O'Neil Mike

Mike O'Neil - First Place Winner - Adults: Fiction
Cornwall Public Library 2015 Annual Writing Contest

THE GREAT ESCAPE
The phone's jarring ring shocked me back to consciousness and I yelled: "somebody get
the phone, please!" My eyes finally focused on the alarm clock - 1:00pm - and I realized: oh yeah,
John's at work and the girls are at school. This better not be the hospital. I just left work at 7:00am
and I'm ready for the next two days off I groped for the phone and cleared my throat. "Hello?"
"Katherine? This is Louise Morrison, the nurse at Springview Manor? I'm calling about your
father ... "
"Dad? Is he OK? What's wrong?"
"Everything is ... fine, it's just ... we think your father may have gone missing ... "
"What do you mean you think he may have gone missing?" I said, now clearly wide awake.
"He didn't return from his weekly outing to the mall this morning and when he didn't show up for
lunch, we checked his room and found an envelope addressed to you - you'd better come down
here right away."
I could sense the anxiety in her voice and I tried not to panic. Many years as a nurse in a
hospital environment had taught me how to behave in moments like this and thankfully my
training instinctively kicked in. Focus, Katie - focus, I told myself.
"I'll be there in about thirty minutes."
I quickly hung up the phone, threw off the bed covers and hit the floor running. I grabbed the
nearest available clothes, gave them the sniff test and quickly put them on as I stumbled into the
hallway. I began to mentally go through my checklist of things to do: text John and the girls .... no,
wait - see what this is all about first, then text them - OK, now: cell phone, car keys - where the
hell are my car keys?
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Envelopes addressed to relatives by someone who has gone missing are not a good sign - focus,
focus on getting to the home in one piece Katie, one step at a time - I said to myself
I don't remember the drive out to the home; I only remember hurrying down the hallway to
Dad's room trying not to look too shaken or worried. I found Nurse Morrison talking to one of
Dad's old buddies - Ron - at least I think that was his name.
"I'm glad you got here so quickly," Nurse Morrison said with a sigh of relief, as she handed me
the envelope.
"Ron is the one who found this in Tom's room and brought it to my attention."
"Hello, Katherine. I found that propped up on Tom's dresser when I went in to get him for lunch.
You know your dad; he never misses a meal, so I knew something was wrong. I hope everything
will be OK?" Ron said with a worried look on his face.
The envelope was addressed to me in what I recognized as Dad's crisply written block
letters. Dad rarely wrote longhand anymore because his penmanship was not the best. I tried to
keep my hands from shaking as I nervously ripped opened the envelope. Inside I found a round-
trip train ticket to Vancouver - with my name on it - wrapped in a brief note that read: "Trust in me

• and in yourself - Dad."
  "What the hell is this?" I blurted out, staring at Ron and Nurse Morrison, I am sure that the
  looks on their faces mirrored mine. I re-read the note and noticed that the train ticket was for ...
  tonight? A ticket for the train leaving Union station tonight at l0pm for Vancouver and a brief,
  cryptic note? That's it? My mind was reeling - what the hell was this all about and where was
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Dad? Four days alone on a train travelling across the country not knowing the whereabouts of my
father! I'm going to go crazy!
I couldn't fathom why someone of Dad's background in policing and his courtroom
experience would go missing without letting us know what he was up to first. Dad was always
very meticulous in his work. His research and investigation methods were always detailed and
thorough, because he knew that his reports and testimony would come under fire once his findings
hit the courtroom and were challenged by the defense. He only acted on something once he "had
all his ducks in a row", as he would often say. He was up to something, that's for sure.
I could hear Nurse Morrison talking about Dad: ...Tom was always in the sunroom first
thing in the morning, writing away feverishly with his cup of coffee by his side. What he was
writing about, no one knows. He kept to himself during those moments." Ron was dutifully
nodding his head in agreement.
The next three hours were just a blur. I told Nurse Morrison and Ron what the contents of
the envelope were and that I would keep in touch, once I had a better idea of what was going on. I
had then hurried home and called John at work and explained this weird situation to him and said
that I would take the train - what choice did I really have? I called the hospital and told them that I
would need a week off due to a family crisis - over and above the next two days where I was
scheduled to be off. Thank God they were so accommodating!
"Trust in me - and in yourself," I kept saying to myself. Why did that old song from Disney's
Jungle Book movie come to mind? You know - the one where the snake lulls the little boy into a
hypnotic trance.
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"I swear to God, if Dad isn't dead, I'm going to kill him!" I found myself saying in a fit of
frustration.
The girls got back from school as I was packing and I told them what was going on and
where I was going. They had as many questions as I did but unfortunately I had none of the
answers. It's a good thing they're both in high school and old enough to take care of themselves.
"Take care of your Dad and do your homework! Make your meals, don't order them! There are
plenty of leftovers in the freezer and if all else fails then make some of that boxed mac and cheese
stuff that you like. I'll text you and call you all once I figure out what's going on," I said as I
scrambled to assemble what I would need for the trip.
"Is grampa losing it, mom?" Emily said. Good question, I thought: "No, I'm sure grampa has his
reasons for doing whatever it is that he is doing." I just wish I knew what his reasons were, I
thought to myself.
As I rode in the cab to the train station I kept reading Dad's "Trust in me" note and hearing
that damn Jungle Book song over and over again as it wormed its way through my brain. Why
Vancouver? Why the train? Why not a plane? The questions kept popping up, but no plausible
answers presented themselves. The cab lurched to a stop at the train station and brought me out of
my trance.
I made it onto the train without incident and presented my ticket printout to the young
conductor, who gave me a perfunctory smile and said: "Welcome aboard "The Canadian" to
Vancouver, ma' am. Your sleeper bedroom is in the car to the right, second one as you enter. I'll
come by once the train has left the station to scan your ticket. Have a nice trip."
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I thanked him, even though I didn't feel old enough to be called a "ma'am", and headed to my
bedroom compartment - at least Dad got me a nice room rather than a seat in what we referred to
as "cattle class". I couldn't stop trying to figure out what this was all about and why Dad had
disappeared. This behaviour was totally out of character for him. One thing was certain, Dad was a
meticulous planner and whatever he was up to, he must have had his reasons and he wasn't about
to rush into anything - at least not the Dad that 1 knew. Could he really be losing it?
Once I was settled in my compartment and the train had left the station, the conductor
returned to scan my ticket and said: "Are you Katherine O'Malley?"
"Yes, just like it says on the ticket, why?" I asked quizzically.
"I have a letter for you - it was delivered via courier to the station and forwarded to my attention
for delivery to you. Sorry, I was quite busy and didn't recognize the name earlier when you
boarded," he said rather apologetically.
"Is it common practice for letters to be couriered to passengers on trains?" I asked.
"Common practice? No, not in this day and age of cell phones, but I have seen it done before on a
few occasions. Please do not hesitate to let me know if you need anything else. You can contact
the porter and he will find me" the conductor said as he smiled again and left the compartment.
"Thank. you and good night," I said as he closed the door.
I quickly tore open the envelope and found a neatly written six page letter in my dad's
handwriting. He had written it longhand, and had obviously taken great pains to ensure that his
penmanship was legible - mom and I used to tease him about his "chicken scratches", as we called
them.
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"My dearest Kat:
Please don't be mad at me for all that I have put you through and for all of the suspense, mystery,
and drama. My reasons for doing so will become clearer as you read this letter. No, I haven't "lost
it", or become scatter-brained. On the contrary - I am in complete control of my faculties and have
been planning this escape for quite some time now."
Planning what escape? Where is he? Where is he going with this, I said to myself as I read on.
"There is an old saying that variety is the spice of life - meaning that new and exciting experiences
make life more interesting," Dad wrote.
I have two teenaged daughters and I work as a nurse at a hospital- my life is interesting enough.
thank you very much! Where the heck is he headed with this?
As the train trundled through the dark, I settled into my bed to continue reading -
fascinated and puzzled at what I had read so far.
"Sweetie, our most precious commodity is time." he wrote, "We cherish it, waste it, spend it, need
it, but rarely do we manipulate it to enrich our lives, because time invariably manipulates us via
the demands of our fast-paced, wired world. We are often a slave to time constraints imposed by
our work and our family."
"No kidding, Dad!" I said to no one in particular.
The letter went on: "The most precious gifts or legacy that we can have are our memories and the
time that we spend with our loved ones building those memories. Before you came along, your
mother and I would often travel together on business - sometimes her accompanying me and
sometimes the other way around. When you arrived into our lives, we brought you with us
whenever and wherever we went." Dad went on by listing some of his favourite memories of our
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times together, and finally he ended the letter with: "That's about all for tonight, Kat. Sleep tight
and I'll be in touch. Dream of the angels, sweetie! Love, Dad."
"I'll be in touch? Sleep tight? What in heaven's name is he up to?" I said to myself, more confused
than ever. I texted John and filled him in on the little that I knew so far. I re-read Dad's letter
several times and was eventually lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the train.
The next day was spent getting to know my new little world onboard the train. I walked
around, made idle conversation with some of my fellow travellers, and picked up some
newspapers to hopefully take my mind off Dad. I spent a lot of time texting John and the girls
trying to keep them calm and hoping they wouldn't worry too much. I kept trying to put myself in
Dad's shoes in order to understand what he was up to and why he had taken these drastic measures
to conceal his whereabouts and his actions. On the second day, as we pulled away from the station
in Winnipeg, I was approached at breakfast by the same conductor who had given me the letter
from Dad.
"I was handed this letter for you by the dispatcher in Winnipeg. Is everything OK, ma'am?" He
handed me a second letter with Dad's familiar handwriting on it and my look of amazement must
have unnerved him.
"Yes, I'm fine. All is good. Did this letter arrive in the same way as the other one?" I asked.
"Yes, via courier to the dispatcher with a note to forward it via me to you," he said.
"Thanks, I appreciate your concern, but everything is fine, really." I said, somewhat
unconvincingly.
"Don't forget to let me know if there is anything I can do," he said as he smiled and walked away.

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I ripped open the envelope and began to read the letter:
"1 trust you slept well the past two nights? Train travel seems to help people sleep better. Clears
the mind and allows us to focus on what really matters to us in our busy lives. I assure you that I
am fine and all will become clearer once you reach your destination."
Dad went on to again describe various trips, adventures, and good times that we had shared when I
was young: the board games we all used to play during the Christmas holidays, the Good Friday
family fish fry every year at uncle Phil's place, the trips to Montreal during my summer holidays,
and on and on - page after page of good times that he, mom and I had shared.
The memories all came flooding back. He ended the letter with the same line as the last letter:
"That's about all for now, Kat. I'll be in touch soon."
Great, I thought - I'm no further ahead in knowing what the hell is going on, and what's more I
refuse to let that stupid song invade my brain again! Too late, the song's refrain was in there
bouncing around my head like a catchy TV jingle. Argh!
I spent the rest of that day and the next morning re-reading the two letters and wondering
where this was all headed - besides Vancouver, I mean.
As the train pulled out of the station in Jasper the next day, I saw the same conductor
headed my way while I finished my lunch in the dining car. All I could think of was: great, here
we go again! He was holding up another envelope and smiling at me. I couldn't believe it! A third
letter!
"This is getting to be a habit," he said as he grinned and handed over the envelope.
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" was all I could think of saying. I'm sure my face was flushed beet red. He
must be wondering what kind of a loony lady he has on his hands.
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The third envelope contained another letter from Dad. He continued to write about our
adventures - the Saturday fishing trips that he and I would take in our canoe, the trip to New York
City to visit the theatres and museums - and how the only thing I wanted to eat was pizza, pizza,
and more pizza - he even joked about how he and the pizza parlour manager were on a first-name
basis by the time we left New York! Included with the letter was a printout of a room reservation
in my name at the Vancouver Beaumont Hotel, along with an invitation to afternoon tea in the
hotel's rooftop restaurant, named - appropriately enough - The Roof - which was located III
metres above the lobby. The instructions said that I was to be there precisely at 3pm tomorrow and
all would be revealed.
"All would be revealed?" I said aloud, getting curious stares from the diners across the aisle. I
smiled sheepishly and tried to make myself invisible as I hurried away.
When I returned to my cabin I began to read over Dad's letters once again. I began to have
a glimmer of understanding concerning his motives. His references to "time" and "memories"
were beginning to sink in, and his decision to imprison me on this train for four days was his way
of ensuring that I would have time to myself, time to think, and time to remember. He was a crafty
old codger, I'll give him that!
The next day I said goodbye to the staff I had come to know onboard the train, but I could
not find the conductor. I wanted to thank him personally for his help and concern, but he was
obviously busy and probably anxious to be on his way, or at least to stay clear of the eccentric
woman with the secret admirer. The trip from the train station to the hotel was uneventful and my
suite was absolutely beautiful, just as I knew it would be. Let's face it, Dad may be going batty,

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but he still knew how to travel in style. After a quick nap and a long, luxurious shower, I made my
way to "The Roof' restaurant and arrived at precisely 3pm, as instructed.
The hostess escorted me towards a beautiful table next to a large window. The view was
absolutely fabulous! The tables were set with the finest linen, fresh cut flowers in an elegant
crystal vase, and an array of beautiful china and silverware precisely layed out. As we approached,
I saw Dad sitting there resplendent in his best vest and bowtie, along with his favourite old sports
jacket. I hated that jacket - I used to tease him about it because I told him it looked like a fuzzy
moleskin jacket worn by a massive Groundskeeper, as described in a series of books about wizards
that he and I both loved to read when I was young.
Dad was not alone. As I approached, his smile grew wide as he rose to greet me and to
introduce me to his companion. I was absolutely stunned when the young man rose and turned
around to meet me. It was none other than the conductor from the train! Dad hugged me and
kissed my cheek as I stared all the while at the conductor who stood there with a stupid sheepish
grin on his face.
"Kat, I'd like to introduce you to Fred Cooper, whom I guess you sort of already know."
"Hello again," I said coldly, and extended my hand to shake his. I'm sure the temperature in the
room plummeted significantly as Fred the conductor began to stutter out an apology for all of the
mystery and subterfuge that he had been involved in onboard the train. So Dad had a co-
conspirator in his great escape plan!
"Now Kat, do sit down and let me explain," Dad said with a smile.
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"I think I'll be going now, sir" Fred said. They shook hands and Dad said: "give that 0l' fart father
of yours my best, Fred, and please give him this bottle of single-malt whiskey as a token of my
appreciation for all of his - and your - help. Both of you raise a glass to me if you think of it."
"I know he'll love it sir, thanks. It's been a pleasure getting to know you both. Take care and safe
trip home folks" he said, and with that he was off.
"Close your mouth, sweetie - the other patrons are beginning to stare," Dad said as we sat
down.
"Let them stare!" I said half pouting and half furious. "Have you gone crazy, Dad? What's this all
about?"
"It's about life, us, memories" he said, growing serious.
"Do you know what today is?" he asked.
"It's Monday, I think" I said, rather puzzled as to why he would ask me that question. He paused
and very quietly and gently, repeated the question.
"It's Monday the 15th ... ," my voice trailed off as I spoke, just then realizing what he meant.
"It's the first anniversary of mom's death," I said in a quivering voice.
"Precisely," Dad said with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile now returning to his face.
"Your mother and I had a wonderful life together and I cherish the memories of our
adventures and the fun things we did." Dad's expression grew sombre as he said: "At her funeral, I
found myself at the head of the receiving line next to her casket and slowly becoming annoyed and
frustrated with the little groups of family and friends gathered here and there throughout the
funeral parlour. Their laughter and increasingly loud voices were getting on my nerves - that is,
until I began listening to what they were saying. They were talking about the good times they had

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shared with her and how they cherished those memories. I knew then that our memories are what
we cling to in times of solitude, sorrow, and pain. They help salve the afflictions and inflictions of
aging, when one can see clearly that the road ahead becomes much shorter than the road behind.
When we have more time to ponder what was, rather than what will be. That's what all this
intrigue and suspense has been about, Kat" Dad said as he patted my hand.
"I wanted you to have a little adventure of your own. To take the time to reminisce and
remember what fun we all had together. Forgive me for putting you through this, but it was the
only way I could think of to pry you away from your busy life for this very important occasion."
The tears began to flow freely as I leaned over and gently kissed him on the cheek.
"Enough of all this maudlin behaviour," he said in a gruff voice that didn't fool me one bit.
"Let's enjoy the afternoon tea in these sumptuous surroundings - it's something that your mother
and I always wanted to do, but we never seemed to find the time to actually do it." Dad and I spent
the next hour or so enjoying finger sandwiches, sweets, and pastries, along with the Beaumont's
signature teas.
The questions flooded out of me like the waters from a burst dam: "How did you get here,
Dad? What is your connection to Fred the conductor? How did you know I would come?" Dad
patiently sipped his tea, savouring every drop. He then gently put down the delicate teacup and
explained everything to me.
"I had a lot of help, Kat. My buddy Ron back at the home helped me pick out a cell phone
that I could use. You know I'm not good at using technology things. Ron taught me how to use it
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and how to text, so I could keep in touch with him and Fred the conductor. Ron was my eyes and
ears, if you will - he made sure that Nurse Morrison found the envelope in my room and he also
made sure that you opened it He kept me in the loop via his texts. I'm bringing him hack some of
this wonderful Egyptian camomile tea that he loves so much, along with a bottle of that single-
malt whiskey that I gave to Fred for his dad."
"As for Fred Cooper - your most accommodating conductor, and my able accomplice - he
is the son of one of my old fishing buddies - Ted Cooper. Remember when I used to tell you the
stories about the annual fishing trips I used to take? Well, they were with Ted, up to his cabin in
Northern Ontario. I've been emailing him and Fred frequently, fine-tuning my escape plan for
several months now. He made sure that I boarded the train without you seeing me. Fred had the
letters ail along and he made sure you got them at the right time. He was also there to keep an eye
on you and to text me if you ever decided to turn back.
As to how I got here, I did it the same way that you did - on the same train, actually."
"What?" I yelled. "Sorry, sorry," I quietly whispered to the startled people around us, as Dad just
sat there and laughed!
"I always wanted to take the train to Vancouver." he said.
"The new Prestige sleeper class bedroom allowed me to stay put during the day and not be seen. It
had all the comforts of home, without the ever-present nosy Nurse Morrison, of course. Fred
would let me know once you were tucked in for the night so I could come out, meet people and
stretch my legs."
"Remind me to send Fred a Christmas card," I said coldly.
"Be nice, Kat. He was helping an old friend of his dad's. Sweetie, by sharing in this adventure I've
given you a story to tell your children and their children. Remember - memories are born and live

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on to enrich our lives and the lives of our loved ones. They are ours and ours alone - no one can
ever take them away from us. I can't think of a better place to be on this special occasion than here
with you, and I know your mother is here with us enjoying our company and this-lovely view.
When this is all over I want you to go back home and take the time to continue to build on your
own memories with those you love" Dad said as he reached over and kissed my cheek and
squeezed my hand. With that, our afternoon tea came to a lovely end.
I knew now why Dad had done what he did - and why he did it the way he did. His
methods may have been dramatic as evidenced by his carpe diem style of executing his plan, but
the results were not lost upon me. I decided at that moment to ensure that I would seize every
opportunity to create our own little moments in time with John and the girls, and to cherish and
celebrate them the way Dad always did. The trip was coming to an end but the journey was just
beginning, thanks to my new enlightened approach to time well spent.
"I'm feeling rather chipper now that all of this secrecy and suspense is over and done with"
Dad said. "How about this evening we celebrate my new found freedom by taking a leisurely stroll
to a nearby restaurant that the concierge recommended? Tonight when we get back, you can call
John and the girls and explain to them why your wacky old dad escaped the home and what he was
up to" he said with a wide grin on his face. He proffered his arm to escort me back to our rooms
and I gladly accepted his gentlemanly offer. I proudly squeezed his arm as we began to leave the
restaurant.
As Dad and I shuffled slowly to the elevator he stopped me dead in my tracks when he
said: "Maybe my next escape will involve a cruise - I've always fancied a transatlantic voyage!"