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“William Tell,” I said. A perfectly dreadful Rossini opera from the nineteenth century. I didn’t think she’d know it.

“Bill?” she asked.

“What?”

“What if I offered you the use of the cabin for as long as you wanted it for nothing.”

“Why?”

“Can you give me directions?”

“Sure.” And with that she grabbed a napkin and began drawing a map for me.

As she did I made the mistake of asking her name.

“Cassie,” she said. Just like that. “Short for Cassandra.”

Was this a joke someone was playing one me? First the four jokers just a few miles outside of town. Then the dead man at the motel. And now this? Cassie? Was Cassandra a popular name these days?

“Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“It’s a pretty name,” I said.

“Thank you. I always thought so, too. But it’s unusual.”

“Yes,” I said. Cassie number three. How long before I lost count?

She’d finished her map and turned it around to show me.

“How far from here?” I asked.

“A couple of miles, I guess. If you walk, probably less. Maybe take an hour or two on a nice day. A lifetime on a night like this.”

Discouraging.

“I think I may take you up on your offer,” I said. “I’m not going very far in a broken down car anyway. Why not spend some time away from the rat race. A change in my life might be the perfect thing for me just now.”

She beamed with delight. I hoped I wasn’t going to cause more problems than I solved. But right now I needed to find a place for no money and see if I could figure out some things. This was too good to pass up.

29.
Cassie number three eventually let me be and the rest of the night passed slowly. The snow fell slower and slower and finally stopped just before dawn. And with that first light, the snowplows immediately began clearing the highway and as many parking lots as they could. I had stopped drinking coffee around five and by nine my hands had ceased shaking. And the sun had begun its job of melting the snow.

Woodbridge slowly came to life again. Cassie and I had come to an agreement and she left to get some sleep. Something I needed as well and wasn’t going to get sitting in the diner. So I left and looked around for a store that might be open. None appeared and I walked for a while hoping to either find one or find someone who knew where one was. The latter came first. A young woman who looked like Cassie number one and whose name I didn’t ask directed me north to supermarket that was full of hungry people attempting to stock up for the next storm.

I bought my favorite foods. Tuna fish and coffee in cans, peanut butter in jars, bread in plastic, and protein bars in wrappers. Lots of everything. All the food groups except vegetables that I didn’t like anyway. Had them packaged in multiple paper bags in case I needed something to start the fire with.

And with my foodstuff in both hands, I began my trek following Cassie number three’s map. I’d already forgotten the rest of my sorry life and looked forward to finding a new one up in the snows of Connecticut. The snow made it slow going, but luckily it had been a draw fall and I could walk mostly on the icy surface rather than plodding through the wet stuff.

From a distance, the cabin looked like something out of a tourist brochure. Rustic, sure. But quiet and far from the madding crowd as well. Perfect for my needs. As I closed in, however, things changed drastically. The roof looked a little less than perfect. Like it might leak here and there. The windows seemed so dirty as to belie their name. The front door was a bit askew, suggesting that the bears Cassie number three had mentioned might indeed be calling my new home theirs. When I actually climbed up on the porch with my shoes and pants covered in snow, my nose convinced me that indeed something not human had found their resting place within.

I laid down my groceries and opened the door with caution. Another dead body, animal or human, had not been within my price range. Free or not. But, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I found only a big mess. Many creatures had found their nocturnal activities more interesting here, it seemed, than their natural habitats. Little piles of scat lay here and there. What dishes the cabin had once had were scattered about the main room. The door had been forced open by something big, and I’d have to tend to that first. Sleep would have to come much later.
As the sun settled toward the west I’d finally made something of the place. I’d put the door right, cleaned up almost everything, set a good fire in place from the wood that had once been set for a long winter stay, and put away the dishes and my groceries. The bathroom worked fine. Probably since none of the previous owners had seen fit to use it. I even found a still boxed new sleeping bag that would fit nicely on the otherwise unusable bunk.

I ate my dinner while watching the sun set, arranged the fire to the level that would keep it going most of the night without making the cabin uninhabitable, and laid down in the sleeping bag and fell unconscious. Better described what I did than falling asleep.

I made my typical tuna fish and peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast. I brewed coffee over the remnants of the night fire that still gave off heat in the fireplace. And I looked through the wonderfully newly clean windows at the dawn’s early light. Another beautiful day. Maybe the winter’s storms had finally given up the ghost and gone north for a few months. I could only hope.

I wanted to call Cassie number one. Surely the cell phone coverage was strong in this neck of the woods. If I only had a cell phone. Not going to happen. They were cheap, but not as cheap as ten bucks. All I had left at the moment.

Had they found the motel manager’s body yet? Had my fingerprints identified me as the culprit? With the FBI, CIA, and a hundred other acronym agencies on my trail, did it make any difference? How was Patton doing? Would they put two and two together soon, get Cassie number three to spill the beans on me, and appear suddenly having surrounded the cabin with sub-machine guns and tanks? Lots of fun questions I could think seriously about without going crazy.

I spent the morning chopping wood I found in the small shed behind the cabin. Someone. Cassie’s number three’s father no doubt, had placed a boatful of logs in a well-protected dry place giving me at least a month’s worth of dry timber to make roaring fires from.

And then a lunch of, you guessed it, tuna fish and peanut butter sandwiches, along with stale coffee. Still pretty fresh tasting. I’d lived a lot of my life on such foodstuffs and had not been the worse for it yet.

During the afternoon I investigated the area around the cabin. Deep woods. Lots of shadows and deep piles of forest detritus. Too cold for mushrooms to collect. To early for any of the nuts or other fruits to ripen. The stream that passed through the property ran cold and clear but too shallow for fish. All of it wonderfully pristine and beautiful.

For dinner I had the usual. And then an evening sitting in front of the fire remembering events from my childhood, and thinking about my life and what might lay in store for me. All very exciting. All eminently unfortunate. I’d a lot rather be in Miami. Basking in the sun and waves and living off my salary during a sabbatical. I missed teaching. How had they replaced me? Certainly I’d been longer than they’d anticipated. Both the school and Masters.

And I fell asleep in a rocking chair that I’d repaired earlier that morning. After I’d chopped the wood. What a life.

30.
The hours drifted into days, and the days into weeks. No one came to arrest me. No one came at all. My original food purchase, one I’d planned to last for two weeks, lasted longer than that. I exercised by taking walks. I chopped wood. I sat in front of the fire and mused about life. I talked to squirrels. The toilet worked. Everything a man alone could want. Well, almost everything. I’d gotten bored. Hell, worse than that. Far worse. I not only talked to myself, I carried on full-scale conversations with myself. Argue with myself. Pretended I announced baseball games I made up as I went along. Will Francis, a one-man entertainment center. In three dimensions no less. And I was cracking up. Prime candidate for a good psychiatrist.

That’s when Cassie number three showed up. A nice spring day. All the snow had disappeared and the flowers had begun to bloom. She wore a white dress and nearly danced up the steps to the porch in front of the cabin. I was surprised she’d waited so long. Maybe the weather had kept her away. Or working all nighters at the diner. Whatever, here she was. I hoped not looking for Mister Right. Because I was definitely Mister Wrong.

She knocked softly on the door and, for a minute, I thought of pretending I was out somewhere. But the door had no lock. No need for one. Just needed to be closed to keep the vermin out. She’d just come inside and find me. So to avoid that embarrassment I opened the door before she even finished knocking. In fact, I was glad to see her. I hadn’t seen anyone in so long, anyone would do. Even her.

“Bill,” she nearly shouted at me.

For a second, I was stumped. Bill who? Then I remembered old William Tell.

“Cassie,” I said. “What brings you out this way?”

“Beautiful day for a walk, and they finally gave me a day off. Or a night off, I mean.”

She actually looked radiant. Like a little goldilocks out for a day in the meadows.

“How does it feel?” I asked her. “I mean to get a night off.”

“Great. Sometimes I forget what sunlight looks like, you know? Working seven nights a week is a mean schedule. How’s this place working out for you?”

“Perfect,” I said. “A bit of a mess when I first got here, but since then I’ve been able to seal myself away from the world and got a lot of thinking in.”

“Great,” she repeated. “Want to go for a walk with me?”

“Sure,” I said. Why not? Someone to talk to and being outside might be the perfect antidote to the way I was beginning to feel about her right then.

And we walked into the glen, across a meadow, and into the park.

“So,” I asked her, “what’s happening in the real world these days? I haven’t been in civilization since I last saw you. However long that’s been.”

“Lots. Did you hear about the murder?”

“Nope. Must have been after I left town.”

“Yeah. Someone killed a lonely old motel owner just down the street from the diner. What a melee that created. Brought cops from all over. Even up from the city.”

I gathered she meant New York City. And I could certainly believe that.

“Did they catch the murderer?”

“Not yet. But they know who it is. Some serial killer who’s been knocking people off all over the country. A real madman they think.”

That’s me, I wanted to say. I’m the madman. Please turn me in. But I didn’t say that.

“Scared the crap out of most of us. Imagine, a serial killer out here. Was quite a scene for about a week. They think he’s probably on his way west now. Name of Will Francis.”

Good to hear I hadn’t imagined it, I thought.

“Anything else?”

“Not much. Barb, one of my friends got herself pregnant, though.”

How, I thought, does someone get themselves pregnant? Maybe virgin births did occur after all. Make an interesting headline in the local papers.

When I didn’t respond, she continued with, “It’s great to have you keeping tabs on the old place. Like my father was still alive up here. How long are you going to stay anyway?”

I hadn’t actually thought about that. Still having only ten bucks in my pants and no identification didn’t actually make me very mobile.

“Not sure. Am I a problem?”

“On the contrary. As I say, you’re providing comfort for me. Knowing that someone respectable as a college professor is keeping care of my family’s cabin is quite a distinction.”

I smiled and looked down at the already dry dirt on the trail we were following. Not sure how to respond.

“Would you like to come out of the wilderness for a night on the town?” she suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?” Knowing full well what she meant.

“Just a dinner at my place. I’m a good cook. We could listen to some music and talk and, well, you know.”

Unfortunately I did know. And that’s what scared me. Even more than the four stooges. But how to get myself out of it. After all, I could hardly say I was busy.

“Sounds possible,” I said, “but I’d feel a bit guilty having you spend your day off from the diner cooking for me. Hardly seems fair.”

“You’re asking me out then?”

Good God. Was that what I said? I couldn’t pay for a meal out.

“I’d love to, but I’ve lost my wallet somewhere around here. I’ve looked for it, but just can’t find it.”

“Maybe then you could eat at my place. After we look for it, I mean. Maybe I’ll find it. Sometimes an extra pair of eyes can help.”

No matter what I said, it got me in deeper. But this was the best deal so far. Take it!

“Sounds good to me.”

And so we spent the next few hours searching for something that wasn’t there in the first place. The story of my current life it seemed.

If I’d been arrogant, it would have been a perfect time. She giggled at every stupid joke I made. She smiled every time I looked at her. At first it seemed innocent. Later I noticed something else in the way she looked at me. Not a good thing. Definitely not a good thing.

Eventually we settled on a time she’d meet me in her car at the end of the path that led to the cabin. An easy walk for me. We’d eat at her place. And then she’d drop me back at the same place. My job? Not get eaten alive.
I would have changed clothes, had I had any clothes to change into. I hadn’t. But I bathed and draped my clothes over a chair in front of the fireplace to change their smell hopefully into something more bearable than my sweat. Mostly, however, I tried to remember how to date someone and not take advantage of their hospitality. My loyalty to Cassie number one was not just moral. I was probably as potentially immoral as the next guy. Given the right circumstances, capable of nearly anything. However, I loved Cassie number one. Whatever that meant, I knew that for me at least, it meant that I was monogamous. Married or not, it wouldn’t be because I would be letting her down. I’d be letting me not only down but tarnish the special nature of our relationship. I couldn’t do it.

At the same time, what to tell Cassie number three? The truth? I’d already told her that. She didn’t seem to understand. Maybe she thought that a few weeks in the wild would make any red-blooded man so horny he’d be ready to couple with anything that moved.

I’d have to figure out a way to break it to her so as not to destroy her self-confidence, but not so thoroughly not destroy it to get myself hopelessly lost. What a mess. That’s why I loved mathematics so much. Black and white. True and false. Life? Eternally gray.

31.
She arrived right on time. In a blue Corvette, vintage early sixties. I was impressed. If the body had had a few less dents and the motor and muffler made a little less sound, it might have been worth something.

I sidled in next to her and off we went. She wore and red dress that fit like a glove and left little to the imagination. I had a thing about such dresses. How did she know about that? Or maybe all men had a thing about such dresses.

We wasted no time getting to her house about four blocks in back of where she worked. An extraordinary place. Three stories, a mown and already green front lawn, and two fine elms in the front yard. Everything looked in mint condition. I assumed she rented a room.

“Nice place,” I said.

“It is. I love living here. Wish I had more time to keep it up.”

Keep it up. What was she telling me? That the whole thing was hers?

We parked in front along the curb and she led me up the steps to the front door. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and the door had such a varnish that it reflected the light in wonderfully strange ways.

She led me into the living room. A high chandelier hung over the room filled with nineteenth-century looking furniture.

“Wow,” I said. “Some place.”

“Yeah. My father built it for my mom. He loved her a lot you know.”

I didn’t before, but now I did.

“And where do you stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“What room?”

“Any room I want.”

“You mean this whole house belongs to you?”

“Sure.”

“Didn’t think I could own such a place did you?”

“Not and work the night shift at the all night diner I didn’t.”

“But I told you all about that.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Meeting mister right.”

“You mean that’s the only reason you work those long hours?”

“Probably sounds funny to you. A professor and all. But I have to make sure that whoever I end up with, he won’t be marrying me for my money.”

“Ah,” I said as if I understood. Maybe I did.

“I’m the boss. I own the diner. I like to work and wouldn’t trust anyone else to work the late shift. We make pretty good money too.”

“Ah,” I said again. I think I’d spent too many lonely hours in the forest to suddenly have to deal with such confusing surprises as she was doling out.

“Come,” she said. “I make a mean pot roast.”

And off we went to the dining room. And the waiter who would serve us her meatloaf.

“Now that you know who I am,” she said, “will it make a difference?”

“In what?”

“In what you think of me.”

I didn’t think of her at all, but if I had this certainly would make a difference. Not in romantic terms. But in terms of her sanity. Rich little girl playing poor to get her man. Understandable maybe. But a little perverse nonetheless. Even given my relationships lately with women named Cassie.

“No,” I said, just to fill in the silence.

“Good. Now let’s eat.”

And we did. And she was right. She’d made a great pot roast. Certainly a far cry from tuna fish and peanut butter sandwiches.

As we ate, she kept up with the small talk.

“If I asked, would you like to stay here instead of in the old cabin?”

Caught me off guard.

“Why?” I asked, just to avoid saying anything else.

“Just curious. Must be getting rather boring up there. My Dad has lots of books around here you could read. Lots of art. We have television, films, a swimming pool that’s just been cleaned. Lots of stuff to keep you busy. I thought after all that time by yourself it might be helpful to bring you back to reality here, rather than throwing you to the wolves out there.”

She had a funny way of saying that.

“Let me think about it. Would that be okay?”

“Sure,” she said, not batting an eye at my answer.

I sipped a bit of red wine and thought more about her use of the word ‘wolves.’ Could she know about me? Or was that just a coined phrase for her?

“Can I ask you a favor?” she said.

I looked at her for a clue as to what was coming next. Though I thought I knew it.

“Sure,” I said.

“If had a notion of going to college, would you consider writing me a recommendation?”

Before I could stop myself, I said “What?” She seemed like such a different person since I’d last seen her. Full of confidence. At the same time as acting like someone not at all familiar with the ‘wolves.’

“If I knew more about you, I guess I could. What college are you planning to apply to?”

“Yale, of course.”

Of course. Yale. Close by. No father or mother to escape from. Yale.

“Majoring in?”

“Biochemistry.”

Biochemistry? What the hell was going on?

“Undergrad or graduate?”

“Undergrad. It’s just that my high school grades were pretty bad. Maybe a C+. I don't think that merits automatic acceptance.”

“But Yale’s a private school,” I said, almost immediately regretting it. My next line was going to be, “and you can buy your way in.” I left that part out.

“So.”

“Like the SAT, you mean?”

“That and other things.”

“Like?”

“Oh,” she said.

“But, they do take character very seriously. And I can certainly write a recommendation for you based on what I know of that. After all, you took pity on me and gave me the use of your family’s cabin. You needn’t have done that. That shows character.”

She nodded.

“And where should I have them send the form?” she asked.

Now what?

“To William Tell at De Pauw University in Indiana?”

Jesus. She know something I didn’t know she knew?

I kept quiet then. No doubt indicting myself if she knew. Just taking another bite of the delicious roast beef if she didn’t.

She kept quiet too. Maybe waiting for me to confess. I wasn’t about to.

Finally, I asked her why she’d chosen Yale. Of all the schools out there.

“Great school for biochemistry,” she said.

“Didn’t know that,” I said. “And why biochemistry?”

“A precursor for med school.”

“You want to attend med school?” I asked, trying not to show my complete surprise.

“Yes. What I’ve always wanted to do. My dad was a doctor. His dad was. I don’t know how far back in the family it goes. But ever since I was a kid, it was assumed I’d be one too. Had no brothers or sisters. Just me. First woman doctor in the family. And then I broke his heart by fucking up my high school grades. Now I need some help. Money won’t buy me in. It may buy me love, but not in. I know. I’ve tried.”

Good to hear, I thought. Maybe one private university took a position on that, I thought.

“Will, can you spend the night here with me?”

There was so much in that single sentence that I didn’t know where to begin. So I just kept shoveling in the roast beef. And the pees, mashed potatoes, and wine. She knew who I was. For how long? And she wanted me to bed down with her. I’d proven I wasn’t a wolf like the rest of them. I’d passed her test. And I represented what? An exciting serial killer on the run? A madman with which to have a one-nighter. A possible aid to get into Yale? What the hell was going on? I wanted Cassie number one back with me. Sitting in front of a peaceful fire. In North Dakota. Not a Cassie number two meth addict who’d turn in mother in for her next hit. Nor Cassie number three, who wanted to have sex with a certifiable maniac and who could get her into Yale as a biochemistry major. What mad universe was this anyway? Seemed like I’d asked myself that question before.