Chapter Eight: Haunted by Something He Cannot Define
March 24, 2003
Silver City, NM
Marc stood alone in the funeral hall. He didn’t want to be here. He wasn’t sure anyone would even come.
He walked up to the casket. He didn’t have the nerve to look at it, despite it being closed. One of the staff had said it would be opened up for the service.
Finally, someone entered the hall. Marc felt instant relief seeing the woman who stood at the entrance.
“Hi, Shiela.”
“Marc. How are you holding up?” she asked, concern in her voice. Her bright red hair was mostly hidden under a black scarf. She wore a tasteful black dress and heels that struggled to support her large frame. Still, she looked at ease in the funeral home. Marc imagined that this was not her first time here.
“Fine. Thanks, Sheila. For everything. Really, you have been amazing.” Marc put out his hand to the woman as she approached. She ignored the offered hand and instead clutched him in a bear hug.
Truly, she had been as good as her word. In less than a week she had arranged for the transportation of his father’s remains, arranged for someone to pick up his rig from the impound lot, and had his cargo taken over by another driver. She had also handled everything with the mortuary and the cemetery here in Silver City. She just told him where to be and when and then handled everything else. She was even handling the insurance stuff. All he had done was sign some papers.
Marc was sure her fees were more than enough to cover her time, but he didn’t mind. The freedom from everything was worth any cost to him. He still was trying to come to grips with his other life, his own death, and return to this old life.
He sat with Sheila in silence for a while. He wasn’t expecting anyone else to come. He hadn’t told anyone about the service himself. He had written a simple obituary and Sheila had arranged for it to be in the local paper over the weekend.
He doubted his mother’s relatives would come. They tolerated Marc, but they never said anything kind about his father. He was glad none of his aunts or uncles had come.
Shortly before the service was scheduled to start, several men entered the hall. Marc wondered if they were in the wrong place. They were not really dressed for a funeral, but they all wore button-down shirts and clean jeans. Still, all were in need of some grooming, beards and long hair were their common feature.
One of the men came over and he waved at Sheila.
“Um. Hi Sheila,” He said shyly.
“Gordy! Thank you for coming. This is Marc, Jason’s boy.” She answered brightly, putting her hand on Marc’s shoulder.
The three men introduced themselves as Gordon, Matt, and Tom. All were long-haul drivers who knew his father.
Marc thanked them for coming and shook all their hands. They looked uncomfortable, but soon the staff came in to prepare the room for the service.
One of the mortuary staff came over and let them know that the service was starting, so they took their seats as the officiant took to the podium. An attendant opened the casket and for the first time, Marc saw the face of his father.
He looked at the face of the man in the casket. It was a strange feeling. He recognized the face, the thick brown hair, glasses, and dimpled chin. It was a face he could describe without imagining it. It was familiar, but it was the face of a stranger.
Before they closed the doors, Marc noticed a half dozen more people come into the hall from the back, all men, most of whom were dressed similarly to the three truckers Marc had already met.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we gather here today to remember the life of Jason Churchill, a man whose life was spent traversing the open roads as a long-haul trucker. While his truck may have covered countless miles, his impact on the hearts of many who knew him is immeasurable.”
The officiant was very professional. He spoke with a calm and gentle voice, spending a few minutes to recall the basic facts of his father’s life, when and where he was born, and his family, of whom only Marc was present today
It was strange and disconcerting to be here so soon after his return. The world still did not feel real, and here, in this place only enhanced that feeling.
“Jason was more than just a driver, he was a beacon of kindness on the highways, known for his unwavering willingness to help others. Radios echoed with tales of his good deeds, whether it was helping to fix a breakdown or simply offering a friendly word to another road-weary traveler. In the tight-knit community of truckers, Jason was a friend to all, a constant source of guidance and support.
Yet, while he became a legend on the roads, there was a constant feeling of regret for his absence at home. The miles he traveled were etched in his tire tracks across the map, but the moments with his family were few. His dedication to providing for them, even if it meant spending months without his presence, speaks volumes about the sacrifices made in the pursuit of providing a better life to those he cared for.
Today, as we bid farewell to Jason, let us remember the man who was an angel in life to many others on the highways, sharing stories under the vast sky. May his son Marc find solace in knowing that he touched the lives of many, leaving behind a legacy of kindness and generosity that will endure in the memories of those who traveled alongside him.
Rest in peace, Jason, may your eternal journey continue on roads more smooth than those you once navigated.”
Marc wondered where the officiant had gotten the information about his father. Sheila most likely. She had asked him for some information about her father, but all he could provide were basics like his place of birth. He didn’t know about this kind angel of the roads that the eulogy mentioned. Maybe they just made up some nice-sounding words as part of the service.
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The service was thankfully short, and afterward, there was a viewing in a small room next to the hall. The men who had come to the service all went to the casket and paid their respects, they came up to Marc, shook his hand, and expressed condolences.
Some, like many truckers, were shy in person and seemed out of place. Most left after just a few minutes. Still, Marc felt the sincerity of their actions. They were not obligated to come, and for a driver, every day not on the road was money lost.
Gordy, Matt, and Tom waited until the end, then they approached Marc who was standing with Sheila.
“Marc, again, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Gordy spoke first.
Not knowing what to say, Marc nodded.
“I have something for you, and a few things I would like you to know about your father,” Gordy said solemnly, while the other two men nodded gravely.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“It’s not much, but a few of us drivers wanted to give this to you. We collected this from some of the other drivers.” He said and handed the envelope to Marc.
Marc accepted the envelope, and when he felt it he could tell it was thick with bills.
“Your dad,” Gordy continued, “He was a great guy. Like the pastor said, he helped a lot of us. Not just fixing rigs that break down, but he lent money to guys who got hit with hard times, he was… he was a good guy.” The man seemed to have difficulty talking.
“Anyway, there’s a lot of OTR guys out there who owe your dad a lot. I know you probably don’t know much about him. Lord knows what my kids think of me. We are never home. You probably think we know more about him than you do. I just wanted you to know that he was a good guy.”
Sheila put her arm around Marc and nodded along with the group of drivers.
Marc stared at the men. They were right. He knew nothing of his father. He never had a good impression of the man, not that he harbored a strong dislike of him either. He had no fond memories of childhood. He could remember every detail of his adopted father Grenn, who died over fifty years ago, but of Jason Churchill, he could barely remember his face, even though he was now standing just a few feet away.
“Thanks. Thank you for coming. Thanks for sharing that with me. I’m sure he would appreciate it.” It felt hollow, but it was all Marc could think to say.
One of the other men, Tom, spoke up.
“If you ever need anything, anywhere there is a road, just find a truck stop. Ask the driver of the biggest rig there to holler on the radio. Tell him who your dad is. Someone will help you. Guaranteed.” All three men nodded enthusiastically.
Marc felt a moment of nostalgia. It was like the hunters in the Guild. He felt odd to be here, but he knew how men like this felt honor and camaraderie. He looked each man in the eye and shook their hands once more.
As they walked away, Gordy turned around.
“Do you know your dad’s handle? You’ll need that.” He asked.
Marc had never had an interest in his dad’s trucker life. He knew drivers used handles, but he couldn’t recall his dad ever telling him his. Embarrassed, he shook his head.
Gordy chuckled. “Yeah, figured. Your dad’s handle was ‘Traveler’. Tell that to any OTR driver and they’ll know who you are. You have friends all over the country if you ever need ’em.”
After the last of the group left, only Marc and Sheila went to the gravesite. As he was the only family member present, the mortuary staff carried the casket to the grave, where the officiant said a few more words before his father was lowered into the ground.
Sheila stayed with him. Marc thought she pitied him because he was alone. She looked at him like he was a sick puppy left alone in a box on the side of the road.
She stayed until it was just the two of them, then walked him to his car.
“Marc, are you sure you’re alright? Do you need anything? You’re eating right?” She asked, reminding him of how Keri used to mother hen him all those years ago.
“I’m fine. Thank you again, Sheila. You have been a true angel. I don’t know how I could have handled any of this by myself.” He said, sincere in his gratitude.
“Oh, don’t you worry about anything. Your Aunt Shiela is here to take care of anything.” She said like a late-night TV commercial.
“Oh, Um, before I forget,” She reached into her purse and pulled out another envelope, and handed it to him.
“Here’s a new bank card in your name. The PIN code is on a post-it in the envelope. When you use it the first time you’ll need to change the code.”
Marc took the envelope and looked at it.
“Oh! Um. Right, The account just has the funds from your father’s account for now. The insurance and proceeds from the sale of his rig will be coming in later. I’ll let you know when to expect them later. Should be in about a month for the insurance. The truck money may take a while longer though. You sure you don’t want me to look at any investments?” She asked.
“No, it’s fine. No investments. A savings account is fine for now.”
“You’re sure? It’s going to be a lot of money. At least think about a money market or mutual fund. Something safe. If you do it right you probably won’t have to work at all with that kind of money.” She said, concern on her brow.
“No, it’s okay. I still plan to work. I have to do something right? And I don’t do investments. It’s… It’s a religious thing.”
“Um. Alright. Maybe when the insurance comes in we can look at your other options. I just want to make sure you are alright. I promised your dad and if anything happens to you I don’t know what I would do with myself.”
“Hey, Sheila?” He asked.
“Yeah, Hon?” She responded instinctively.
“I’m, paying you enough, right? Sorry, I should have asked before.”
“Oh! You are such a darling. Don’t worry. Your Dad took care of all that. There’s another account to take care of all the estate administration. He set everything up and trust me, I get paid very well for my time. As a matter of fact, your Dad introduced me to lots of other drivers and helped me set up this system. With all the work I have, I’m a very well-off lady!”
Marc smiled at the woman, glad that he didn’t need to worry about that.
“Now don’t you be getting any ideas though. I may be a catch, but I’m a married woman!” She flashed her hand with several flashy rings on her fingers while cackling at her own joke.
“Now! You call me if you need anything at all! Anytime day or night. Maybe you should get a cellphone. Would make it much easier to get a hold of you.”
“Thanks, Sheila. I’ll think about it.” He was ready this time for the bear hug before she walked off to her car.
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Marc sat at his kitchen table thinking about his situation.
He couldn’t reconcile the facts with any story that made sense. How could he have all these memories? He had more than three times the length of his entire life of perfect memories, not even including his time in subspace, meanwhile, he couldn’t remember anything about his father. Not to mention the man who he buried today seemed to have a secret second life as a samaritan of the highways that he had never had a hint of. If it was all a dream, why did it feel more real than reality?
There was also the circumstances of his father’s death. The accident in Salt Lake was at the exact same time he died in his first life. Hit by a car, just like his own death. And his father’s trucker handle was ‘Traveler’? Was there such a coincidence? Was this the reality he remembered, or was this the dream?
Once again he wished for Kira to help him figure things out. He had no one to ask for counsel and advice. Kira had always been with him from that first moment in the other world until his last, always challenging him, but also supporting him.
Things were different now. Unreal, yet the only reality he had to hold onto now. Was he the 19-year-old boy, or the powerful Arch-Mage of Clearwater? Did he lose his father days ago, or decades ago in another world? Why were there these strange coincidences, and what happened to Mary?
Marc pondered these questions well into the night without coming up with any answers.