David Wisehart - Blood Alley

You couldn’t have kept me away.

Claire put her hand on his. Trevor had been tense all afternoon, but looked relaxed now behind the wheel.

They were on the road, and everything was fine.

Claire felt a jolt. Her purse jangled at her feet. The Hummer had run over something.

“Just a stick,” Trevor announced.

“Big stick,” Claire said. “Maybe slow down a little.”

“Don’t worry, I saw it. A little debris from the wind. Didn’t seem worth swerving around.”

All we need now is a flat tire.

Claire reached into her purse for her cell phone. She checked the signal.

No bars.

There wouldn’t be any coverage until they got closer to Cedarview. To save the battery, she powered the phone off, then turned again to the window and watched the rough shoulder of the road.

She could still see the reflection of Dakota and Ethan in the back. Dakota read aloud from Ethan’s SAT flash cards, and gave him clues with her body language.

She played with her hair. “ Coquette .”

“A flirt,” Ethan answered.

She rubbed her body against his. “ Conjugate .”

“To join together.”

She nuzzled his neck. “ Concupiscence .”

“Kiss?”

She went for his ear. “ Concupiscence .”

“Lick?”

She put a hand down his pants. “ Concupiscence .”

“Hard?”

Ethan gave up, turned Dakota over, and got on top. They weren’t wearing their seat belts.

Keep your clothes on, Claire thought.

Trevor looked at Claire, making it a question.

“Lust,” she answered.

Trevor glanced in the mirror and scowled.

He turned on the radio, and dialed from the fading signal of an alt-rock station to classical…to country…to oldies.

Claire heard the DJ say, “…Stop Car Hop.”

She reached for the dial. “Wait!”

A youthful voice sang from the speaker:

Trevor rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Claire said, “It’s Frankie Lamarque.”

“You like this shit?”

“His picture was on the wall. Back at the diner.”

“So?”

“Frankie Lamarque died on this road.”

The song continued:

“Fail.” Trevor changed the station to alt rock.

The figure of a man appeared in the headlights. He was standing on the side of the road. A hitchhiker in a black duster and a slouch hat. Arm extended, thumb signaling for a ride.

“Hey, look,” Trevor joked. “It’s the Highwayman.”

Is it? Claire wondered.

The hitchhiker looked exactly like the guy she had seen at the diner, the one who appeared beside the ghost bike memorial.

“Pull over,” said Ethan.

Dakota leaned forward. “No, don’t.”

Trevor drove past the hitcher.

As the pale, gaunt face passed by Claire’s window, the man stared at her with glowing green eyes.

A chill ran through her.

It’s him.

The car slowed down and pulled onto the dirt shoulder.

“Trevor, no,” said Dakota. “We don’t know who he is, where he came from, what he’s doing alone out here. He looks… mean , Trevor. He looks evil . Don’t open the door.”

Ethan laughed, enjoying Dakota’s panic.

Claire watched the hitchhiker in her side mirror. The man thrust his hand into the pocket of his duster and walked toward the Hummer, his neck and jaw lit red by the tail lights, his eyes shielded by the brim of his hat.

She said, “He is kind of scary-looking.”

“Go, go, please , just go!” Dakota urged.

A sense of danger crept up Claire’s spine.

She put her hand on Trevor’s arm. “We don’t have room.”

The hitchhiker was almost to the vehicle.

“We can fit three in the back row,” Trevor said, and unlocked the doors.

“Not comfortably,” said Claire.

It sounded stupid, but it was all she could think of to say.

The man stopped and stood outside Dakota’s door, staring in through the window.

Dakota locked her door.

Trevor shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to make Dakota feel uncomfortable.”

He floored it.

Tires spun, throwing dust on the old man.

Trevor and Ethan busted up laughing. They shared a fist-bump.

Ethan smacked the seat with the flat of his hand. “That was awesome! ”

Claire felt terrible. What if the man was stranded, like they had all been this morning? What if he was desperate for help, and they just passed him by, like that story of the Good Samaritan? Yes, it was safer not to talk to strangers, or pick them up on the highway, but it seemed wrong to tease him and cheer about it.

She glowered at Trevor. “You’re such an ass.”

Claire checked the mirror, and saw the dust settle behind them.

The hitchhiker was gone.

The Highwayman stood alone on Blood Alley, watching the tail lights of the big red boxy car rush into the distance.

There were four teenagers in the car. Two boys, two girls. The boys had taunted and jeered him. The dark-haired girl had been properly terrified, but the blonde girl in the front passenger seat had stared directly at him through the window.

He’d sensed the fear in her, but also something else. A kind of hunger. Perhaps it was merely curiosity. The blonde girl was different from the others, though he couldn’t say why. She seemed… familiar . The memories from his physical life were unreliable—vague, clouded, distorted. But he felt somehow connected to this girl.

Behind him, another vehicle encroached on the road. The Highwayman turned to see a petroleum tanker truck advancing. The headlights found him. He stood his ground as brightness filled the air.

The tanker truck honked, then slowed, but did not have time to stop.

The Highwayman felt the return of an ancient rage.

Go away! Go back! You do not belong here!

The tanker truck did not heed the silent warning.

It swerved around the Highwayman.

As the truck roared past him, throwing dust and belching diesel, the Highwayman saw a German shepherd in the passenger seat. The dog snarled at him before vanishing from view. The tanker truck returned to the right-hand lane and continued down the road.

The Highwayman watched the tail lights diminish.

Behind the truck a metal chain slid along the blacktop. Caught in the undercarriage, the long chain bounced and twisted, throwing sparks. The loose end whipped like a dragon’s tail through the darkness.

There were others on his road tonight. Not many, but none were welcome here.

Trespassers.

Tonight he would teach them. Tonight he would remind them how the highway got its name.

Tonight is a night for blood.

With the power of his will, he summoned the Revenant from its slumber.

He did not see the ghost car approach out of the cold wind of the dark night, for his back was now turned to it, but he felt the ghost car speeding up behind him. His mind thrilled with anticipation. In a moment the phantom car and the unmortal driver would be reunited. He kept his back to the Revenant and raised his arms in front of him, as if to grip an invisible steering wheel. The ghost car drove into the Highwayman’s back. The coffin-nosed hood of the Revenant passed through him. The steering wheel passed through him. It settled into his waiting hands as the driver’s seat caught and cradled him.