Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST (20 page)

She slid her specially made rolling table over to the side of the
van so she could get Dom and get to work. Her table allowed her to roll the
tarp bundle onto it, secure it with sturdy straps, and then elevate it to the
perfect working height. The table was her pride and joy. Designed by her, she
had it crafted over a two-year stretch by multiple artisans. Nobody who worked
on it had a clue what they had made. She caressed her hands along the stainless
steel with desire. Her bundle, now rocking, brought her back to the task at
hand. She rolled into the work zone and started to elevate the table over the
drainage grates. Rose was quite methodical. She expertly sliced the tarp away,
and saw the frightened look on Dom’s face as he realized the wicked predicament
he found himself in. If only he knew how wicked it truly was.

Dominic Giovanni de Santiago looked into those hazel eyes, finally
seeing them for what they were—the eyes of a witch. He knew this in his
soul. He’d been seduced by the temptress and lost all because of those pools of
passion. He’d lived a good life though and had no regrets—well, there was
that one regret. He would always regret the day he had climbed into the seat of
that truck.

It was June 1970. He’d been hitchhiking to Canada, trying to dodge
that damn draft. Vietnam was not high on his list of places he wanted to visit.
When the notice arrived, he threw what he could carry in a rucksack and hit the
highway. He’d gotten to the border of Wisconsin without a problem. He spent a
few days working just outside of Burlington. A farmer needed some hands to
harvest corn and he needed money. When he hit the road, he stuck out his thumb,
and in a flash, a semi-truck came to a slow stop in front of him. A gritty
voice spoke from the open window, inviting him in. A shiver went down his
spine, but his feet hurt. Rides were hard to come by, so passing one up was
pure stupidity. Who knew—maybe the driver would have some weed or whiskey
to ease his hurts.

A scrawny old man sat in the driver’s seat of the truck cab. Dom
could have sworn the old man shimmered in and out of existence at times, and he
knew he wasn’t using anything when he climbed in that cab. “Name’s Dom, sir,
thanks for stopping,” he said, holding his hand out.

The man never shook his hand, just mumbled his name, which Dom
thought was Smitty. “You goin’ north? I’d really like to get to Canada. You
heading that way?” Dom rambled. The old man just nodded and the truck started
rolling down the highway.

Dom blinked at the brightness of the lights, listening to the
sounds around him. Was that really AC/DC playing
Hells Bells
over a stereo? Rose wasn’t even old enough to
appreciate that music, he thought—a random thought in response to the
absurdity of his situation. His body felt heavy and numb, but his mind was
clearing. He’d been played the fool after all these years—by a broad. The
irony of it all. He knew that Betty Lou was close. He could feel her essence
pulsing through him and sensed her anger. He also knew that they would never
see each other again. His time had come.

Rose knew Dominic couldn’t feel what she was doing—the drugs
hadn’t fully worn off. She’d injected him with the EDTA, an anticoagulant,
inserted the tube into his femoral artery, and watched as his blood flowed from
his body. Her table allowed gravity to aid the process. She’d have to store the
body until she could come back and have more fun—no time for a true
torture session—but she knew what would torture him the most. She stood,
walked up to his face, and brought her hand to his chin. She turned his head so
he was facing her and looked him in the eyes. She fluttered those hazel eyes at
him, knowing they had always been his weakness. He couldn’t speak—she’d
gagged his mouth—but he could see. She kissed him goodbye and laughed as
she saw the spark of life fade from his pale green eyes.

A storm brewed outside the doors of the warehouse as a semi-truck
roared with rage—the engine sending smoke billowing into the sky.
Lightning flashed and thunder clapped as the neighborhood cowered in fear. The
newspaper the next day claimed an earthquake had shaken the area.

Rose dealt with the storage and clean-up process methodically and
quickly. Dominic was history in her book. She had hoped for more fun when this
time came, but Kevin was waiting. She actually looked back at her palace and
dreamed that she would never see it again. The little girl inside her, who
occasionally slipped out, hoped she had found the man of her dreams. She drove
out the back garage door in a Fiat. She wore a slinky red dress, her auburn
hair coiffed to perfection, and her hazel eyes were complimented by her simple,
yet sophisticated, application of makeup. She had one stop to make before she
met Kevin at the airport—a manicure was a necessity.

The semi-truck pulled into the Nickelback Truck Stop. Old Charlie
blinked a few times—he swore that was Dominic’s truck. The truck looked
like it had been to hell and back. Dents rippled across the usually gleaming
cab, dirt clung heavily to the tires, and the windows were coated in filth.
Charlie waited with apprehension for the driver’s door to open. He didn’t
notice the young man who came around the front of the truck, until he was
coming through the door.

“Sir, help me, sir,” the young boy begged. Charlie looked at the
boy and damn near had a coronary then and there. He’d seen those eyes
before—in 1954. He could even smell the old man’s unique combination of
Brylcreem and gasoline in the air. The clothes were worse; he’d seen them just
the other morning, on his pal Dominic. The hair and body strongly resembled
Dom. The voice that was filled with fear was unfamiliar.

“How?” Charlie asked incredulously.

“The truck, it’s the truck,” the stranger shrieked.

Amy came running from the kitchen at the noise. “What the hell is
going on…” she started to say.

What happened next, Chuck and Amy refuse to discuss with anyone.
Betty Lou rolls in regularly to the Nickelback and they just prepare the meal.
Nothing really ever changes on their end; they’ve just stopped looking at the
face of the driver. Dominic’s spirit was there that day—for a moment. He
waved from the cab of the truck before it transformed back into a gleaming
beauty. The young man who was ready to crap his drawers, suddenly stood tall
and walked to the bathroom area. Before he went into the shower room, he turned
and simply said, “I’ll have the usual, Chuck. Morning, Amy.” They never asked
his name, and he never offered. Old Charlie retired in 2010 because Amy had
cancer of the thyroid and they wanted to live out her last days in peace. Their
son took over the truck stop, as of December 2012, and Betty Lou still makes
regular stops. The driver has changed again, but Smitty, Dom, and that other
boy are still in there.

“Be careful when you’re hitching a ride,” was the sign that
Charlie had made for the Nickelback, “Steer clear of the trucks.”