“Hey, Callahan,” Benjamin said. “What is it exactly that you do? That is, if you're not really a teacher.”
“Supernatural investigator,” Callahan said proudly, “extraordinaire.”
“If you do say so yourself,” Taylor said, tapping her fingernails against her window sill.
“Where do you think that guy went?” Benjamin asked, stroking Alexandra's cheek in the dark of the back seat. “I don't get it. He's all like âAlexandra is my soul mate, blah, blah, blah,' and then he disappears. Doesn't he think we could use a little muscle where we're going?”
“Be assured that the hellhound that awaits us will not hurt any of you,” Callahan swore. “As for Kraven, I would not be surprised to see him anywhere, at any time.”
Popping a stick of gum in her mouth, Taylor smacked her lips and fussed with her seatbelt.
“He's probably in the trunk,” she told Benjamin.
“Pull over, Callahan,” the boy said firmly.
“Nonsense,” Callahan insisted. “He's not in the trunk.” Callahan's eyes were drawn to a gathering of clouds in the sky, their shapes illuminated by the rising moon.
Peeking at the backlit numbers of the speedometer, Taylor clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The frustrated rhythm echoed from behind her gritted teeth. “Seriously?” she huffed, a frown parting her puffy lips. “A wheelchair could pass us at this speed.”
“Arrive alive,” Callahan insisted, his hands planted firmly at ten and two on the steering wheel.
“This is such a waste,” Taylor complained. “This baby has eight cylinders of no excuses for arriving tardy to the party.”
Benjamin snickered and hugged his arm around Alexandra's shoulder as her head lay limp against his chest. “When have you ever been late for a party?” he asked.
“I am the party,” Taylor hissed.
Benjamin snapped at the impatient blonde, “Don't wake her up.”
“Children, please,” Callahan insisted. “I must concentrate.”
Rolling her eyes into the back of her pretty head, Taylor swung her shoulders around to face the back seat. “She already has a boyfriend.”
“Whatever,” Benjamin said as Alexandra snorted in her sleep.
“Classy,” Taylor giggled. “Is Miss Piggy okay back there? I can't see what you're doing to her in the dark.”
“Jealous much?” Benjamin asked calmly.
Gradually, a pair of headlights bore down on the rear end of the crawling Mustang.
Squinting in the glare of the rearview mirror, Callahan kept his right foot steady on the accelerator. “I believe Miss Woodward is experiencing nicotine withdrawal,” he offered. “You threw away her cigarettes, Benjamin, or don't you remember?”
“Then let's stop and get her some more,” Benjamin said, tugging playfully on one of Taylor's golden ringlets. “My treat.”
“Stop,” she said, softly batting his fingers from her hair.
Now roaring toward their rear bumper, the tractor-trailer flashed a blinding pair of headlights at the Mustang.
“I told you to speed up,” Taylor said to Callahan as a horn blared at them. “Now you've peeved-off that redneck. He's going to stalk us, kidnap us, keep us in his mother's basement, and make us drink moonshine with him and dance with his goats while he plays the banjo.”
“You watch too much TV,” Benjamin said. “He'd probably rather just pull out a shotgun and blow out our tires.”
Callahan gulped loudly. He wished he had asked Benjamin to drive.
“Kraven,” Alexandra murmured in her sleep and snuggled against Benjamin's chest.
“Shh,” he said into her ear.
“What did she say?” Taylor wanted to know.
“Nothing,” Benjamin said, kicking the bottom of the passenger seat in front of him.
Rolling down his window, Callahan waved his hand at the truck tailgating his rear bumper. “Go around!” he shouted, motioning for the truck driver to pass the Mustang.
The truck driver flashed his lights, swerved into the left lane, and stomped on the accelerator. The trailer shimmied back and forth violently across the interstate.
“Flip him off,” Taylor exclaimed, but Callahan caught her raised hand in his fist.
“No, Miss Woodward,” Callahan told her. “Save the foul gestures for a less grizzly looking fellow. Perhaps one without a gun rack mounted to his rear window.”
“Check it out,” Benjamin said, as the tractor-trailer sped out of reach of the Mustang's headlights. “That's why he's in such a hurry.”
An illuminated billboard jutted from the tops of the towering pine trees. “State Line Truck Stop,” Callahan read aloud, the twenty-foot-tall letters twinkling red, white and blue as they beckoned weary travelers and low-flying planes.
“Fuel, flapjacks, fireworks,” Taylor read, her eyes ablaze in the glow of the neon light of the billboard.
“Fun,” Callahan insisted, staring up at the sign. “They forgot that F-word.”
Wading through her obnoxiously large leather handbag, Taylor retrieved bubblegum-pink lip gloss and slathered her grinning mouth with shimmering globs.
“Fun is implied,” she explained to Callahan, blotting her puckered lips with a napkin she found in the glove box. “A little fun won't kill you. Besides, I have to go to the little girl's room,” she said, wiggling in the passenger seat.
In the shadows of the seat behind her, a dull roar erupted from the darkness.
“Excuse me,” Alexandra squeaked bashfully as she rubbed her gurgling belly. Raising her droopy eyes from their perch upon Benjamin's shoulder, Alexandra wiped a thin trail of drool from her chin with her thumb. When Taylor raised a flashlight to her face, she squinted and shielded her eyes with her palms.
“Her Highness has awoken,” Taylor proclaimed.
“Stop it,” Benjamin said. He snatched the flashlight from her grasp and flipped off the switch.
“I'm hungry,” Alexandra said.
“You heard her,” Taylor told Callahan. “Speed it up, Miss Daisy, or you're going to be walking.”
“Mutiny,” Callahan snickered as his foot pressed down against the accelerator. “Fear not, Miss Woodward,” he warned, “but you will need to hang on now.”
Under the hood, the eight-cylinder engine screamed into the night. Speeding forward, the taillights of a familiar tractor-trailer came into view.
“Where are we?” Alexandra whispered into Benjamin's ear, her fist clutching a handful of his t-shirt as her shoulder flung helplessly into his chest.
Swiping her hair delicately from his mouth, he shoved the end of the skinny flashlight into his front pocket and leaned his head toward the rear window. “Too far to turn back now,” he said.
Following the taillights of the tractor-trailer into the parking lot of the State Line Truck Stop, Callahan eased his foot off the accelerator and directed the powerful sports car to an empty gas pump. “Benjamin,” he said, throwing his penetrating gaze upon the startled young man.
“Yes, sir,” Benjamin said, sitting up straight at attention.
Removing the leather loafer from his left foot, Callahan shook a wad of cash into his lap. Eagerly shoving the sweaty twenty-dollar bills at Benjamin, he said, “This should cover the gas and refreshments.”
Grimacing, Benjamin let the cash fall to the floorboard.
“Oooh,” Taylor moaned, holding a palm over her wrinkled nose. “I don't even want to know what else you have tucked away somewhere,” she confessed, fumbling with the door handle. Flinging open the door, she pulled herself up from the low seat. Hobbling on her cast, she leaned against the hood. “Crutches!” she yelled at Benjamin. He was stretching his legs to the asphalt from the back seat of the car while stuffing the twenty-dollar bills into his front pocket.
“Do you smell nachos?” Alexandra asked, climbing out. Blinking her eyes in the assault of the white fluorescent lights, Alexandra tugged on the loose tail of Benjamin's t-shirt. “Stay close,” she whispered.
Taylor rolled her eyes at the pair, her manicured hands planted on her hips. To her, the air stank with the diesel fumes of a steady stream of trucks pulling in and out of the parking lot.
Stepping out, Callahan tossed the keys at Benjamin.
“Nice catch, Most Valuable Player,” Taylor laughed when the key ring splashed into a shallow, murky puddle. Benjamin hesitated.
“I'll get them,” Alexandra said, stooping to the ground. Under the fluorescent canopy, the rain puddle gleamed with shades of purple and green. When her fingertips grazed the surface of the dirty water, the stench of gas stung her nose. Kraven, she immediately thought. His face stared back at her from the puddle. His pupils looked like raging balls of fire.
Snatching the keys, she begged a silent request to the mirage in the water:
Hold onto your hope.
Benjamin took the keys and wiped them dry on his jeans. He fumbled with the trunk lock and popped open the lid. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he spat sarcastically at Taylor while he yanked out her crutches.
“Wait!” Alexandra said just as Benjamin was poised to slam down the trunk lid. “What is that?” she asked, pointing a finger past his waist.
“A tire,” Benjamin said.
“No kidding, Sherlock Holmes,” Alexandra said, peering into the trunk. “I mean behind the tire. Shine the flashlight there, in the back,” she told him, leaning closer.
Wadding his shaggy blond hair into a fist at the back of his neck, he gave a start as a blast of hot breath tickled his shoulder's skin. “Dude,” he said, swatting Callahan away from his shoulder. “Back up.”
“Forgive me, but you must step aside,” said Callahan, as he pushed past Benjamin to join Alexandra at the edge of the trunk.
“Stupid thing,” Benjamin said, flicking the power button on and off, the beam of the flashlight flickering before it died.
“Give it to me,” Alexandra said, swiping the flashlight from his hands. With a knock to the bumper, the light shone bright and steady into the trunk.
Their eyes bulged. “What is it?” asked Taylor, her crutches firmly beneath her arms as she shuffled closer.
“A cat,” shrieked Benjamin, his hands flying to the trunk lid. “Move,” he told Callahan and Alexandra. “Get out of the way.”
From the floorboard in the back of the Mustang, a bulldog grunt rumbled into their ears. “Hush, Jack,” Alexandra ordered softly as she peeked deeper into the trunk.
She was not alive. Her midnight-black coat shone in the reflection of the gas station's fluorescent lights above her head.
“This is a sign of good luck,” Callahan assured them, as he grabbed the cat from the trunk and cradled her in his arms.
“Touch her, Ben,” Taylor dared him.
“No way,” he said.
“I thought the guy you bought this car from told you he cleaned it out,” Taylor said, patting his shoulder consolingly.
“Guess he forgot about the trunk,” Benjamin said, fumbling with the sweaty cash in his pocket. “He was in a hurry to take the money I offered him for this thing,” he explained, tapping the bumper with his foot.
“No kidding,” Taylor said. “Close the trunk, Alex. It stinks in there.”
Rolling his head toward the commotion outside the car, Jack yawned and whimpered as he stretched his legs and rolled his shoulders. Raising himself from his blanket cocoon on the floorboard, he stepped toward the open passenger door and slid out onto the asphalt with a thud. Shaking his head, he sniffed the evening air and barked lowly.
“Hey boy,” Alexandra said, stooping to pet his back. “It's about time you woke up from your nap.”
The bulldog locked his eyes on the cat in Callahan's arms and cocked his head to the side. “No worries, Jack,” Callahan told him. “She is quite incapable of disturbing you now,” he said, stroking the back of the cat.
A yelp stuck in the bulldog's throat. Agitated, he slapped his paws at Alexandra's flip-flops. “That hurts,” she said, as his nails dug into her bare skin. “Calm down.”
“I'll put Samantha away for now,” Callahan said. He gently laid the cat back down in the trunk.
“She has a name?” Taylor asked, wrinkling her nose at him.
“Yes,” Callahan said as he shut the trunk lid gently.
“Just when I thought today couldn't get any weirder,” Taylor said.
“What do you want from inside?” asked Benjamin, relieved the cat was out of sight.
“Let's surprise them,” Taylor said, shuffling toward the gas station, her crutches scraping the pavement with each stride.
Alexandra leaned the small of her back against the closed trunk lid and rubbed her forehead while Jack sniffed the back tire. “Jack, stop,” she scolded him. He raised his hind leg.
“Let him be,” Callahan said, gazing after Taylor as Benjamin held open the gas station door for her.
Alexandra glanced shyly at her history teacher as he loosened the gas cap. “May I ask you a personal question, Callahan?”
“Certainly,” he said, puzzling over the blinking buttons on the gas pump.
“This one,” Alexandra instructed him, punching a square marked 87 and shoving the nozzle down the thirsty gullet of the Mustang.
“Do you think I'm pretty?” she asked, listening to the fuel slush through the rubber hose.
“Yes,” Callahan said. “Do you not think you are?”
“I never thought about it,” Alexandra said.
“You are beautiful, Miss Peyton, both inside and out. I have only known you for a short while, but I can read things about people very quickly. You are special. I already told you that at school. Don't you remember? Yesterday afternoon? When I held your hand?”
Alexandra blushed. “Yes,” she said. “I'm a soul reader. You told me.”
Full and ready to ride, the gas tank of the Mustang sipped a final gulp as Alexandra released the trigger of the nozzle. “Let me,” Callahan said, twisting on the gas cap.