#1 - Coos Bay, Oregon ↓
Lashing winds blew the sea spay onto Tyler’s face. It was a bad time for sitting in the damp grass on the green shore, and yet, he couldn’t be arsed to stand up.Besides, even vertical, his friend didn’t seem to have much more luck flagging down a car. He squinted against the early morning sun.
“You really think someone will turn up?”
“Yeah,” Joshua warmed his fingers with his breath, “It’s quarter to eight, relax”
“That’s supposed to make me relax?”
Joshua turned back to the deserted highway: “Stop whining, man. I told you to bring a jacket”
“I told you to bring a jacket,” he mimicked, then slapped his disgustingly wet knees.
“Well, you need to see it this way: We get to see the sunrise!”
“This isn’t the Caribbean. This is fucking Oregon. It’s forty degrees, Joshua”
His chuckles rang through the air. Between the gold on the horizon, the seagulls’ screams and the waves crashing softly, Tyler could pretend to enjoy his crouched position for another minute.
Then, another car passed by without sparing them glance.
“Fucking assholes!” Joshua yelled against the dwindling rear of a grey Opel Kadett. Fingers tugging on his hair, he fell down next to Tyler, who welcomed him with a smirk: “Didn’t I tell you?”
Joshua took his hands to the grass. “There will be another”
“Before or after we freeze to death? They probably think we’re some kind of junkies”
“So stick out a thumb!”
“Why me? You go stop them!”
Joshua rolled his eyes, his clever retort already on the tip of his tongue – before he was cut off by the shrill horn of a parked Volvo blaring though the calm air.
“Do you guys need a ride?” asked the woman peeking through the wound down side window.
Her pitch-black hair gave her a wild appearance as it stood up in all directions, while her deep brown eyes pierced though the men crouching on the roadside.
“Yes,” Tyler yelled and jumped up, “Absolutely yes!”
“Thank you so much,” said Joshua as he heaved their luggage into the boot.
“Gracefully kind of you,” Tyler added, slamming the rear door shut.
Her smile was assured and bright, as she started the engine. Her handshake was firm and concise, before she put both hands back on the steering wheel.
“Heather,” she said, turning east, “Where do you want to go?”
“Phoenix,” Joshua turned to Tyler. The answer made her chuckle.
“Phoenix? Well, I can’t take you that far. How about Portland. Or Eugene?”
“You must be our rescuing angel”
She raised an eyebrow. “What awaits the gentlemen in Phoenix?”
“Marriage!” came the yell from the rear seat bench, before Tyler pressed his face through the gap between the front seats. “I’m getting married!”
That sounds awful, Heather thought.
“That sounds wonderful," she said. "When’s the party?”
“In a week. We’ve been gone two and now we just hope to make it in time”
“Oh,” she waved him off, “Don’t worry. You’ll make it in three or four days. The roads have been kind”
Joshua knit his brow. “So, you’re...”
“Hm?”
“The roads have been kind – that’s a strange way of putting it. Are you some trucker?”
From her belly rang a gorgeous laugh – it made the sun shine from her eyes. When she shook her head, she looked like she had invented the word for beauty.
“God, no! I’m just driving east. Uhm, to my family. Rhode Island. I’m headed to the coast of Rhode Island”
Tyler gasped, his head still between the seats. “That’s quite a trip!”
“It’ll be worth it,” the melancholic ring in her voice was undeniable, but she recovered quickly.
Silence entered the car, as the lively sunlight spilled from the glittering roads into their hearts. It wasn’t long before Tyler had the sardine tin roaring with laughter again.
Wet asphalt and the sweet smell of conifers – a clear sky and the rushing wind. A red flash glaring Heather's vision.
The green frame of the forest and a little brown deer on the road.
The terrified squeal of the breaks, the dreadful impact and bright red blood on the orange paint. Heather’s heaving breath as she took the last one out of the big hazel eyes with a vermeil fizzle.
“Damn it.”
↑ #2 - Boise, Idaho ↓
She glanced around the strung-out bar. The place was small and dark, especially the corner she had pressed herself into. The dim light above the bartender flickered furiously. There was no one sitting behind her. She took another deep breath. The smell of wainscot mixing with the tangy scent of leather settled her mind.
The whiskey glass impacted forcefully on the wooden countertop. Heather froze. Red liquid danced lively between the crystal edges. A few drops had spilled over the rim.
The bartender’s voice ripped Heather from her stupor: “Three fifty” Her gaze jerked upwards.
The woman looked angelic under the soft yellow light; her black eyes piercing Heather’s. She swallowed and fumbled four dollars onto the counter.
“Keep the change,” she rasped.
Her fingers slid over the wet rim and came back tinted red. Heather licked the residue off the tips and pushed the glass to the side.
She felt a vibration in her pocket; Heather’s hands shook as her phone screen lit up.
Nina had written.
Already in Idaho?
Heather rolled her eyes.
Stop tracking me, she wrote back.
Not tracking you. Fumes told me.
She laughed, lifting her finger to reply something witty, when: “Is that your Volvo outside?”
“Uh,” Heather stuttered. To her right stood a tall and broad man whose stance told her all about his drinking history.
Yes may be too forward. No would be a lie. “Why,” she said instead.
“Cute dent,” he smiled and sat down onto the stool next to her. Great. Heather put her phone away.
His finger darted towards her drink. “Negroni? You want another?”
“Thanks,” her lips pressed tight, she pulled the glass closer.
“Where’s it from? Sheep? Wolf?”
“Deer, actually,” she sighed.
“Ah… Nice car, though. Well kept for a classic.”
“I don’t sell.”
“Whoa, I don’t intend to buy,” he put his hands up and lowered his eyes, “Your car, that is”
Maybe, she thought, if I just sit still, he’ll lose interest and go away.
No such luck, however. The man kept eyeing her from the side.
Heather nodded: “So, you’re into cars, then?”
Bogusly nonchalant, he deflected: “Well, kind of. I’m no expert, but I know a gem when I see one. You must be keeping good care of her. Well, except for…”
“That deer,” they nodded.
“Heirloom,” Heather winced. His features softened. Slowly, his hand came to rest over her own.
“I’m sorry,” he said as Heather ripped her hand away. “Don’t be.”
Heather nipped at her drink. Too bitter, she thought and put it back down. When she looked at the man again, he was still smiling.
“I had a deer crash once, yeah,” he said. “That was fun. I came just from that roadhouse, you know? That one over there, you can see it, outside. I drive half a mile – BAM! – crash a deer. Beautiful. Beautiful creatures. The blood seeped onto the icy asphalt. Icy blue. So strange seeing them up close. They’re creatures to be observed far away. Saw the light leave its eyes,” he slurred and drank.
Subtly, Heather tried putting distance between them.
“I wanted to drive on, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t leave it there – had to call authorities. I mean, you don’t just ignore an angel laying to the sides”
A grating scratch cut through the air as the jukebox rotated its tunes. Billy Joel’s grainy voice filled the room to Heather’s grimaces.
“But I never drove on,” the man said, “I wanted to see Seattle, but I never did. I just drove south. Reminds me, though, of the regret. I really regret it. Should have let it rot to the sides.”
“It would have come back,” she whispered.
“Excuse me?”
“It would have come back. That’s not how you honour an angel.”
He scoffed. “I like you strange types. You reek of regret.”
His gaze sat on her chest like bricks.
“What?”
“No, sure. You know what I mean,” he waved her away.
“No, not quite, actually. And if you don’t mind, I’d actually much rather drink in peace. Thank you.”
With her shoulders raised to her ears, she turned away from him. From the corner of her eyes she saw his face fall.
He nodded: “No, but like, you do understand. Don’t you?”
“I don’t,” Heather sighed, “But if you can explain it faster than I can drink my Negroni, I might even listen to you.”
He chuckled. “Well, you know. Just that feeling. I mean, you’re telling me you’ve never regretted a thing – that’s crazy! Telling me you have always done everything that you wanted to do? No questions asked? That’s mental.”
“You must be fun at parties,” she mumbled.
“Hey, I’m not a sentimental drunk–”
“I can see that!”
The man hooked his feet into her barstool, turned it with the flick of his ankle and forced her to look at him.
“But you seem the way,” he observed, “You seem sad. You seem to be pulled down by something.”
Heather bared her teeth. “Oh, really? Do I? May that be the residual stress from getting lectured by a drunkard?”
“Hey,” he spat, “watch your mouth! I’m not a drunkard. You don’t know me!”
“You’re right. I don’t, which is why I won’t have any regrets when I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”
She slammed the drink onto the counter and slid off the stool. The man kept sneering: “You’re drunk, you can’t drive away. Gotta stay the night.”
“You’re drunk.
“And you’re a loser. A missed answer is an answer as well. Come on. Heather. Heather, right?”
“How do you know my name?” She yelled, but his answer eluded her.
There was no escape, Heather noticed. Well done, she thought, you’ve got a talent for driving yourself into a corner. Lest he followed her to the parking lot, she sat back down.
“I don’t want to play your stupid games,” she bit. “You tell on yourself by asking first and you’ll get to respond first”
His smug veneer remained. “But only if you pinkie-promise me to answer me later”
She wouldn’t dignify him with a response.
“So, like. Apart from the usual suspects,” he began, “like telling her I loved her and enlisting with the NASA–”
“What?”
“I think, I regret never having, you know, done something.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Her face contorted into horror. Was he really cornering her to talk about his sandbox love?! “Please, do try to keep up,” he said.
Heather’s tongue unfroze. “Are you always this pathetic?” Her sharp tone silenced him, at least for a moment.
“Shut up,” he laughed, “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I wish I had done something that mattered. And I don’t think it’s even that uncommon. Most people regret this. Funny right? The most impactful people must have regretted this, even. All those people famous beyond their deaths– Hey!”
He snapped his fingers under Heather’s nose.
“Quit pretending I’m boring you. Some people call it ‘being remembered’ – I think that’s bull. It’s just a more egocentric approach to the same issue. I just feel like I'm missing a lot of stuff. A lot of the good stuff. A lot of the stuff that makes good stories for grandchildren. And my life's nearly over. And I also think I missed a lot of stuff for the same reason I feel like I'm missing so much and that's because I'm just afraid of life”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
“So, like, a thing that matters, right? Like, I don’t know, helping in soup kitchens or like saving a life or something.”
“You know,” she pointed at him, “You could get a head start at that… right now.”
“Don’t mock me! My window’s closed…”
“I’m just saying, out there, if you went outside right now, you might find someone you could help. Maybe you’ll feel a bit of purpose!”
“Fuck off. I’m talking about my never realised dreams; you’re not going to interrupt me!”
But Heather continued: “You could be doing all of these things right now instead of drinking yourself comatose.”
“But it wouldn’t matter, right?”
“Why not?”
“I… I don’t know. It just wouldn’t count. To me, at least.”
“That’s fucked,” she said after a moment.
“Well, you see: There’s these people who have, you know… like that guy for example who, like, single handedly replanted dozens of square miles of rain forest.”
“What’s with that guy?”
“Yeah, seriously! What’s with that guy? He’s, he’s devoted his life to a cause he might not even fully see the effects of. Do you have any idea how old a tree can get? It’s, like, the ultimate selfless thing.”
“And you still haven’t explained yourself yet. How come it’s impossible to be that guy, still? The best time to plant a tree–”
“Was twenty-five years ago, yeah, I know. Can’t you grieve those twenty-five years still?”
Expectantly, he looked at her.
“I guess not.”
He threw his hands into the air. “Oh, you hypocrite! No, you don’t honestly believe that. You can’t be that good of a person. You can’t. You’re not.”
It was her turn to smirk: “My dad used to say that, although real perfection is impossible to achieve, a good and honest try is worth just as much.”
“Was he religious? Your dad?”
“Yes, I guess,” she laughed, “Why?”
“Just seemed that way.”
She ran a fingernail over the glass’s rim.
“He used to like the stories about Job and fate. He used to hate the stories about saviours and wonders.”
“Why?”
“Because, I figure it made much of the pain seem more like a cosmically premeditated task, rather than abandonment or cosmically bad statistics,” she turned to him, “My mother died early. It’s okay to have never planted a tree, if no one ever gave you the seeds.”
Silence rang between them. Ordering a second beer, he turned to her: “And you?”
“Hm?”
“Are you religious?”
Chewing on her lip, she took a deep breath.
“I used to ogle the angel paintings and descriptions. I liked everything holy because it was a simple concept. Kids my age wanted to become an astronaut. I wanted to become a saint,” she grinned into her drink, “I didn’t know it wouldn’t pay, then.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked softly.
“You asked.”
He shook his head. “I really didn’t.”
“Well, then I guess it just had to be told. I’ll get out of your hair,” she said and nearly, nearly managed to leave the encounter behind, but his swift fingers wrapped around her wrist stopped her at the very last minute.
“No, wait! Stop, you didn’t even answer my question!”
“Haven’t I answered you enough?”
“That was the deal – you decided to overshare!”
“Do we have to do this?”
He tugged on her arm. “Do you want to break the contract?”
“I hate you.”
“But not enough to just fuck off.”
She ripped her hand free, then slammed the Negroni. “Okay, smartass. I regret not being closer to my sister. There. Happy?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Is she dead?”
“What?”
“The only reason you’d be saying that is because she’s either dead already or halfway there. So, when’s her due date?”
A shove to his shoulder and his back collided with the bar counter. Heather leant above his cowering face: “Screw you, asshole.”
His tongue wet his lips. “Insults are not the way to sainthood.”
“How can you say something so fucked up to a stranger? How can you be that much of a fuck up? I was wrong today. You can’t become the epitome of selflessness. It wouldn’t work.”
She unlocked fingers from his jacket.
“And just so you know,” she spat, “You were wrong too. It’s not her who’s dying. It’s me. Good night.”
↑ #3 - Juniper, Idaho ↓
Heaven had opened the floodgates, rain pelting the roof incessantly. Inside Heather’s vintage Volvo, the orange leather interior reeked of petrichor. Her left knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, she pressed her broken flip phone closer to her ear.
“Thank God, finally!” Nina’s voice came tinny from the crappy speaker.
“Hey,” Heather laughed.
“Lori!” She heard Nina yell in the distance, “Heather’s on the phone!”
“Hey,” came the second voice, “where are you now?”
“Uh... Somewhere in Idaho. Sorry, I didn’t pick up yesterday. Some fucking creep kept chatting me up”
Heather upped the wiper speed.
“Gross”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. How’s Portland?”
“Not much different than a week ago. Martha’s getting married”
“No! Shut up,” Heather laughed. It felt good, warm to hear Nina’s voice again. If she inclined her head just a few degrees, she could pretend to rest her cheek on Lori’s bony shoulder. She wanted to close her eyes, pretend Nina’s permanent magic smell of cinnamon would lay on her tongue. The creeping cold of the car vaulted her out of the spell. Best not to close her eyes on the road.
“You know, Nina is in Hartford soon”
“Yeah,” Nina laughed humourlessly, “For the pan-american wizard council. Some paper pushing bullshit.”
“Hm,” grumbled Heather. “First time since my dad’s funeral?”
“Yeah”
“When?”
“In two months”
Heather swallowed. Suddenly, the roads appeared darker. She cleared her throat, her voice coming out in a high pitch: “And you’re glad to be in town again?”
“God, no. Hartford stinks. But I miss the Chinese place, the one next to your old apartment”
“Yeah. I miss that place too... Listen, I mean, If you see my sister...”
The asphalt passed in a blur. Yellow lights dotted the horizon. A sliver of baby blue appeared in the distance, where soon the sun would blind her eyes.
She sighed: “Well, you probably won't, but if you do…”
“Most likely not.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry, that was stupid.”
The roads rumbled on. Her fingers fiddling with the seatbelt.
“We’ll tell her you called,” Lori interfered, ever the diplomat.
“Yeah. Yeah! You can do that. Please do that. Did she call you? Did you hear from Evelyn at all?”
And it was quiet, again, but maybe that was just the speaker; her phone being ancient and the connection spotty. It would probably only take a second before their voices would filter through: “I… no, not yet,” Nina hesitated, “But I wanted to call her anyway”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t push”
“It’s okay, Heather”
And there it was, the first ray of sunshine, glistering through a low-hanging road sign. Heather had missed her, the night too crowded alone. Brightly she stood straight, promising a new beginning, dripping wet, sticking out a hand.
No. Heather did a double take. This could not be right.
“Uh, wait actually, let me call you back, yeah?”
“Heather? What?”
“Bye! Bye, Nina!”
Both feet stomping into the pedals, the car came to a squeaking stop right next to a woman scowling through the rain. Heather frowned, rolling down the passenger window. No. Not a single speck of light to be seen on the horizon! What a strange concoction.
The woman shivered heavily. Without saying a word, she ripped the door open and dropped down onto the leather seat with an ugly squelching sound.
“What a stupid fucking idea!”
Heather’s lips escaped a chuckle.
“You find this funny, huh?”
Clutch, break, accelerator and her baby rolled on eastwards.
“Relax, no. I just thought the modern traveller checked the weather”
“I am not responsible for the weather!”
“No, and neither am I. You could be a bit nicer to your saviour”
“Yeah, sorry,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes, “My God-sent guardian.”
Silence followed and if Heather thought it had been awkward with Nina and Lori, she should have kept her thoughts quiet as not to jinx it.
“And where are you going?”
“Eastwards”
“How far?”
“Far”
“Okay, let me out when we’re in Utah”
“Sure”
She smelled acidic, Heather noticed then. A faint but piercing odour burning through the space between them. She kept her eyes fixed on the road.
“Thank you,” the woman sung small after a while.
“You’re welcome”
Then, a hand was hesitantly stretched out over the centre console. Heather shook it.
“My name is Elmira,” she smiled. It looked a little alien before she decided to retract her tongue from where it was wedged between her teeth. Her eyes were dark and warm and Heather nearly lost herself in the strange pull of her face, before she tore her eyes away. The vague after-image flickered over the dark roads.
“Heather. Nice to meet you,” she squeezed her hand once more before putting it back on the steering wheel.
When Heather turned her head, Elmira was still staring at her. It was uncanny, really. Her eyes flying over Heather's features, and Heather unable to tear her view away for long.
With force and self-restraint, she pressed out the next words: “So, what's in Utah?”
“Work”
“What kind of work?”
“Informatory work”
Okay, Jesus, Heather thought. “Sure. Informatory work. Why... there?”
“Fuck if I know,” Elmira laughed, “I'm going to take it as a vacation”
“As a vacation?”
“Yeah,” she turned to Heather with a questioning look, “That's what you people do, no? Vacations, trips, hitchhiking?”
“Sure, it's what 'we' do. You're not from here, are you?”
For a moment, they breathed in unison as the sun finally, finally crept up the horizon.
“No,” Elmira said eventually, “I travelled kind of far”
In the distance, wind farms passed by; little red dots reflecting in the fogged-up windows. Heather pointed to the radio: “You don't mind, do you,” she asked and Elmira shook her head.
Another day, another road, another passenger. And the blinding sun greeting them as they passed state borders.
“This is heaven,” she whispered.
“This is Utah,” Heather laughed, set the signal and parked the car to the side of the road.
“You know, I could drive you to the next bigger city...”
“No,” Elmira smiled, “This is perfect.”
Heather shrugged: “Okay” But Elmira hesitated, her hand clawed into the door handle.
“You think I have everything?”
“You didn’t come with a bag”
“Right”
Heather sighed. “I’m not going to kiss you goodbye”
Then her fingers moved, swinging the door open and crawling out into the rain.
“Thank you, Heather, again,” she said before slamming the door shut, “I'm positive we'll meet another day.”
She couldn't help but smile. “I'm sure of it.”
With a last look, Elmira disappeared into the shadows of the roadside, while Heather's orange Volvo drove on into the red morning sun.
↑ #4 - Green River, Utah
Heather's palm made contact with the counter. The change hit the wood in a ringing melody of clinks. She shuddered.A teen was working the morning shift. He had bitten on his fingers until the dent marks had left scars and subsequently burnt his fingers, shakily sliding the paper coffee cup in Heather's direction.
Frost flowers danced across the window facade. Heather pulled her beanie deeper and wrinkled her nose in goodbye.
When the door clattered shut, she faced the dusty parking lot. Some mongrel couldn't resist yapping at the only other two men. Welcome to Utah, Heather thought.
The dry cold stung in the nose. Lips recoiling upon contact with the coffee, the low hanging sun blinded her. Her eyes flitted over the dog (visibly pregnant and infected with fleas) then rested on her steaming car. They didn't seem like friends, the other two. Heather ignored their argument erupting near the car vacuum.
Today I'm in Green River, she calculated. Then tomorrow in Colorado, Sunday in Nebraska or Iowa, if I'm lucky. Which has never happened before.
“Hey fuckface,” yelled the first man in the background. Heather chased a cough away with a sip of the brew, then opened the trunk.
Inventory includes a blanket and enough water to last the next two weeks. Shopping has to be done somewhere in New York. She scoffed. Crazy how it never ends. You can die tomorrow but you won't escape the chores. She hesitated. Maybe, when she would reach the coast, she could take herself out for dinner. Pork sisig and lumpia. To come home for one last time. She shook her head. Ridiculous. They could never get her mother's sauces right. It didn't matter anywa-
Heather flinched at the sudden noise: A punch, a yell, a bang. Then another.
The two had progressed past unfriendly greetings. One of them (bloody and bruised) leaning onto her car – the other (sweaty and panting) looming dangerously above him.
“Whoa! Wow, wow, wow!” She slammed the trunk shut. “What the fuck do you think you're doing there?”
Heather's feet acted immediately on instinct. Just like her mouth: “What the hell?! Move before I fuck you up!”
But the bigger man simply rolled his eyes at her, sneering: “Relax, doll. It's just a scratch. Did you enjoy the show?”
Heather's ears kept ringing. There was a pathetic lump cowering on her hood. She picked him up by the collar. His head lifted, barely conscious.
“Not on my fucking watch,” she hissed, turning around, but the other man had already vanished.
“Ey!” She yelled into the empty parking lot, “Hey, whose fucking weirdo is that?”
The dust didn't answer. And she couldn't understand the dog.
“Oh, my fucking god, no. Absolutely not,” she whispered to herself.
Her disgusted fingers released his shirt. Immediately, he slumped back against the engine cover. Blood rushing through her ears, Heather chewed on the lining on her mouth. Then, against her better judgement, she scraped him back up.
“I’m not fucking responsible for you.” She threatened, but he couldn't even answer coherently, only vague noises exiting his mouth. “What?! Speak up!”
Not that that helped.
Heather turned around, throwing a hand up in the air. “I’m leaving you here. Good luck!”
It seemed to activate him. Shakily, he held out his hand: “Argh. Ey. Hey, hey.”
Heather spared him a glance and he smiled drowsily: “Hi.“
“Go back to sleep,” Heather spat before falling into the driver's seat.
The man blinked slowly. “Are you, like, God?”
Ice pricked her skin. Molten eyes watched his spindly arms as he smeared his bloodied hand across the windshield, mixing dust and antifreeze until her vision was red, red, red, frozen in place.
The man gasped, then coughed. “Shit. Am I dead?”
It fixed her rigor. “What? No,” appalled Heather, “Dying feels different, don’t worry. Get off my car.”
He didn’t budge a bit. “But… you’re gonna save me, right?"
She sighed. “I just told you, you're not dying. Move.”
And like as if a grand inspiration had just revealed itself to him, he slapped his long fingers over his forehead and chuckled: “Oh! Okay, I get it. You're dead.”
Heather swallowed. The dust had clogged her throat.
“No, I am not dead either,” she rasped. It didn't matter. His eyes remained shiny with hope.
“You’re gonna save me, right? Right?”
Heather looked at him. His hair tawny and unwashed. His teeth just as yellow. He drooled onto the paint. Heather had made the mistake of consideration. Was she? Was she really going to save him? A mean thought stuck itself to the crevices of her brain. She turned away and focused on the road ahead.
“You don't have half a clue, do you?” she breathed, “Get in before I change my mind."
The man's smile was ugly. His lips were bitten into an angry red shade and his eyes stayed distant. Nevertheless, he stumbled over to the back seat: "Whoa, thanks dude."
Heather took a deep breath.
Then she engaged first gear, put down her foot and drove.
Luck. She thought. Luck was all it took never to step a foot into Utah. Luck and a little bit of common sense. She gripped the steering wheel tighter as her mental counter hit the thirty minute mark. Still no hospital in sight. Luck. Heather broke the speed limit and kept crawling through the landscape like an ant through molasses.
Endless silence filled the car ... until: "Hey, uh, where… where’re we driving?"
She caught a glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror.
"Does your head hurt? We're still looking for a hospital. And I’m driving."
"Yeah, can’t let the dead guy drive! That’d be… crazy, dude."
Another deep breath. “I'm not your... dude.”
“Sure”
"And I told you; you aren’t dead."
"Well," he slurred, "I’m only gonna believe that, when a doctor – a qualified doctor, yes? – diagnoses me with life. Hey they should diagnose you with life."
"Uh-huh," she let her eyes drift back onto the road. Straight ahead, still straight ahead. Forever straight ahead. The man made a strange noise.
"Hey, hey, hey! At least try not to bleed onto the leather"
His eyes remained shut. Twenty minutes ago he had started complaining about the heat, until he had undressed, only to complain about the cold. "Hm. Mhm… But it’s so comfy."
"I will fine you."
"Hm… Nice stranger who’s saving me from the cost of an ambulance threatens to fine me… sure."
"They don’t take dead guys in ambulances, by the way."
"Maybe… But I’m tired," he smiled.
„Could you not?“ she shrieked.
„What?“
„Fall asleep, Jesus Christ,“ Heather swore, overtaking a Ford with shaky hands.
She looked at him, really studied him through the mirror. How he had sprawled out on the seat, green and blue littering his appearance. How his brows frowned. How he laughed. Deep and sincere: „I’m feeling vaguely close to death.“
„Oh, come on,“ was her only retort, „Don’t… don’t be such a pussy.“
„But I’m so tired,“ he whispered.
„No, you’re not!” Yelled the panic clawing up her throat, “Hey. Look at me. No, you’re not.” It tied her tongue, “You will finish what you started!“
He blinked slowly into the silence.
„How many people tell you, you look like an angel?“
„I, what? None!“
„Well up that number by one. ‘Cause you do. ‘Course you do. You’re beautiful.“
„Oh, fuck off.“
„No, not in that sense. I’m not hitting on you.“
„I don’t care, either way.“
„I mean it,“ he shrugged.
„As do I. You think you can walk?“
“Sure, sure,” said the man and buried his chin in his sternum. “I’m feeling better already,” he slurred, “Angelic voice. Are we there yet?”
Heather set her jaw. “No. Do you have any allergies?”
He laughed: “What, you want to take me to dinner?”
“No, not while you’re bleeding out on my backseat.”
“Nah. Not that I know of any.”
“Okay.” Breathing in, Heather gripped the steering wheel tighter. Breathing out, she accelerated. “What’s your blood type?”
His screeching laugh rang between them.
“Girly you’re asking questions! I don’t know! What’s yours?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Her voice shrilled.
“I just thought we were making conversation.”
Heather sighed. “Alright. We’re trying this town next.”
The man grinned. “Oki-doki!”
There was no escaping Utah.
The parking lot they stopped at looked exactly like the one they had just left.
A grazing cow followed their commotion with curious eyes. Heather's icy fingers bent clumsily over the handle, ripping until the door sprung open. Immediately, the man toppled. Bloody hands clung to her sweaty shirt for balance.
Heather pressed her teeth together. “Come on, idiot. You gotta finish what you started”
Her steps carried double the weight over the gravel. And when they finally reached the ratty entrance, the flimsy door flicked open with the draft – the smell of winter replaced by overtones of sick.
Heather stood and cried: “Help." It came out feeble.
“Help,” she tried again, the words dying in her throat. The man's weight rested on her vocal box. Her knees wobbled. His breath panted unsteadily against her neck, unfocused eyes gazing up her cheek. One hand traced wet lines over her ribs. She could smell his blood. His hair scratching her chin. Rough and cold.
Dead already. He had stopped twitching.
“Hey,” she rattled him around, head lolling from side to side.
Her voice crumbled: “You have to finish what you started. You,” she took a rattling breath, watching the veins behind his eyelids. “Are you fucking with me. You cunt!" Heather's fingers buried into his hair, gripping tight and pulling his face into the fluorescent hallway lights. He did not even flinch. "You have to finish what you started!”
Then, Heather took his hand slung around her neck between her teeth and bit down onto his fingers.
It was music to her ears, the symphony of screams that followed.
“What the fuck?!” He must have yelled. Or maybe it was the nurse the corridor down. Or maybe it had been the older woman reading the paper. Maybe it had been herself. It couldn't matter; she took his chin between her fingers: “You gotta finish what you started,” Heather cried before a pair of hands dragged her backwards.
“Enough!” Growled a burly man, holding her to his chest, “This is no boxing ring! Are you injured?”
“He had-”
“Are you injured?” He repeated. Louder. Angrier. Heather grew number. She shook her head.
Her fighter had collapsed onto the floor. Pasty skin on dirty concrete. Two doctors were bending down to him.
“Great,” concluded the man holding her, “then you can wait outside.”
By which he scruffed her neck, pushing her through the rattling door back out into the freezing air, where Heather ate dirt and didn't get up.