He keeps panting and muttering, “Oh sweet Jesus, she’s so close… She’s almost HER.”
“Did you see that?” Charlee McLaughlin’s voice echoes past me in a distorted roar.
“See what?” Ben’s voice rumbles behind.
“They flinched.”
“Yeah, so?”
“No, I mean like both at the same time.”
“Yeah?”
“Well does that mean something?”
“You’re askin’ the wrong guy, Chuck.”
“It’s been almost five solid minutes.” Her voice continued to echo out of phase. “Should we try to wake them up or something?”
In my mind I was screaming, “ YES!”
Of course, they couldn’t hear me. Hell, I couldn’t even hear me.
“First time I ever saw ‘im do this,” Ben explained, “he said, whatever ya’ do don’t touch me, or you’ll break the trance. Or somethin’ like that, anyway. Just let it go. As long as he’s not screamin’ and they’re both still breathin’, he’s prob’ly fine.”
“No I’m not!” I screamed at them again, but to no avail. Not that I expected them to hear. But I did hope.
One thought kept going through my mind where my friend’s explanation was concerned: “Dammit, Ben! As I remember, you didn’t listen to me then-so why are you suddenly deciding to do as I asked now?”
The sense of absolute violation transcends even the pain.
I know he’s been inside me, I can feel it.
I’m still so weak, so tired that I cannot move.
I just lay there in the cold and cry.
Hot tears stream from the corners of my eyes, rolling across my face and finally dripping into my ears.
I’m on my back.
It’s dark and there’s something covering me.
I can feel cold vinyl against my skin.
The stench of stale cigarette smoke fills my nostrils.
I’m still with him.
How long has it been?
I’ve lost all track of time.
I feel motion.
We are moving.
I can hear the roughness of the mistuned car engine.
The vibration rattles me.
My arm slides across my chest, making tiny jumps in time with the vibrations, until finally it falls, glances from the edge of the seat, and lands in the floorboard-or more accurately, into the trash covering the floorboard.
I can hear him in the front seat.
He’s humming.
He’s humming a happy, satisfied tune. He’s humming “Merry Christmas, Baby.”
The sorry son-of-a-bitch…
I feel the vehicle turn-left I think.
I wonder if I can remember the turns. Isn’t that what they do in spy movies? Count the seconds traveling straight, then the turns? Make a map in their heads?
Who am I trying to fool here? I can’t even think straight.
I wonder where he is taking me?
My stomach wrenches itself into a knot as fear grips me.
He’s probably taking me somewhere, so he can kill me and dispose of my body!
I feel the car turn again, begin to accelerate, then the forlorn squeal of thin brakes reaches my ears.
The car lurches to a sudden halt, rocking hard on worn shocks. I bounce against the seatback like a rag doll then roll forward. My body slides from the edge of the seat and crumples into the floorboard, face down.
I groan.
“Don’t worry,” I hear him say. “You’re almost home.”
Fear slices through me again. I wonder what he means by home? The bottom of a ditch? The river? A shallow grave somewhere?
My mind races, but it isn’t winning.
I struggle to open my eyes and find my face buried in a pile of trash. As we pass beneath a streetlight, I see that my pillow consists of fast food bags, empty cigarette cartons, and things best left unidentified.
We travel in darkness then pass beneath another streetlamp. My roaming eye catches a glimpse of an envelope.
Darkness falls.
Again, for a fleeting instant, the glow of a streetlamp.
Mister something.
Darkness.
I count out the thrum of the tires in my head, keeping my eye focused on the spot where the envelope lay.
Three, two, one.
The light floods the interior for a split second.
An address… 75…
Darkness, three, two, one… 34…
Darkness, three, two, one…
Or was that the stamp?
Darkness, three, two, one…
75 again…
Darkness, three, two, one…
34 again. Was it the stamp again? I don’t know…
Two, one…
Mister something again.
Concentrate!
Darkness, three, two, one…
75…34 something…
I can feel the car slowing…
Darkness, three, two, one…
The car quickly arcs into a turn and then bounces over a curb just as the streetlamp’s glow fills the cabin.
The envelope shifts.
I shift.
I catch a final glimpse as a fast food bag falls in front of it.
Mister and Ash something…
Mister Ash?
Mister Ash what?
