M Sellars - Blood Moon

“Yeah, she is. That’s the problem. Just pull ‘er over and detain ‘er.” With that said, Ben pulled out his cell phone and started stabbing numbers as he mumbled, “Jeezus fuckin’ Christ…”

I reached down and checked the clasp on my safety belt, giving it a tug to make sure it was tight. I had lost count of how many times I had made the inspection by feel since we left the rest area, but I was betting this wouldn’t be the last time by a long shot. I knew I shouldn’t be so nervous. After all, I had been on countless insane rides with Ben and his infamous “move it or lose it” attitude behind the wheel, but for some reason this one seemed worse than all the others combined.

My friend’s own magnetic bubble light was strobing atop the van, casting a flickering glow down onto the dash as we sped along the highway. A slice of cold air was whistling in through an ultra thin gap along the edge of the driver’s side window caused by the emergency beacon’s coiled wire, which was threaded through to the accessory plug powering it.

Thus far, I hadn’t been brave enough to glance in the direction of the dimly lit speedometer. It was bad enough that we were whipping by cars so fast that they appeared as little more than blurred lights rocketing past us in reverse. I feared that knowing where the needle was actually hovering would just be too much for me to take right now.

The siren Ben had mounted behind the grill of the vehicle was warbling, burping, and vomiting a string of randomized alert tones to help clear the way, but it soon became obvious that some people simply didn’t listen. Every now and then the van would sway violently as he would be forced to steer around a car whose driver wasn’t paying attention and therefore hadn’t bothered to move to the right. As usual, each time it happened the blaring siren was joined by an angry string of verbiage from my friend, aimed squarely at the receding headlights reflected in the rear view mirror.

I turned in the seat as best I could and glanced back over my shoulder at Felicity. She was braced in her own seat with one hand gripping the armrest, while the other was hooked tightly to the shoulder harness across her chest in a white knuckled hold. She was known to have a heavy foot herself, but this was obviously excessive, even by her standards. She stared back at me, eyes wide, and all I could do was shake my head.

When I turned back around, I saw that we were topping a low hill, and the brightly lit casino on the Saint Charles riverfront was looming in front of us on the left. The aircraft anti-collision lights ringing the roof of the tall structure winked on then off in a rapid cadence, but we were moving so fast that the top of the building disappeared from view before I could see more than two cycles of the warning flash.

The Fifth Street exit had been coming up when I turned around to face forward but was now already long behind us as we rushed along the outer lane of Highway 70 toward the Blanchette Bridge. I shot a quick glance at my watch. In a little over twenty minutes, we had already covered a distance that at normal speeds would have taken better than a half hour.

With Ben’s attention focused on keeping the van on all four wheels-although I wasn’t convinced we had stayed that way the entire time-conversation between the three of us had been non-existent. I wasn’t about to distract him with chatter, idle or otherwise. Unless it was earth shattering and I felt he desperately needed to know, I was keeping my mouth shut. Felicity’s silence told me that she had either adopted the same attitude or was simply too frightened to speak.

We had just blown beneath the first overhead girder of the eastbound bridge when Ben’s cell phone began to ring. My heart jumped into my throat as he swerved around yet another oblivious driver, while at the same time fumbling for the warbling device. After barking an angry slur at the vehicular obstacle, he flipped open the cell and pressed it against his ear.

“Storm… Yeah… Yeah… Dammit! Any sign of ‘er yet? Jeezus… No, nothin’ here… Yeah, but she had a good ten minutes on us, so she could show up at any minute. Better keep an eye out… Yeah… Good deal… What? Yeah, we’re just crossin’ the river now. If the idiots’ll stay the fuck outta my way, we should be there in ten, fifteen tops. Yeah… See ya’.”

Folding the phone shut with a flick of his thumb, he shoved it back into his pocket then grabbed the steering wheel. I felt better now that he was guiding the van with both hands instead of just one-but, only slightly better.

“Hubcap chasers didn’t find Beebee,” he said, casting a quick glance at me before returning his attention to the road.

“I pretty much gathered that from your reaction,” I replied, breaking my self-imposed reticence with more than a little internal trepidation.

He huffed out a heavy breath. “Shit… Guess I can’t really blame ‘er. I’d prob’ly do the same if it was my kid. Know what I mean?”

“Knowing you, probably,” I agreed. Obviously he expected an answer, so I had little choice but to talk. Since we were still traveling in a straight line, I went ahead and asked, “By the way, did you know about that little secret?”

“Hell no.” He gave his head a slight shake to punctuate the response even more. “I was told she was a niece. But, lemme tell ya’, I’m bettin’ somebody up on high knew about it.”

“It kind of explains something I was wondering about,” I offered. “I wasn’t quite sure how she reconciled her particular set of strict values with a niece who was involved in the whole vampire scene-and apparently bisexual at the very least. That didn’t really seem to fit with her holier-than-thou attitude.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Extended family is one thing. But your own kid is somethin’ completely different. Ya’ love ‘em no matter how much you think they’re fuckin’ up.”

“Yeah…” I replied. “I suppose that might explain why she claimed she was her niece, too. Some part of her still had to spare herself the perceived embarrassment.”

After a brief pause Ben shot another quick glance my way and asked, “So, you two doin’ okay? Both of ya’ been pretty quiet.”

“As well as can be expected.”

“What about you, Firehair?”

“The same,” she replied, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

“You havin’ a Twilight Zone moment or somethin’?”

“No. Just a fear of low altitude flight.”

“Of what? Oh… you mean… Jeez, c’mon, my drivin’ ain’t that bad. I don’t hear Firehair complainin’.” On the heels of the comment, he jerked the van to the right then quickly back to the left while growling, “Fuckin’ assholes.”

Felicity yelped in time with the maneuver then a few seconds later sighed and said, “Yes, Ben, it is that bad.”

He shot a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, that’s just how it is sometimes.”

“Please keep your eyes on the road then,” she appealed. “I’m not ready to die just yet.”

“Gimme a break.”

“Just keep your eyes on the road, please?” she appealed.

“Relax. I know what I’m doin’.”

I heard my wife quietly mutter, “Gods, I hope so.”

“So anyway,” Ben reverted back to his original train of thought without ceremony. “No Albright yet, but you can bet that’s where she’s headed. As far as the house itself goes, the Overmoor coppers are pretty sure they saw a light go on then back off through one of the basement windows.”

“That’s where the killer was in the vision,” I acknowledged. “The basement.”

Ben snorted. “So, were ya’ plannin’ ta’ tell anyone about that part?”