The Unknowing Night Owl

He was running.

God, he was running so fast.

“Have I always ran this fast?”

It’s been 2 years and 11 months since Marcus had seen anything else outside his two man cell and the occasional time spent outside in the yard. Serving a ten year sentence for manslaughter, Marcus, or “Night Owl” as his cellie liked to call him due to the fact that he was up late every late, had been devising up a plan to break out of prison and head south. Just south. No actual plan beyond escaping, and getting as far away as his feet would take him. Maybe he’ll change his identity and get a job as a cook in a night club somewhere in Tampa. Maybe he’ll run into someone at said night club and score a good paying job as a roofer or something. He was good with his hands, and aside from being a fantastic cook, he was also a skilled craftsman. He wasn’t worried about the struggle of what came next. Just getting the hell away from Powhatan Correctional Center.

“Still haven’t heard any dogs barking. That’s a good sign.”

It had to be 2:00 am by now. He wasn’t running anymore. But he was moving quickly. Listening. Looking as far ahead as his eyes would allow, with the moon and stars in the sky as his only form of light. He felt like he was getting somewhere. With each passing tree, with each step he took, he was starting to feel free.

The man he was accused of murdering was the local drunk. He was the guy everyone knew but didn’t really know. His face was familiar, yet little detail was known about who he was and where he actually came from. He had a crappy little house. He wore the same crappy clothes everyday. And you only ever saw him out at the local bar, already pretty drunk, and doing normal crazy local drunk guy stuff. “Crazy Charlie”, that’s what they called him. On this particular night, Marcus hit the bar before heading back to where he was staying with a friend and one of his bosses from his flooring job. He planned on having a few beers and calling it a night. A few beers turned into eight, and then pizza became the goal. Get a ride home, then order delivery. He cheerfully walked through the parking lot to see if he would run into any of his regular ride offering buddies, but he only saw “crazy Charlie” stumbling across the sidewalk that was adjacent with the black top parking lot. Staring down at his feet, he was doing the dosie doe drunk dance, the quadruple D dance with his feet. Marcus felt a little sorry for the guy.

“Hey Charlie! Man, you good bruh? You extra wobbly tonight man.”

Marcus put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder to grab his attention and possibly steady him straight, or as straight as he could for the moment. Charlie mumbled sounds and flung Marcus’s arm off his shoulder and spit out words like “fuck” and “off”.

“Yo, man! Chill out! Just trying to help you out bruh.”

Marcus through up both of his hands in a surrender pose and started to back away. Charlie started to stumble towards him. Pointing at Marcus, he spit out some racial slurs and started getting loud. He got more aggressive. Marcus told him,

“Calm the fuck down man!”

Charlie was relentless. He was leaning back as he was reaching into one of his jacket pockets, then Marcus reached out to grab him to keep him from falling backwards when Charlie lunged forward, throwing all of his drunk body weight at Marcus, causing both men to fall to the ground. “Crazy Charlie” was growling and trying to fight. Marcus was pushing and then he punched Charlie in the face. Charlie fell backwards. He was laying flat on his back. He wasn’t moving. Marcus’s face was flushed. He was breathing heavy from the scuffle, and the adrenaline from the punch.

“Aye man! You alright? I told you to get the hell off me!”

Silence.

“Charlie! Hey!”

Marcus bent down and shook Charlie by his shoulder.

“Wake up man!”

He lightly slapped him across his face a couple of times. Charlie didn’t move.

“Fuck!”

Marcus looks up and scopes the parking lot. Ahead of him, through the alley and across the brick street, the lights from the bar sign read “N ght Owl”. The “i” was burnt out. He felt his stomach drop. His heart starts racing. He feels nervous. His first reaction is to get help.

“Hey man!”

He slaps Charlie across the face four more times.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Marcus stands up and starts running towards his buddies house.

The story that Charlie was found dead in a parking lot downtown had already reached his crew by the next day. Marcus had decided he was too drunk to remember what happened and chose not to share anything with anyone. He acted shocked and confused by the whole thing. After the police investigation went on for a couple of days, Marcus was arrested for the murder of “Crazy Charlie”. He ultimately took a deal and plead guilty to manslaughter. Nearly three years later he’s running through a forest after breaking out of prison.

Marcus walked all night. He walked until the sun came up. He came to a road and hitched a ride with a trucker to a ladies house that he only knew as Bree. For some reason, maybe it’s because of how sweet and kind she always was to him on the nights they spent together, he felt like she was safe. He felt like he could trust her. Bree was a bartender at “Night Owl”. She believed Marcus when he told her what really happened that night Charlie died. She made him some food. He showered, they had sex, and she gave him some of her deceased fathers old clothes she still had in some boxes stored away. She gave him some money and bought him a bus ticket online. Later that day she drove him to the bus station and promised him she wouldn’t say anything to the police. Marcus was Tampa, Florida bound.

Twenty-four hours later, Marcus arrives in Tampa. With no cell phone, and only a couple hundred dollars in his pocket, beach bumming is starting to sound really nice. That’s exactly where he heads, the beach.

Over time, beach bumming scores him a couple friends, who introduce him to another friend, and so on. Nights spent drinking cheap beer and couch surfing lands him a carpentry gig on a farm in south Florida to rebuild a horse boarding barn that burnt down just a couple months prior.

Marcus and his boss, Nate, formed a pretty good friendship. Nate was a widow. His kids were grown and had their own families. He offered his guest room to Marcus to help him get on his feet. Marcus worked hard for Nate, and Nate loved his attention to detail. They spent 12 weeks building that barn. The family of the farm hosted an event that weekend to celebrate their new barn and to introduce the horses into their new home. The evening of the party, Marcus took a walk out to the barn that he helped build. With his beer in hand, and sleeves rolled up, he gazed at the moon and the stars. He thought about running through those woods in Virginia. He thought about who he truly was. He thought about “Crazy Charlie” and the black top parking lot. He thought about Bree. He thought about the “Night Owl”. He thought about his old cellie. He thought about what was next.

“Hoooo!”

Marcus looked up, and sitting in the corner of the far end of the horse barn, was a barn owl. Marcus laughs.

“Haha, well hey there night owl.”

With one hand in his pocket, and a beer in the other, he lifted it towards the owl and said,

“Cheers my friend. Here’s to the unknown.”