“Sally told me a sedan arrived. The kitchen window overlooks the gate.”
“What do you think about Sally?”
“I don’t like her. She’s annoying. She likes Cid though. Big mistake.”
“Is she annoying because she likes Cid?”
“Maybe that’s part of it.”
Alan drove over an old iron bridge. Ms. Wells had two other assistants working on mapping out a route that would take Alan over as many older bridges as they could find. Miss Wells had the state highway inspector helping them, paying him with the promise of sending a few Lou Malnati’s pizzas to his offices.
Kiki looked at Alan. “Where are we going?”
“One of my clients has opened up a new bistro and promised me a feast, gratis. It’s called The Pampered Pig. I thought since you really enjoyed the last time when we ate at The Purple Pig, you may want to try this place.”
Kiki was at a loss. Her stomach craved the richness of a well-cooked pork shoulder or chop, but this was competing with her brain. Her mind kept pushing her to make Alan take her home. Her stomach won.
“Sally’s cooking is good, but I doubt I’m going to get anything as nice as that pork blade steak I got at The Purple Pig. Plus, it’s not in her budget.”
“Ah, today, you don’t have to worry about the bottom line.” Alan approached another bridge.
Kiki looked out the window and frowned. “There seem to be quite a few rivers here.”
“It’s a lowland,” Alan explained. “Beautiful though.”
“Looks kind of lonely,” Kiki admitted.
“I wouldn’t want to live here. I’m more of a city boy. The restaurants…” Alan kept the conversation on their past food adventures and away from mentioning the Atwater Estate. He noticed that the further away from Kiki’s renovation they got, the more Kiki had reverted back to her old self.
They had traveled for a few more miles. Alan exited the highway, taking a country lane, which brought them through a few small towns before they approached a covered bridge. The signage warned of a signal light that monitored the one-way crossing and that the use of headlights was mandatory. Alan put on his lights.
“Stop!” Kiki cried.
“Why?” he asked, making a slow stop behind two other cars. The light was not in their favor. He looked at the old bridge from the incline they idled in. Above it were old hex signs painted into the red-stained wood.
“It looks unstable. Trust me, Alan, I know what I’m talking about.”
“Look, that truck loaded with pumpkins made it over. Why would he still have pumpkins? Remember that pumpkin pie we had at…”
The light had turned green. There was no one behind them, so Alan let the other cars drive over before he put the car in gear.
“Stop the fucking car!” Kiki demanded.
“The bridge is fine,” he said.
Kiki lunged over and tried to yank the wheel. Had she succeeded and Alan not anticipated this, she would have caused Alan to drive them both into the icy river.
Alan held on tight. He entered the darkness of the covered bridge.
Kiki growled at him. He saw her eyes had gone red, and he knew that this was the most crucial moment in his life. He kept hold of the wheel with one hand, the other he crammed into his coat pocket and pulled out a rusty finishing nail and jabbed it into Kiki’s upper thigh. The red in her eyes seemed to just turn off. He slowed the car and let it roll off the bridge into the sunshine. Once clear of the structure, Alan pulled over onto the easement. He watched as an ooze of black tar pooled on the floor.
“Kiki, open your door,” he ordered.
Kiki, dazed from the encounter, did so without question. The tar puddle oozed slowly out of the car as if it was as confused as the woman it has possessed. Alan stepped out, drawing out a bottle of holy water, prepared to fight for Kiki. He needn’t have worried, as the black goo was moving towards the bridge. Maybe it was the safety of the darkness it was looking for. But it was repelled by the rushing water and the iron girders. It formed a small pool. Alan approached it slowly, but before he got there, it vanished as if it was scooped up by some unseen hand and taken away.
He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Cid. He walked back to the car. Kiki was still sitting there, a bit dopey, with her car door open, rubbing her thigh.
“Shut your door, Kiki.”
Kiki did so.
Alan pulled back on the road and continued towards the city. He crossed two more bridges just in case.
“Ouch,” Kiki said, rubbing her thigh again.
“What’s wrong?” Alan said, feeling the guilty weight of the returned nail in his coat pocket.
“I must have caught a nail when I was looking through this trim that I thought Cid may want to look at. You see, he likes to examine the artistry and figure out how the old craftsmen did this marvelous work, considering the tools that they had back then.”
“That was very kind of you. Is your tetanus shot up to date?”
Kiki nodded, but she still seemed disorientated. “Alan,” Kiki’s voice was soft. “I remember bundling up some of the shorter pieces and carrying them towards the stairs, but not how I got into the workshop. Maybe the place is affecting me? Yesterday, Cid tried to tell me that I needed to get away and go see Father Simon. He’s the priest I met during the Tiny Houses project.”
“I know Father Simon well. Please continue.”
“I’ve really screwed up my working relationship with Cid. I thought, when he suggested safer
