Bryan Smith - Soultaker

Her voice quavered as she said, “Yes, I heard you. Yes, I understand. I know, I know. I’m sorry. I love you, too.”

She snapped the cell phone shut.

And then she screamed.

She smashed the cell phone against the dashboard. The broken phone slipped from her hand and she bashed the dashboard with her fists. She screamed again, a sound that shifted to an anguished wail. Then she was crying and hugging herself, rocking on the edge of the seat. She shook her head and plaintively said the word “no” over and over.

They were out of the Zone now. Jake spied a convenience store and pulled into its parking lot. Kristen gave no sign of realizing they’d stopped. She buried her face in her hands, tucked her head between her legs, and wailed. Jake watched her and said nothing. He was afraid to ask her what was wrong. He tried to think of what might be horrendous enough to affect her this way. He still didn’t know her very well at all. It could be anything. Thinking this, he again felt a stab of doubt. He had to be out of his mind to get in so deep with her so soon. But the doubt gave way to guilt as he heard her sobs.

Stop being an asshole, he thought.

He laid a gentle hand between her shoulder blades and for a moment the strength of her sobs only increased. Her whole body quivered. Then she came to him and he took her in his arms, stroking her hair and whispering reassuring nonsense into her ear as she cried against his neck. After maybe ten minutes of this, she eased out of the embrace and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes.

She wiped moisture from her flushed cheeks and sniffed. “Stu’s dead.”

The news hit him like a hard blow to the gut. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. He thought about Stu’s kindness in offering him a place to stay. Christ. Stu dead. It made no sense. And then it hit him that he’d scarcely known Stu any better than he knew Kristen. It was a shock, yes, but the anguish he felt was more intense than it should have been. Part of it was the guy’s giving, generous personality. He’d just been an all-around good guy. You didn’t have to know the man in and out to see that. The world became a darker place every time someone like that died. And Kristen had known and loved him over the course of a lifetime.

He at last found his voice and somehow managed to keep it steady. “I’m so sorry, Kristen. What happened?”

Her face crumpled at the question and fresh tears streamed down her face. She swiped at them furiously and said, “Some piece of fucking shit murdered him. My poor brother. Oh, Jake…”

Then the sobs came again and again he held her.

In a while she was able to tell what she knew of the story. Someone had invaded the mountain cabin during the night. Stu had been tortured and murdered. Lorelei was missing and presumed dead or abducted. A massive search was underway for two suspects fingered by an anonymous caller. The same tipster had alerted authorities to the crime. Police were urging the caller to come forward again, but so far it hadn’t happened.

Jake comforted her there in the car for a long time.

He never noticed the black Oldsmobile parked next to the Dumpster at the side of the convenience store.

It was there the whole time.

And when Jake drove away from the convenience store to take Kristen home, it followed them.

Raymond Slater did the only thing he could think of after stuffing Cindy’s mangled body in the trunk of his Lexus.

He went home.

The journey back through the familiar streets was hellish. He kept to a few careful miles over the posted speed limit the whole way, but he spent every moment convinced some bored Rockville cop would pull him over to fill his ticket quota. One big problem was the shattered passenger-side window. There was a spray of glittering safety glass on the leather seat and floorboard. Some of it was tinged crimson with Cindy’s blood. A fragile wedge of glass remained at the bottom of the window frame. Raymond had been sure some busybody cop would see that as a red flag and use it as an excuse to stick his nose in his business. So he stopped at a little strip mall for a quick clean-up job. He knocked the remaining glass out of the frame. Then he used a rolled-up newspaper to sweep the safety glass to the floor and under the seat. The biggest bloodstain was on the floorboard. He unfolded the newspaper and placed it over the stain. He surveyed his work and judged it passable. Not perfect by any means, but good enough not to arouse any immediate suspicion.

So he got back in the car and resumed the journey home. The next half mile passed without incident and he began to relax. In another few minutes he would be home and safe. He would be able to decompress and take some time to consider his next move.

Then he heard it.

A noise in the trunk.

He might have missed it had the radio been on, it was so soft. But he’d turned off the radio after leaving the alley, finding the sound of music grating under these circumstances. When he heard the noise, he wished he’d left the radio on. His ears perked up and he listened intently while his heart raced. A few moments of silence allowed him the brief illusion that he’d been hearing things.

Then he heard it again.

And there could be no mistake.

The bitch is alive!

The whimper coming from the trunk was low and weak, but it was clearly the sound of a person in unbearable agony. Raymond gripped the steering wheel tighter and let out a whimper of his own.

“Fuck me running.”

Then there was the sound of something shifting in the trunk, followed by a louder whimper.

“Jesus Christ!” Raymond punched the steering wheel. “Die already!”

Raymond replayed the words in his head. He had never felt lower in his life. He felt like a monster. A badly injured young girl was trapped in the trunk of his car. It wasn’t her fault she’d fallen under the spell of Lamia. She was just a child. This was the truth. And yet it didn’t matter. He couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t take her to a hospital. So he was left with a grim reality-if she didn’t die on her own soon, he would have to speed the inevitable along.

By the time he arrived at last at his large estate in the wealthiest part of town, he was a trembling, mewling wreck. He pulled up to one of the garage doors, fumbled with the automatic opener clipped to the visor above him for a moment, then watched through a veil of tears as the maroon door rolled up on its tracks. He pulled the Lexus into the open space, fumbled with the opener again, and rested his forehead against the steering wheel for several minutes in the gloom of the garage. His sobs only masked the intermittent cries still emanating from the trunk.

His hands at last came away from the steering wheel. He curled them into fists, dug the nails deep into his flesh, instinctively knowing he needed the pain to cut through the whirlwind of emotions engulfing him. He desperately needed something real and immediate to center him. He bore down harder. His hands shook. Then he let out a big breath and opened them, saw blood leaking out of the deep grooves. And there was pain, yes, enough to make him grit his teeth, but he felt focused again. In this case, instinct had served him well. Maybe that was the key. He shouldn’t overthink any of this. It would be hard. He was an educator. Thinking things out and reaching logical conclusions was the backbone of his life. He nonetheless knew he would have to reach beyond that now. Silence that coldly analytical side of himself and trust his gut.

He sat back in the seat and thought of nothing for a time. Blanked his mind as thoroughly as possible given the circumstances. He saw a workbench with tools on it through the windshield. To the left a door led to a small anteroom. His eyes saw these things but his mind was elsewhere. Simply gone for a time. His eyes glazed and his breathing evened out. His heart was no longer racing. He remained in the trancelike state for more than ten minutes. Then something-maybe his newfound friend Instinct-told him it was time to wake up and start dealing with the mess.