Hours.
I had hours before the cops would know anything.
The highway was winding and tree lined, but I didn’t mind. My headlights snaked through the dusky light, piercing into the shadows of the underbrush. I could picture the image I cut in the dark. A wine-red devil out in the woods of Pennsylvania. The Lincoln roared and I purred along with it. Me with my canary.
The radio hissed dully, only picking up the air between stations as I pushed on. The dial had been broken for some time, but I kept it on, in hopes of catching something good in my travels. It hadn’t been since Castleton that anything had graced my airwaves.
A road sign pointed forward, straight, with the word “ONLY” beneath it. There were no turn-offs, and I scoffed as I saw this. The standards for signage and road care were far more lax in these little pockets of nowhere.
I picked up the state map, letting my eyes leave the road a moment, and checked my route once more. First through Rome, then onto Wihwin where I’d lay this all to rest amongst the bee balm and bluebells. I’d be looking for the turn-off to State Highway 20, next. I folded the map up and sighed contentedly.
The fifth.
A smile cracked along my jaw without consent.
Out on the backroads, the forgotten highways, it was rare to see a car, rarer still to see highway patrol. Yet, here, as the road crested a hill, I found one lying in wait behind a copse of pine. My speedometer read nearly ninety, the last sign I’d seen had suggested sixty-five.
I began slowing and pulling over almost before their lights flashed and siren chirped at me. I pulled out my wallet, alligator leather, and fished out my license. The nom de guerre, carefully chosen.
The officer stepped up to the window and tapped it gently with his light, flashing it in on me. I smiled affably and half covered my eyes, whirring down the windows with the other hand. I offered my license before he could ask.
“Evening, Officer.” I greeted, all contrite supposed and handsome flair.
The officer took the license and looked it over before eyeing me. “Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?” he asked.
“Terribly sorry, Officer. I think I might’ve let my eyes stay on the road a bit too long and let my foot get ahead of me.” I jested, deflecting with fencer’s panache.
He smiled. “I’d say that’d about sum it up,” he said. He offered the license back. “Mr. Kotka, what would you say your reason for speeding might’ve been?”
“I’d say, mostly the setting sun. I’d like to make it to the next town and maybe find somewhere to settle in before it gets too late.” I confided, knowing half the truth was better than none.
The officer nodded slowly. “Well, that’d be nearly a hundred dollar fine if I were to write you one,” he said, looking up the road. “However, it’s pretty quiet out here, and my concern is honestly more for your safety than anyone else. Hitting a deer out here at the kinds of speeds you were traveling would be… unfortunate.”
I took my license and furrowed my brow as if I’d not considered this possibility. “There are deer out here?” I asked, knowing the state my plates said.
“Big ones,” the officer said. “Rome’s only a ways on and there’s a decent motel there I can recommend, the Colosseum. The owner’s a good sort and can set you up for the night.”
I nodded emphatically. “Thank you, Officer.”
I allowed him to leave first, waiting for his tail lights to pass beyond the trees before I pulled back into the road.
The Colosseum. I supposed little towns had to do what they could to draw in outsiders. Even resorting to kitschy names and consistent theming. I’d likely only just briefly pass by a few of these places as I drove through.
Within minutes I found the sign pointing me to State Highway 20, and just beneath it, Rome 1. A tail of ivy curled up a leg of the sign. Spade tipped.
As I turned onto the highway, I hit a bump and my trunk thudded heavily, eased to and fro. The sky heading this way was darker, greyer, and threatening a storm. The radio agreed, hissing louder, as of falling rain before resolving into a man’s voice.
“Good evening everyone, we’re just getting into it here on W-R-O-M thirty-two-point-oh F-M. Before we get to music, let’s look at that weather report! You might be noticing some clouds hanging overhead. Those are no warning, no-siree. These are bonafide thunderheads, ladies and gentlemen! Get into cover, sedate your dogs, and snuggle in for a cold night of lightning and whipping rain!” The radio host laughed hard, spluttering out the signal into static for a moment. “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Next up, it’s Danger Flavour with their first-ever top thirty single, Grating Nerves!”
I rolled my eyes as the music started. Skaterpunk Boy Band is how I’d describe it, if pressed. The gas was still well above halfway full and as the first buildings came into view from between the trees, I was thankful I wouldn’t have to actually stop. The kitsch was even worse than I suspected. I spotted the Colosseum almost immediately, topped in a faux-brick facade with plaster arches. The fading paint on its front screamed for a fresh coat, or to be sanded back from its misery.
I snatched a cigarette from my case, placed beside the map, silver fine and glittering filigree. Punching the lighter in, I watched the people go by. The town wasn’t big, but it was busy. Precious pedestrians polluting the streets. I spotted a girl, two pigtails, and a tight blouse, pink. I lit the tip as she stared back at me, blowing smoke in a pall over my face.
Cheshire smooth.
The first drops hit heavy, skitter-splattering over the glass. I rolled up the window to just a crack and took another drag, letting the smoke slither-sink down into my lungs. Maybe I could stay a night. The trunk had handled worse.
The sky seemed to tear, dropping a rolling sheet of rain over the road which rapidly flowed toward me. This would be fine cover, however, to finish tying up loose ends. The lake would be less than empty, totally without a single boat. Wihwin only saw tourists during the dry, hot months, and this was most assuredly not then.
It was best to push on.
I spotted a few people scampering into the fluorescent glow of a video store, the sign totally burnt out, but the neon in the window flashing at me. “Horror Weekend: Buy two get popcorn free!”
Ah yes, either bone dry and flavorless, or else drowning in artificial butter. I sneered as I passed.
The song was building to its conclusion and the singer crooned, “twas so late, it was too late…” I saw another building pass me by, its red neon flaring in the failing daylight. The Aqueduct Bar and Grill. On the window a sign implored, “try our new Peppy Float!” Inside I saw families having dinner, their fathers drinking beers, their mothers cleaning cheeks. I was a family man. I loved families, but daughters were the best.
I licked my lips before drawing in another mouthful of sweet smoke, savoring its unique taste. Tongue tickling taste… Delicate rose petals and hibiscus, my special blend. I’d have to harvest the next season’s supplies after this night was done.
I thanked whatever heaven might exist as the buildings thinned again and I passed beyond Rome. The forest grew back with a vengeance and I was quickly blanketed as the first peal of thunder screeched across the sky, no flash visible.
The road was ever-winding, sinuous and snaking. Out there it was best if you took the blind corners and hilltops with ease, letting the unseen come at you at a speed where one could actually react to it. I did not heed this practice.
As I came around a particularly harsh turn, a sign flashed by. An arrow, and “ONLY.” Once again, no turn-offs.
I continued to curl around the banks in the road, bemoaning the idiots who had done the absolutely abysmal job of placing road signs where needed.
The flowing curtain of rain slammed against the windows and drew the visibility lower and lower yet. I had my wipers on their fastest setting and it only just gave me enough time to make out the turns and the ditch. A hissing spray misted in through the window as I drew deeply from my cigarette.
Soon enough I’d be out on that rasped lake, its surface torn and trembling, barely held together under this diluvial downpour. The stones would do their job, and soon all would rest gently at the bottom.
The speakers hissed out for a few moments before the radio host came back again. “What a storm! We’re expecting gusts up to ninety and, if you lose power, remember to stay warm! It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Next up, we have Secondhand Sorrow with Lachrymose from their second album Life’s Hard On the Rocks.”
I saw a sign, partially obscured by English ivy, the highway number was covered, but the town was still visible. Rome 2.
Had the sign been bent around? Or had these bumpkins put it on backwards? I laughed, expelling smoke in a fitful cough, and tossed the butt from the window, rolling it up the rest of the way.
The singer bleated, “It’s cold down here, where ladies wait. Gripping fear, and tearful hate!”
As my hand reached for the knob to turn down the music, I saw the dim lights of a town break through the torrential downpour. A strange sight found me. Cheap plaster, cinderblocks, and a wide sign: The Colosseum.
I slowed as I neared the building, willing my sight to pierce the rain. The lights were on in the office, but the lot was empty save for a single red car. Someone stood inside the office, but the rain obliterated their edges.
I continued on and could just make out the buildings of Rome all around me.
narrowed my eyes at this illusion, this civil engineering anomaly. I had surely entered some sort of loop on the narrow highway and simply missed it in the pouring rain. No worries, I’d go slower on my way out. Whatever split the road might hold would be easier to spot if I were careful.
No pedestrians remained, driven inside by the pouring rain, in fact the video store looked positively packed. The neon flashed something that was hard to make out in the rain, but it looked to say, “Horror: See What Waits.” I had to be honest, this was a more intriguing sign than the last.
The Aqueduct Bar and Grill glared in the grey half-light of dusk, the last of the sun’s rays desperately clawing at the clouds above, smothering slowly. Inside, uproarious men pushed and pulled, a seething mass of frivolity and frothy beer. My lips felt dry, throat parched.
What I needed to do had whet my appetite well enough, and made the wait all the sweeter for it. Besides, with the onset of the rain, I’d likely be remembered if I came in but then decided to leave in the midst of the storm. This needed to be done tonight.
I pushed on.
The forest fell back upon me in what felt like moments, large branches thrashing down into the road to batter my roof. Chastising. I wanted to be rid of the forest, or the storm, but knew I needed to be vigilant as I made my way. I’d catch it this time, the hidden turn-off.
The road became serpent-like again, curving and rolling in undulating waves, slithering through the dark-expelling pine.
The radio blurted out a static scream before the radio host laughed and hollered out, as if to crawl over the storm. “It’s picking up now, folks! It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Let’s go easy, now, with Gargling Rocks’ titular song from their first album, Spitting Sand!”
I stared in dumb horror as the ivy-heavy sign came into view.
Rome 3.
No, this was surely… something. I couldn’t think of an explanation. Where I’d gone wrong. I stopped by the sign, staring at it, willing it to resolve into something… other than what it was.
I yanked the wheel around and rocketed back the way I’d come. This way, I’d be in the other lane, and that way I could see where this hidden turn-off was. This was fine. I was still in control.
The ivy nearly choked every inch of this sign, but I could just make out R___ 4.
I slammed on the brakes and breathed heavily, barely able to hear the singer on the radio, or my own voice as the storm screamed above me, battered the trees with flashing lightning and booming thunder.
Then came a massive crashing thud behind me and I whipped my head around. A huge branch lay in the road, cutting off my exit. The wind stopped… or the radio grew louder, and the voice that came warbling out did not match my expectations. In Spanish, a woman sang, “En oscuridad me muevo, y te veré de nuevo…” I didn’t know Spanish, but my skin crawled all the same.
I slammed the pedal down and rocketed past the sign and its turn-off. Anywhere was better than here, and soon enough I’d be away from this freakish little town and be on my way to Wihwin.
The corners peeled back and I skidded through the embankment, scraping my back fender. The storm was nearly impenetrable, only rain and flashes of trees rocketed past me.
I saw another large sign, all ivy, no metal or paint visible at all now, but I recognized the corner all the same, no matter the deteriorating conditions and visibility. I zoomed onwards, begging quietly to the dark, “Come on, I know there’s gonna be another fucking road…”
I went up a hill, around another, and suddenly a procession of increasingly erratic signs blew by, some hanging cattywampus, others lashed with rope or chain. The arrow, “ONLY.” No U-Turn. Stay in lane. Do not pass. Keep right. Keep left.
Wrong way.
WRONG WAY.
WRONG WAY.
The glow of eyes in the glow of my headlights forced me to brake hard, my chest snapped back by the belt, and my head hitting the steering wheel. As I came to a halt, blinking through a bead of blood which now trailed over my cheek, I saw a deer, massive, its antlers rising high like branches in the air. Lightning crashed and threw stark shadows all about the interior of my car. It blew steam from its nose and slapped the hood of my car with its hoof. I stared in silence.
Its mouth opened, a warbling, guttural cry issuing from its throat, shaking the glass of my windshield. The sound crawled down into my belly and I thought I heard something whimper in the trunk behind me. I punched the horn and yelled back, a headache crackling across my skull in time with the storm. The deer startled and bounded away, down into the precipitous drop beside the road.
I laughed and closed my eyes, tasting my blood. I was clearly delirious.
The radio screeched at me, near piercing my eardrums. “Ooooh boy! What. A. Storm. Get indoors folks! Batten down the hatches! It’s gonna get worse before it gets better! Next up, I’ve got Bullet-proof Corset with To Live Without Guns, is to Cease to Live.”
I rattled the volume knob, my howl drowning in the storm, muffled into nothing as the singer seemed to compete with me for loudest scream. “If you thought you put me down, better check again!”
The car suddenly rocked forward and I turned in my seat, looking back through the rear window, into the blood-red rain caught in my brake lights. Again it happened and this time I could hear it over the music and the thunderstorm, a bang from the trunk and a voice like ice. The words were undefined, but the rage was clear.
I put a hand on the door, ready to jump into the night, but stopped. The wind hummed against the door, feeling almost like it wanted to pull it open, drag me out into the maelstrom.
I slowly let go of the handle and turned to face the road. My wipers slapped desperately back and forth, just barely giving me glimpses of the road ahead.
The thumping from the trunk had stopped, and the singer was calming down. “It’s never too late to give in again…”
I started to slowly accelerate. I couldn’t honestly say I understood what was happening to me, and… maybe I had gone insane, but the storm felt dangerous. Like all that stopped it from tearing into me was the steel frame and thin sheets of aluminum of my car. She hum purred along the phantasmagoric road, trying her best to get me out of there.
The Lincoln had seen me through many terrible nights… and through my terrible acts. I wrung the wheel roughly, chewing on my lip. She had never let me down, and tonight would be no different.
I looked to the dent in the hood and prayed it hadn’t affected the radiator.
As I came around a lazy bend there was only one sign this time and it read, “runaway vehicles only.” I barked a laugh, mirthless, fearful.
I couldn’t leave, but I couldn’t go back. I could only drive.
The road began to straighten and flatten out, stretching down the midnight forest. Then, far, far ahead I saw lights. Headlights. The first person I’d seen on the road since the first time I entered Rome. As the headlights got closer, their shape worried me, their familiarity, a warning.
As the headlights passed, the interior lights were on. The driver was me and he laughed maniacally as he raced by. It was only a minute before the next headlights came.
This fucking road would not let me go.
As I passed me, he was weeping. Only 30 seconds this time and the hateful tears were edged out by sadness.
He was furious. Then only 15 seconds. The absurdity of the face that would meet me overwhelmed my senses. He only quirked a brow.
Then the road began to curve. And distantly I saw the red glare of taillights. They grew closer as their driver slowed down. With only 50 metres to go I saw headlights glint behind me. I eased off the accelerator as I felt it approach me. I was boxed in.
The car ahead of me flared red as they braked, forcing me to brake and me to brake behind me. I looked through the rear window of the car ahead of me and saw my hair in the driver's seat. When I looked in the rearview mirror, the me in there likewise looked up and back.
Then, like thunder rolling in a storm, my screams began.
I covered my ears as the scream reached me and clawed its way out. Louder my voices grew before the radio hissed to life, impossibly heard deep in my ear, a worm through a young grave. “Hey, it’s just about that time, but remember, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Next up, We All Get What We Deserve by Force Feeding Fireants.”
A tap on the driver’s side windshield came and I froze, face held in my palms. I knew she’d be there. She’d be dressed in the nightie, gossamer thin, all but air. Her hair would be platted, crisscrossing down her back. Her neck would be broken—
“Are you alright sir?”
I looked up, and, outside my car, a man stood, hunched over to get a good look at me. The sun was out and the storm was finally past, the rooftops dripping with the dregs of the deluge. I was parked out in front of the Aqueduct Bar and Grill.
“Uh… yeah.” I nodded, finally. “Sorry, it was a rough night. Storm got me turned around.”
“You were out in that thing?” The man laughed and shook his head. “Well, I’m glad for you that you didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere.”
“Yeah… me too.” I, again, nodded.
“Well, hey—and I don’t mean to sound rude—you look like hell. Maybe consider pulling in somewhere and getting some rest, yeah?”
The radio hissed to life once again. “That storm was a hell of a thing, wasn’t it?” A laugh from the host. I turned to look at the radio, a small smile forming as I knew I was free. “Well folks, I, unfortunately, have an upsetting report to share. I was just given a missing persons report. Last night, a young girl went missing, her name is Rosalind Breaker, aged—” I twisted the volume knob, but it didn’t quiet at all. “She was last seen getting into a dark red Lincoln Mark Four. If you—” I punched the radio and it crackled harshly before shutting off, the light illuminating the frequency display dying.
I looked back at the man outside of my car and saw the grimace crawling up the side of his face. He grabbed the door handle and I slammed onto the accelerator.
He tumbled out onto the road as I sped away.
Minutes.
I had minutes before the cops would be here.
