Authors: Andrew Neiderman
Naw, it's all right. The regular day went great.. .
small classes, manageable, most of the kids quite nice.
I met a few more faculty members, mostly old-timers, from the house in
which old man Carter and the Overstreets lived.
For a moment the driver focused on the lighted windows upstairs. Then
the truck inched forward as if on its own.
A startled owl flew off a nearby tree limb and sailed across the truck's
path before disappearing into the night.
The driver didn't seem to notice. Nothing took his concentration off
the windows. Not more than fifty feet from the house, he stopped the
truck again and just stared. Finally he lit a cigarette. Its glowing
ash looked like the single eye of a terrified alley cat reflecting the
stray glitter from garbage cans. The driver rolled down his window, but
the escaping smoke was barely visible.
After a few more moments he flipped the cigarette into the night. It
landed with an explosion of sparks and remained a tiny, red-orange bead
against the blackness.
A shadow crossed the first lit window.
Reaching over to the dashboard, the driver of the truck opened the glove
compartment and took out a pint bottle of rye whiskey. He unscrewed the
top carefully and took a long swallow. He shuddered as the whiskey
burned down his throat and warmed his chest. Then he screwed on the
bottle cap and put the bottle back in the glove compartment, catching a
glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. Only he didn't see himself;
he didn't see a drawn, unshaven man with sunken cheeks and a pronounced
jawbone. He didn't see his own bloodshot eyes or his disheveled, thin
brown hair. Instead he saw the face of a teenage boy, round and full of
health, a face of smiles and optimism. The driver paused to smile back.
Just a little while longer now, Paulie boy, he muttered Just a little
while longer. You're gonna know it, too, boy. I can feel it. It's
gonna wake you up, bring you back to the way you was. Just a little
while longer.
The dark silhouette in the house moved across a second window. The
driver reached behind his seat and brought out a rifle.
Oh yeah, Paulie boy, he muttered. Oh yeah.
He started to open the truck door, but the handle didn't turn. He
pressed down on it again and again. It didn't move. He leaned on it
with all his weight, but the handle did not budge. What the hell He
slid across the seat impatiently and reached for the handle on the
passenger-side door, but that, too, did not budge. He banged on it with
his closed fist until his hand screamed with pain and then he raised his
rifle and slammed the handle with the rifle butt. Nothing happened.
Except the windows rolled up.
The driver sat back in shock. They were certainly not power windows.
Huh? he said to an invisible passenger.
He kicked at the door, but it was like kicking at a cement wall.
The truck started. He jumped back as if the steering wheel were on
fire. The engine raced.
What the hell's going on? He turned the ignition key, but it was
already on off. The truck shook and rumbled as the engine raced harder
and harder.
Panic set in. The driver slammed the windows with his rifle, but they
didn't as much as crack. He felt as if he were choking, as if all air
were cut off. Then he realized the faulty exhaust system, the carbon
monoxide He flailed about like a man going down in quicksand, but
nothing helped. Nothing. Finally, seeing no other way, he pointed the
rifle at the side window and pulled the trigger. The report was ear
shattering, and he thought, as crazy as it seemed, that he actually saw
the bullet bounce off the window and turn around. It seemed to hesitate
for a moment as if it, too, didn't believe what was happening, or didn't
want what was happening to happen. But neither he nor the bullet had
any say in the matter.
It continued its ricochet and crashed through his fore head, lifting him
slightly off the seat and throwing him back against his door, the rifle
flying out of his hands and landing on the seat.
The engine stopped. The door handle went down and the door opened. The
driver fell back, but his legs got caught under the steering wheel and
he dangled there, his body swaying in the wind.
Jessie woke with a start. Her body was comfortably curled in the pocket
of Lee's embrace, his right arm lying lightly over her shoulder. They
had fallen asleep almost immediately after making love, both enjoying
that gentle and welcome fatigue that followed. Jessie recognized that
through their lovemaking they both rid their bodies of the day's
anxiety. Sex was an antidote for tension, for loneliness, and
especially for fear.
With every kiss, with each touch, they reinforced their alliance and
assured each other that no matter how cold and dark the world seemed to
be around them, they were in a warm, protective cocoon.
Lee would tease her about their sexual relations now.
It was the only time he inserted any humor into a discussion of her
blindness.
Wait a minute, he said after they had made love one night, if the
doctors are right about you and your other senses have become sharper,
you're probably getting more out of this than I am now.
So practice keeping your eyes closed when we make love, she replied, and
they laughed.
But it was true. Often, when they made love she felt something beyond
what she had felt before the accident she reached a higher plateau.
Right at the point of orgasm, she seemed to leave the confines of her
body and become part of some ongoing stream, a flow of souls, a greater,
higher form of life. It was an altogether different sort of ecstasy,
not sensual, not pleasurable in the common sense; her body didn't tingle
and feel filled with electricity. This ecstasy came from a sense of
completion, as if as if she had a taste of what would come in the
hereafter. Of course, she didn't mention a word about it to Lee. He
would just lay the blame on her overworked imagination again, and she
instinctively sensed he might not appreciate knowing she wasn't thinking
of him per se when they made great love.
They had made great love tonight, both of them driven by a need to
comfort themselves as well as each other.
Lee had taken his time, titillating her with what he playfully called
his mystery kiss. It was their closest thing to kinky sex. She would
lie nude, her arms up over her head. He would begin by kissing her feet
or her stomach, and then she had to anticipate where he would put his
lips next. In her perpetual darkness, his kisses felt like drops of
warm rain, one falling on her breasts, another on her lips, and then
another just inside her thighs.
Sometimes he lingered between kisses, making the anticipation that much
greater, drawing out the exquisite torment until she cried out and
reached up for him. He would laugh and come to her and they would cling
to each other with a delicious desperation. It had been like that
tonight. And they had drifted into a gentle repose.
Until the noise shattered her peace.
What was that? she cried, sitting up. Lee's arm fell away from her
shoulders and he groaned. Lee?
Huh? He fought opening his eyes. It was too sweet, too comfortable.
She poked him. What? he said, and groaned as he turned over on his
back. Didn't you hear that bang? What bang? He wiped his eyes and
reluctantly lifted his head from the pillow to listen. I don't hear
anything, he said. Not now. She threw her legs over the bed and found
her slippers.
Where are you going? I heard something something terrible, she said,
and started for the doorway.
Oh Jessie, Jesus. He wiped his cheeks vigorously and sat up himself. By
the time he found his own slippers, she was down the corridor and
entering the living room. He was nude, but he didn't pause to get a
robe.
He flipped on the hallway light and found her with her ear pressed
against the front window. For a moment he almost burst out laughing.
She looked like some one eavesdropping on the neighbors in the next-door
apartment. Jesse? Someone's out there, she said.
I hear an engine running.
Oh boy, he said, and joined her at the window. It took a moment for him
to see the truck silhouetted in the darkness. Without its headlights
on, it had blended in with the other shadows and forms in the night.
What the There's someone there? A truck, he said. No lights.
I can't tell if anyone's sitting in it or not. The engine's running,
she insisted. He couldn't hear it through the closed window, so he
opened it and knelt down to place his ear close to the screen. Yeah, he
said, it is. Well, what is it? I don't know. I heard a terrible, loud
sound before, Lee. It sounded like a gunshot. Huh? An icy finger of
fear traced the length of his spine from his neck to his waist. He
shook his body like a bird shaking off rain. Shit, he said. I'm
standing here naked. And, he realized, so are you. Maybe you should
phone the police, Lee, she said, unconcerned with her own exposure in
the window. And tell them what? There's a truck parked on the street
with its engine running.
It's very late. And whoever it is has the lights off.
That's peculiar, Lee. Oh Jesus, he groaned. I'll get some clothes on
and see what the hell it is. She grabbed his arm. No, Lee. just phone
the police. I'm afraid.
They won't come up here if I just tell them there's a truck outside with
its engine running, honey. There's no law against that. I'll see if
there's anything wrong and then I'll phone. He patted her hand and
returned to the bedroom. Jesse turned her attention back to the window
and continued to listen. There was the distinct sound of those
shuffling footsteps again. The cool night air came in through the
opened window, but it wasn't the chill that made her step back; it was
the odor, a whiff of that horrible stench. She brought the window down
sharply stepped back, her heart pounding. A moment later she heard Lee
coming down the hallway toward the front door. Wait, she cried. What?
There's something out there, Lee. What? he asked. I don't know, but
it's something horrible. Oh Jessie, he groaned. I have a flashlight
with me. I'll check it out first before I go too far, okay? Don't go
off the porch, she advised.
Right, he said. He opened the door and went out.
Lee! she cried when he closed the door behind him.
She rushed to it and opened it again just in time to hear him walking
down the steps. Lee? It's all right, he called back. I'm okay. Get
back inside, you exhibitionist, he said, and she finally realized she
was standing naked in the doorway.
What do you see? she asked, covering her bosom with her arms. A truck
with its door opened, he said as nonchalantly as he could, for he had
seen more.
He walked over the flagstones and directed the beam at the truck cab
where the driver's door was open. He ran the light down and saw the man
dangling.
Should I phone the police? Jesse called from the doorway. For a moment
Lee didn't respond. He stepped closer. Yeah, he called back, I guess
you should.
He directed the beam of light over the driver. The man moaned. What
the hell. .. Lee knelt down beside him and shook his arm. The man
groaned and then started to vomit profusely. Lee jumped up and stepped
back to avoid the splatter. The foul odor of whiskey mixed with
whatever the man had put into his stomach during the last few hours came
up at Lee in undulating waves.
Lee fanned the air around him and stepped to the side, directing his
flashlight at the cab. He saw the man's feet were caught in the
steering wheel and he saw the emptied pint bottle of rye on the seat
with a rifle beside it.
The man moaned and began his struggle to right him self, but he had no
support and simply flapped about like a fish on land. Reluctantly,
holding his breath as he did so, Lee came to his assistance and lifted
him so that he could free his feet from the steering wheel. Then he
scooped his arms under the man's arms to pull him from the truck as if
he were pulling him from a vehicle on fire. He wanted to get as far
away from the rancid odors as quickly as he could. He dropped the man
gently on the shoulder of the road and ran the beam of light over his
face.
The gaunt-looking, unshaven man waved his hand at the light the way he