Chapter 8

                                    

                                          


                          
Time seemed to fly by as I stared out the window of a private plane to Baton Rouge. The agency had surprised me already because George didn't take me to some regular airport. Instead, driving me to his privately-owned airport on the outer skirts of Los Angeles that I never knew could exist so close to the city, where he'd brought me and my luggage to a private plane that had a ramp that came out of the back. So, I could get on the plane even in my wheelchair. 
                          
Meanwhile, at a regular airport, I would have had to be transferred to a special airport authorized manual chair while they put my wheelchair in the cargo bay of the plane. Then, when I got to the plane, I'd have to be transferred again to a tiny, uncomfortable airplane seat, where I'd have no chance to even think about going to the bathroom. So being on a private plane with all the room I would need and still being able to sit in my wheelchair was a pretty big deal.
                          
While looking out at the brightly lit blue sky, all I could do was wonder what my future would look like. 
                          
Would being an agent be worth it? Will I be able to bring Peyton in safely? Why did Peyton go rogue? Can I trust the Agency? There were all kinds of thoughts floating through my mind. But in just over two hours, I hoped I would soon find out.
                          
Before long, I heard George say on the plane PA system that we were preparing for landing at a small airstrip, a couple of miles out from New Orleans. Then, carefully, the plane started to drift into a position parallel onto the airstrip and landed with a slight bump.
                          
At the earliest chance, I flew down the ramp in my wheelchair to get onto any sort of land, where I was greeted by the fresh smell of trees in the distance. Felt the whistle of wind flow across my buzzed head, and heard the sweet sounds of nothing except birds whistling within the nearby nature, which was dramatically different from the constant noise within the congestion of traffic and chatter. Or the non-refreshing smells that arise from the air pollution. 
                          
Although, one thing that struck me after I finally got my bearings in this new environment was the unbearable humidity and stickiness of Louisiana. I had immediately started to sweat when I drove down the ramp of the airplane and felt like a total mess by the time I reached the bottom of it.
                          
"Sure is hot out here, isn't it, Mr. Wilson?" I heard a very deep voice say from my back left.
                          
I turned around to see a very well dressed, old African-American man standing near a fancy looking black van with his arms crossed.
                          
"Yeah, it feels awful. I'm starting to sweat like a pig."
                          
He laughed with a cackle.
                          
"You'll get used to it. Now, excuse my manners, but I haven't introduced you to myself. I'm Mr. Miles Crenshaw, and I'll be your driver for this evening to Dr. Hyde's plantation. And not to be rude, but we have to get a move on. Dr. Hyde wants to talk to you a little bit before dinner."
                          
"Sure thing! It's nice to meet ya Mr. Crenshaw. Just give me a sec. I'd like to breathe a little because that was my first ever flight."
                          
"Oh, no problem, sir, I'll just get the car ready for you until then. How about that?" He said with an infectious smile on his face.
                          
"Thanks, Mr. Crenshaw, that sounds great."
                          
On the way to the plantation in Baton Rouge, I didn't get a chance to stare out the window to look at the beautiful scenery of the Louisiana countryside because Mr. Crenshaw kept on talking my ear off. He kept on asking questions like where I was from, how did I get in a wheelchair, what movies did I like, or what my favorite sports teams were. 
                          
He seemed like a comfortable guy to talk to, and I was happy to answer. So we just kept on talking about random things which seemed to make all that nervousness that I had built up, seem to fade away.
                          
It didn't take long before we took a right turn into a long driveway that was reminiscent of the driveway from Forrest Gump. Covered with rows of trees that hung overhead that ran parallel to the driveway. Going on for about a mile, until the plantation appeared up ahead. 
                          
As we got closer and closer, the more I began to feel like this whole thing was a dream because the house was huge. It looked like a three-story building that had been there for a while, with a brick foundation and rustic outer look. But that made it seem even more pristine than if it had just been built.
                          
Mr. Crenshaw looked in his mirror at my amazed face and just smiled as he drove around the roundabout fountain that sat in front of the doorway to the plantation. Then, the van came to a halt in front of the door. Mr. Crenshaw got out to start untying the chair and then brought out the ramp to let me out.
                          
While this was going on, Dr. Hyde opened the large doors to the house with both hands and came out with his arms in the air, smiling with excitement.
                          
"Oh my, Oh my, Oh my, Mr. Wilson. It is darn good to see ya again. How was your flight? Because I pride myself in providin' the best accommodations for my people. Don't I, Mr. Crenshaw?"
                          
Mr. Crenshaw smiled back with a big old grin while giving a hefty laugh. 
                          
"Yes, sir, Dr. Hyde, I wouldn't work anywhere else even if you paid me."
                          
I politely answered him back. 
                          
"Yes, Dr. Hyde. The flight was great. I've seen horror stories on the internet about flying in a wheelchair. So I appreciate you providing those accommodations for me. But, Mr. Crenshaw, what do you mean not even if you're paid? You' re not getting paid?"
                          
"No, sir. See, my family has been working for generations under the Hyde family. And for our discretion and loyalty, we've had lives that many people would have dreamed of having. It might not seem much to you, but the Hydes have been very kind to us over the generations and have given me a life I'm proud to have. So I don't mind not being paid. I've got everything I've ever wanted, right here."
                          
"I see," I said with fascination.
                          
"Well, I'm glad you liked our accommodations, Mr. Wilson. Now please, come on into my humble abode. We have much to talk about, and you have so much to see. But first, let me give you a tour." As he gracefully swept his arms towards the door.
                          
"Gladly, sir."