Megan Hart - Precious And Fragile Things

Gilly told him by tilting her head toward the road sign they’d just passed. They’d been on the road for two hours. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Arwen and Gandy. Had Seth picked them up yet? Were they home, safe in bed? It was past their bedtime, and Arwen was impossible in the mornings if she didn’t have enough sleep….

“I asked you a question!”

The rap of the knife’s blade against her shoulder made the car jerk beneath her startled hands. Gilly yelped, though he’d only tapped her with the flat of it. She steadied the massive truck, visions of rolling the huge vehicle punching any other thoughts from her head.

“Pay attention!”

“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t sound it. She tried again. “Sorry.”

She told him out loud, though by now they’d passed another sign. She watched him scowl at the white letters on the green background, and wondered if he couldn’t read. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, turning on the map light to look at it.

“We need Route 80.” He shook the paper at her. “You didn’t go the wrong way, did you?”

The unfairness of the accusation stung her into response. “You’re the one telling me which way to go!”

She regretted her outburst when he bared his teeth, blood grimed in the cracks, and lifted the knife.

“I have a knife.” His voice was hoarse.

“I know you do.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of fucking idiot.”

If he was going to cut her, he wouldn’t do it while she was driving. He’d make her pull over first. Wouldn’t he?

“Sorry.”

“Okay.” He seemed to think they’d reached some sort of mutual agreement. Gilly didn’t know what it might be, but she wasn’t going to argue.

“We haven’t passed Route 80 yet.”

He held up the soiled scrap of paper again. “That’s where we need to go.”

“We haven’t even made it to State College,” Gilly said, not pointing out they’d have been long past there if he hadn’t made her take such a crazy, circuitous route.

Gilly waited to hear what he’d say next. He didn’t speak. The tires thudded. She felt him staring.

“We’re going to need gas,” she said at last, since even though she loved the quiet, craved it, it frightened her. “Depending on how far we’re going.”

He leaned close to her to look at the gas gauge. She expected a whiff of sweat, of dirt. An angry or scary odor, something bad.

He smelled like soap and cold air. For the first time she noticed he didn’t even wear a winter coat, only jeans and a worn hooded sweatshirt with a zipper. In the green dashboard illumination she couldn’t tell the color, but everything on him was dark. Hair, eyes, the growing scruff of a beard she could just make out. A quick glance at his feet revealed huge and battered hiking boots.

“Fuck.” He leaned back into his seat. The knife seemed forgotten at his side, but she wasn’t sure she could trust that impression. One sudden move and she could find herself with four inches of steel inside her.

Later, when it was all over and she could be totally honest with herself, Gilly would think it was that clean scent of soap and fresh air that let him keep her. That and the silence. People assumed it was the knife, and she never disabused them of that notion, but Gilly knew the truth. He smelled good, and he didn’t talk much. It was wrong…but right then, it was enough.

They drove a few more miles in the silence before he sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “How much longer before we have to stop?”

She looked at the gauge. “We have less than a quarter of a tank.”

Her captor made a muffled sound of disgust. “Next gas station, stop.”

They weren’t on a particularly populous stretch of road, but it wouldn’t be long before they found a station. He leaned forward again to punch the button on the radio and found only static. He punched the button to play the CD. The familiar words of a lullaby, albeit one unconventional and untraditional, blared from the speakers.

“What the hell is this?” He turned down the volume.

Her smile felt out of place but she couldn’t stop it. “Bat Boy: The Musical.”

He listened for a moment longer to the words, a mother’s gentle promise to nurture the unloved and unwelcome bat-child found in a cave and brought to her home. The song was one Gilly liked to sing along with, but she didn’t now. When it was over and the next song from the campy rock musical had taken over, he stabbed the button on the stereo to turn it off.

“That’s weird,” he said bluntly. “You listen to that with your kids in the car?”

She thought of Arwen, who hadn’t seen the show but loved to sing along with the songs too. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “Damn. What’s it about?”

His voice had a smoker’s rasp. He talked slowly, as if choosing each word was a mental strain, but he didn’t slur his words or use bad grammar. His voice matched the rest of him, unkempt and battered.

“It’s about Bat Boy.” Gilly’s eyes scanned the road signs, looking for one that showed an exit or gas station ahead. “It’s…it’s just fun.”

“Who the hell is Bat Boy?”

She hesitated, knowing already how the answer would sound. “He’s half human, half bat. They found him in a cave down in Virginia.”

“You’re shitting me.” Even his curses were clipped and precise, as though he was speaking written dialogue instead of his own thoughts.

“It’s a story,” she said. “From the Weekly World News. I don’t think it’s real.”

He laughed. “No shit.”

“There’s a gas station ahead. Do you want me to pull over?”

She tensed, waiting for his answer. He shrugged, leaned forward to check the gas gauge again. “Yeah.”

She signaled and slowed to exit. Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms grew moist. Anxiety gripped her, and a sense of loss she refused to acknowledge because she didn’t want to think what it meant.

Apparently he remembered the knife, for now he pulled it up and waved it at her again. “Don’t forget I have this.”

As if she could. “No.”

Ahead of them was the parking lot, busy even at this time of night. Bright lights made Gilly squint. She pulled the truck up to the pumps and turned off the engine. She waited for instructions, though normally being told what to do chafed at her. Now she felt as though she could do nothing else but wait to be told what to do. How to do it.

He leaned close enough to kiss her. His breath smelled like Big Red gum. “Give me the keys.”

Gilly pulled them from the ignition and passed them into his palm. His fingers closed over hers, squeezing. She winced.

“If you so much as flick the headlights, I will gut you like a deer. You got that?”

She nodded.

“I’ll pump.” He waited, looking at her. She saw a flicker of apprehension flash across his face, so fast she wasn’t sure she saw it at all. He held up the knife, but low so anyone looking at them wouldn’t see it through the windows. “Don’t get out of the car. Don’t do anything. Remember what I said.”

She expected him to ask for money. “I don’t have my purse.”

He made that sound of disgust again, and now he sounded contemptuous, too. “I don’t need your money.”

He folded the knife and put it into a leather sheath on his belt, slipped the keys into his pocket, then opened his door and went around to the pump, using the keyless remote to lock the door. He fumbled with the buttons and the handle, finally getting the gas to start. Then he went inside.

Gilly sat and watched him. After a moment, stunned, she realized this was the second time he’d let his attention slide from her. She sat a moment longer, seeing him choose items from the cooler, the racks of snacks and the magazine section.