crawling on its belly.
As he neared the blinking light, he heard something. A quiet tick, tick, tick as the soft yellow glow blinked on and off, on and off. It belonged to a blue Pontiac Sunbird.
Johanson whistled softly. Must’ve been one hell of an accident.
He shined his light at it. The left turn signal continued its rigid blink. The plastic that shielded it was gone. Johanson aimed his light through the driver’s side door — at least where it used to be. Glass winked at him from the driver’s seat. The fabric was stained with blood.
Johanson reached in gingerly and found the bent lever that controlled the turn signal. He pushed it upward. The signal stopped. He let out his breath, breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. There was more blood on the passenger seat. In the back was a baby’s car seat pressed into the upholstery. Jesus.
As he walked back over the muddy lot toward the shack, he rested his right hand on the butt of his gun. This place had spooked him since the day they assigned him here. Too many places to hide, too many shadows and odd noises. He forced himself not to look over his shoulder, not to whistle, not to do any of the stupid things people do when they are unreasonably afraid. But when he finally opened the door to the shack, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The rattling of the chain-link fence and a female’s voice startled him.
“Hello?”
Johanson whipped around. A young couple stood on the other side of the fence.
Johanson swallowed. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see our car,” the woman said.
Johanson nodded to the main office. “You have to check in first.”
The couple looked to the office.
“Please,” the woman said. “We’re in a hurry. We need to see our car.”
“The procedure is—”
“Look,” the man interrupted. “We just want to look. We won’t be long.”
“Hold on a second.” Johanson lifted his radio to his mouth. “Shatterbaugh, you there?” He listened. Said again, “Shatterbaugh?”
No answer. What the hell was he doing?
“Promise you’ll make it quick?”
“Yes. Thank you. Yes,” the woman said.
He stepped into the shack and pressed the button that opened the gate. “Give me a holler when you’re done and I’ll let you out.”
They nodded, their eyes already searching the waiting vehicles. They stepped into the impound lot and walked slowly down the muddy road.
Johanson contemplated accompanying them, but instead only watched them for a moment, the man in a black suit, the woman in a white dress. A crescent of moon reflected off their pale skin. They walked hand in hand.
Johanson stepped back into the shack, went up to the second floor and looked out the window. The couple was already lost amidst the hulking and twisted metal shapes. He eased into the worn easy chair and turned his attention back to the basketball game. Three minutes left and it was tied.
When the game finally ended (double over-time) he remembered the couple. Wondered what the hell they’d been doing for the last thirty-five minutes.
He got up and pressed his face against the window. A thin fog covered the lot. The light from the main office was dimmed by the haze. And he noticed another light. He swallowed.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Glow. Darkness. Glow. Darkness.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
He found it almost impossible to move from the window. He felt like he would melt right through it and float out into the misty darkness. His face felt numb. Finally he turned away. He looked at the glow of the television, the tinny audio coming out of the speakers, buzzing like a mosquito in his ear. He looked back at the lot.
Blink blink blink, the glow fuzzy as the fog and darkness devoured it.
He felt vulnerable standing in the window. He stepped to the side. Checked his sidearm. Pulled it out and made sure it was loaded. One more turn to the window, one more look outside.
Okay, just a short in the wiring. That’s all it is. Something got fucked up in the accident.
He talked into his radio. “Shatterbaugh, you there?”
Again, there was no answer.
Someone was in the car this time. A couple of teenagers humping away like mad in the back. The guy who was on top wore a letter jacket with a big ‘A’ on the back.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing in there?”
They ignored him and kept at it.
“Get the hell out of there.”
The boy paused. He turned his head. His face was white and streaked with blood. “Fuck off,” he said. “You’ll get your turn.”
Johanson saw the girl. She was dead. One arm was missing, her skull was smashed and pieces of brain spread like jelly over the back seat. Johanson jumped back and pulled out his sidearm. He aimed at the boy.
“Get out now!”
“Fuck off,” the boy said. He looked familiar, and the girl, through all the mess, looked familiar, too.
Johanson’s mind reeled. That couldn’t be. These two were younger. Dressed differently.
He fired. The boy didn’t flinch. Johanson fired again, the bullet crashing into the boy’s skull.
“Leave us alone,” the boy grunted as he continued to screw the corpse beneath him. “Wait your turn.”
Johanson fired again and again, flinching each time until his bullets ran out. His hands shook. He gasped. He realized the car was empty. He stared at the bullet riddled child’s car seat. It took an effort to get his gun back in its holster.
His radio squawked.
“What the hell’s going on down there? You okay?” Shatterbaugh.
Johanson turned in a quick circle. Lifted the radio to his face. “Where’ve you been? I tried calling you twice already.”
“Taking a shit. What’s going on down there? Sounded like the OK Corral.”
The turn signal was still on, reflecting the grinning grills of the surrounding vehicles. “Nothing,” Johanson said. He stared at the blinking light. “Target practice.”
“Knock that shit off.”
“Yeah,” Johanson said. He reached in, his hand shaking, and turned the signal off. “Yeah.”
He walked the perimeter of the lot looking for the couple. They couldn’t have let themselves out. Certainly couldn’t have climbed the fence. And that hallucination…
Don’t let it get to you, Johanson thought. Anyone would be creeped out by a place like this. How could you not be? The darkness was heavy. Palpable. Even with the lights surrounding the lot, it seemed to weigh on the cars, squatting on them like some fat, intangible bully.
Suck it up, he told himself. Suck it up.
Inside the shack, he reloaded his sidearm. He started to wonder if the couple he’d let in was another hallucination. Maybe he dozed off during the ball game and dreamed the whole thing. Wouldn’t be the first time he fell asleep while on duty.
Johanson dropped his gun at the sound of knocking below. He forced himself to relax before picking up the
