Alex Gray: Pitch Black

When the car rounded the corner of the road, she gasped. Up until now the cliffs on either side had masked the skyline so she was shocked by the streak of orange like a gash across the horizon in front of her, bleeding from the blackness. It took all her concentration to keep the vehicle from veering towards the sheer wall of rock on her left. A quick glance showed how near she’d come to clipping the kerb and she shuddered as the wheel turned under her grip. The slimy walls glowed with sudden reflected light; she’d been close enough to see tiny plant fronds uncurling from the cracks that ran up and down the cliff side.

It was better to slow down a little, let the fright of that panicked swerve subside before she dared take another look.

A huge sigh rose from her chest and she felt the tears prick under the sore places of her eyelids, which she’d rubbed constantly during the drive north. The reassuring hum of the engine and the straight road ahead gave her courage to turn her head a fraction.

Now she could make out dim hills, darker shapes against the ink-blue sky with its burgeoning shafts of dawnlight a beacon of hope.

Mornings had never felt like this before.

Here was a new day beginning and with it the excitement of a million possibilities. It was like the first day of creation, newly-minted, given to her as a gift. All the other mornings of her life seemed to have begun with despair.

Her fingers were numb from gripping the steering wheel so tightly and she flexed first one hand then the other, slowing the car down so she could take peeks at the sky and the water. There was no artificial light here, just cat’s eyes reflecting the full beam as she tried to keep to her side of the narrow road. Few vehicles had been travelling south on the opposite lane and her car seemed the only one taking this night-time route away from the city, so she gave a start when the lorry’s shape appeared in the rear-view mirror. It rumbled behind her and she slowed down to let it pass. There was a swish of tyres and then the flanks of the lorry passed her by like a looming grey shadow. She watched it move away from her, then it cut back into the left lane after a decent interval. The sudden flash of the lorry’s hazard warning lights thanked her for allowing it to overtake. She opened her eyes wide in surprise; when last had she been shown such courtesy? That it should be here in this lonely place and from an unseen stranger was surely a good omen. She must be on the right road.

Now the sky was lightening even more and pale grey clouds merged into the yellow patches above the horizon’s rim.

A bird flew past, slowly winging its way inland, making her suddenly aware that there was life outside this cocoon of engine noise and road and gears. Just up ahead there was a black and white pole indicating a parking place, and she drove in and stopped.

She gave a half-turn to the ignition and rolled the window down, letting in a rush of cold air, then breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment against the gusts of wind. It was quiet but not silent. The first sound she heard was the lapping of water against the edge of the shore, like a living creature trying to break free from the deep masses that threatened to hold it back. She listened, mesmerised, then heard another sound, a peeping bird somewhere out of sight in the bushes, then an answering call further ahead. Straining her eyes did not help; the birds were invisible in this early light. The cool air chilled her skin and set her sneezing. A quick rummage in her jacket pocket found only used and still-sodden paper hankies so she sniffled instead, then rolled the window back up. There had been no time to look for her driving gloves before the journey so she tucked her fingers up into her sleeves to warm them, the way she’d done as a child.

A memory of her mother suddenly came back to her. It had been one of the days when she’d been brought home from school. The day had started out badly at home with a sore throat and difficulty eating her porridge, then became worse when no one had taken her seriously and she’d been forced out, to make the cold walk down to the bus stop. The shivers had begun as she’d sat wedged between a man in a big overcoat and a woman with sharp elbows; the only seats left on the bus were the bench seats facing the exit. Each time the doors of the bus had sighed open she’d been exposed to the cold air and had felt trickles of sweat against her flesh.

Later her mother had fetched her home with cuddles that she knew were born of remorse. She’d tucked her hands into Mum’s coat pockets then, sitting on her knee as the bus trundled back out of the city.

Now Mum was long gone and her own children were simply memories of what might have been.

On the brightening horizon she could make out the colours on the distant hills, tweedy browns and greens with darker patches that told of clefts where waterfalls might run. She glanced at the fuel gauge. It was nearly empty. It was not a road she knew well but there must be a filling station at the next village. A signpost not far back had indicated it was only sixteen miles away. Then what? a little voice asked. She had no answer, just the knowledge that she had taken the only way she could. A bed and breakfast place, probably, once she had travelled further north. And it would be wise to take out more money from a cash machine if she could find one. After that she’d have to think about the long-term future. But not yet, not just yet.

Turning on the ignition, she released the hand-brake and let the car roll back on to the road. The fresh air had woken up something inside her, a feeling that had become lost through all those months and years. How long had she been recoiling from that voice and those hands? Trying to avoid the blows and the weight of fear that had smothered so much of the woman she used to be. Now she felt like a girl again, a young, wild thing, free of any responsibilities with the whole world still to savour.

It was not yet tomorrow so there were still some hours before she needed to make her plans. So far, escape had been sufficient. What was behind her could be dealt with in time. His body would still be lying where she had let it fall. The blood would have congealed by now, and rigor would have stiffened his limbs. She had left no traces to tell a story, of that she was certain; nor were there any friends or family to come around enquiring about her. Perhaps there would be a call from the club in a few days, or maybe the smell of a decomposing body would alert a passing stranger. And if she should be found? If tomorrow brought questions and blame, then what would she do?

There was no easy answer. It was something she would think about later. Once the sun was high in the sky and the road had taken her into the wilderness. She yawned suddenly then felt her chest relax, her hands lighter on the steering wheel as the road disappeared under the twin beams. Shadows all around still shrouded the world.

Everything would be fine. It was not yet tomorrow, after all.

The man trained his binoculars on the bird, his heart soaring with the sea eagle as its white tail feathers came into view, huge wings hardly moving, floating upon unseen currents of air. He watched the eagle fly into the distant haze until it was a mere speck, and then let his glasses fall with a sigh of pleasure. What a sight to see on their last day!