Where the Ghosts Lie

Chapter Three

10 Years Later

Nolan dried off his face with a dusty hand towel and turned to observe the dilapidated hotel room. He'd stopped in Kentucky on the way to Colorado, so he hadn't expected much, but this was a little worse than what he had in mind. However, he couldn't pass up $10 for a semi-comfortable bed. He looked up at himself in the streaky mirror. Strange. Sometimes he wondered

if it was really himself he was looking at. He gave a small smirk at the man staring back at him.

Thirty-two seemed so old and now I'm looking at it.

He pulled a shirt over his head before packing up his belongings that consisted of a comb, an extra pair of pants, and his wallet that was growing dangerously slim. Nolan wondered if any other dishonorably discharged Navy SEAL had to get a job at Walmart at some point in time.

He shouldered his black backpack and checked out of the motel. It was two o'clock in the morning, so the parking lot was dark except for a couple broken streetlights. Ever since he got out of prison a week ago, sleep hadn't come easy. Maybe once he reached the cabin he'd bought in Colorado things would start to relax around him. The world had changed so much since the incident that changed his life ten years ago. Sure, he watched the news every day from his cell and saw the new technology come and go, presidents being elected, skirmishes overseas, but being back in the real world was still...different. His time in jail was foggy now, like a giant ten-year gap in between twenty-two and thirty-two.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and walked up to a beat-up 1980s Chevy. The engine hiccupped twice before roaring to life.

He drove down a lonely highway that dipped and curved around the hilly mountains. He was hoping to stop for gas and after two hours of driving, there wasn't a town in sight.

What were you expecting? This is Kentucky after all...

Just as the needle dropped dangerously close to empty he came to a dimly lit gas station that contained a small diner inside. After he had filled up his tank, he decided a cup of coffee would do him good.

He sat in the corner of the greasy diner. Two truck drivers filled two of the seven tables available and there was one waitress for all of them.

Nolan was studying a newspaper article about combat in Poland. As he read, his mind wandered to the group that interested him the most. From what he understood, the Bolsheviks were still active, but not as prominent in terrorism as before. That was good. Maybe that night so long ago had actually hurt them a little.

"What can I get for you, hon?"

The waitress's shrill voice made Nolan nearly jump out of his skin.

The waitress laughed heartily. "Did I scare you, sweetie?"

Nolan offered a small smile. "No, it's fine."

She snorted another chuckle before pulling out a notepad. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have coffee."

"Sure thing."

As soon as she was gone, Nolan released a breath. It was like the ten years of recovery he'd received in prison was quickly fleeting in the real world. Maybe actually working through his problems would do him better than punching a psychologist in the face. That was a bad day; but thankfully the prison never called another doctor for him after that.

Once he'd downed his cup of coffee, he bought a road map to help navigate through the mountains to his new cabin in Colorado. From the pictures he'd seen online, it looked more like a shack that would need a lot of work, but he didn't mind. It would be something to keep him occupied for a few months.