Wyatt
My ears are bleeding from Meg’s constant singing as she seems to know every single song the damn radio plays. Even after I switched from channel to channel, she’s beatboxed, rapped, yodelled, belted Celine Dion, been headbanging and even managed to do the robot despite the limited use from one of her hands. She’s not a bad singer, but the fact she is relaxed enough to enjoy herself as if this is a fricking road trip is sending me insane. Why isn’t she crying and begging me to free her? I’m literally driving her to her execution, not a weekend at Summerfest. Her feet are even up on the dashboard, having kicked off her shoes and reclined her seat slightly.
“You know if I crashed right now, your knees would go straight through your eye sockets and crush your skull.” I say during a brief reprieve of idle chitchat between radio hosts before the next song starts up.
“It’s a good thing you’re too vain to mess up that pretty face of yours then, isn’t it?” she replies with a smile. Glancing past her into the side mirror, I notice an HGV truck thundering down the freeway in the next lane. Spinning the wheel, I swerve the car sideways and slam my foot on the brake harshly. She flies forward before her seatbelt locks her in place, her face inches from her kneecaps and a high-pitched scream leaves her lips. The truck veers into the lane I’ve vacated, the deafening sound of his horn blasting as the trucker also stops beside us.
Hollering and swearing down at me, I laugh whole-heartedly and give him the middle finger, pushing on the accelerator to leave him far behind. Multiple cars have had to brake suddenly and skid across the lanes, a mounting traffic jam starting to pile up in my rear-view mirror. Flicking on the indicator arrogantly, I causally take the next exit with a delightfully quiet companion. Following the winding ramp, I halt at an intersection and nod to a passing a cop car, the uniformed female in the passenger seat giving me a sly smile.
“Fucking lunatic,” Meg mutters under her breath.
“You’re the one that thinks I have a pretty face, so what does that make you?” I respond, rendering her peacefully speechless once again. I switch the radio off in case a song she can’t resist comes on to boost her resolve and focus on searching for somewhere to rest for the night. I’ve been driving for almost twenty-four hours straight; the sun is dipping below the horizon in a cloudless lilac sky. The road narrows in preparation to wind through a refreshingly modern city up ahead, the LED signs above bars and restaurants switching on for our arrival.
Buildings stretch towards the sky all around us, the hum of civilisation seeping into me as hordes of people scurry from the revolving doors, eager to escape the stacks of paperwork and unrealistic demands of their bosses. A group of suits sprint over the crossing in front of my stationary vehicle, filtering into a strip club with their briefcases in hand, music pouring out into the street. Even before my life was upended, I never saw myself doing the mundane 9-5. I was a Hughes, only high expectations and a lavish lifestyle waiting in my future. Was. Now I’m stuck on fricking babysitter duty because three pinheads couldn’t complete one simple task, expecting me to be the brains and brawn in operation ‘Ray’s Revenge’.
Driving through the vast city, I look longingly in the rear-view mirror as I exit through the other end and continue onto a quieter road. As much as I miss the high life, I can hardly drag a captive into a busy hotel lobby and ask them to store her somewhere dark and soundproof. The streetlamps become few and far between with each passing mile, drawing us into the darkness of no man’s land. Flicking my eyes across to the passenger seat, I find Meg curled onto her side sleeping softly.
My first instinct is to swerve sharply to wake her up, but for some reason I refrain. Maybe I’m slightly fascinated at the way she keeps surprising me, her ability to adapt to unusual situations a trait I’ve never been able to perfect. My hand brushes her outstretched arm which is hanging loosely against the handcuff on the steering wheel, the coolness of her skin has me reaching to switch the heating on. Because if I’m only delivering one of the girls Ray asked for, I should make sure she hasn’t caught hypothermia on the journey. Yeah, surely that’s the reason.
It’s another hour until I find an almost derelict town, a serial killer-worthy motel sitting on the edge. Turning into the gravelled carpark, I switched off the engine and slump back in my seat. The block of concrete before me has been thoughtfully decorated with graffiti, no doubt from the understandably bored kids who live nearby. The same door is repeated fifteen times across each of the two levels, not a single light on behind any of the curtains. I’d think this place was abandoned if it weren’t for the open door at the end, a grotesquely skinny woman milling about behind a counter.
Itching to straighten my legs, I step out of my door and stretch my arms high above my head. After bending my back side to side, I slam the door shut and retrieve an emergency bag Rachel had packed in the trunk for me. I’m buzzing with excitement to be on my way back to her, like a lovesick teenager or a boy craving a motherly hug. Shouldering the backpack, I
