . because it looked cooler. He has lived in the same town his entire life, Brookings, Indiana. Nothing ever really happens in this town. He hates the town and everything about the town.
He has been stuck here for 19 years and he does not see himself getting out anytime soon. His Dad took off when he was four, leaving him and his little sister, who was one at the time, to be raised by his Mom. But she was never at home, she was always at work and when she wasn’t working she was sitting in front of the TV just staring at it, as if it wasn’t really there.
Maty was basically left to fend for himself since he was 12 and was doing OK, he had some friends that he hung around with, smoked a little dope, did some odd jobs for people around town for spending money, but mostly just hung out.
But recently he had met up with a guy that had big money, had everything that Maty wanted. Nice cars, hot women, nice apartment, and he liked Maty. Maty started hanging out at the apartment and running errands for this guy. They all called him Doug, so he assumed that this was his given name. Never asked what his last name was, doesn’t really matter. Maty delivers packages for Doug anytime he is asked, never questions anything. Doug gives him $100 per delivery.
Now Maty is not an idiot, he figures that he is running dope for Doug, but he doesn’t care. This town is a joke anyway, they will never catch on to what he is doing and even if he did get caught, Doug assures him that as long as he keeps his mouth shut, that his lawyers will get him out with no problem. He believes him, small towns are small for a reason he would always tell himself.
Maty looks around at all the tore up houses up and down the block, and then looks up at the street sign that was right in front of him. “Green River Road”. He doesn’t remember this road in Brookings and he knew all of this God forsaken little town, so where the hell is he? And how did he get here? Last thing he remembered was leaving Doug’s apartment to go on a quick run over to Burlington, another small town about 10 miles away. Doug even gave him the keys to the Mustang to drive over there.
So where was the car then? He recalls getting in the car and then the next thing he remembers is standing on this street of ravaged houses that are freaking the hell out of him now. Why was he stuck here? And how does he get away? Can’t call anyone because he had thrown his cell phone in the center console of the car when he got in.
Hold on, did those houses that he has been in have phones in them? He is trying to picture the three houses and all the rooms that he could see within his arc of vision. He is pretty sure he saw one in that fancy house, the Walker house, but not sure about the other two. One thing is for sure, he is not going back to any of those houses.
He walks down the road to the next number painted on the curb, 1 7 3 2. Stands and stares at the numbers for a long time, trying to think of a reason not to walk toward the house. Deciding that he really has no other choice, he takes a deep breathe and steps toward the walk way, wondering in his head what he was heading into this time.