The Drive

The car throws light the color of [[Jaundice]] on the road.

Rain batters the windshield. Trees form a black arch over black, wet asphalt broken only by the occasional [[faded white line]].

The radio crackles in and out. Sometimes it babbles foreign languages. Sometimes it recites numbers in monotones. It's been funny ever since those clouds rolled in. Grey and heavy as battleships. Firing heavy lightning artillery at the [[black and twisted trees]].

You see her there, a willowy shape in clothes battered and wrinkled by the fat drops, [[white skin and white dress]].

The car cruises to a stop beside her, whispered warnings about hitchhikers murmuring away. Perhaps you should [[obey mother's old warnings]]. But [[look at her]].

No, no, no, you're not going to get murdered that easy. Before the car comes to a complete stop, [[you floor it]].

A pathetic creature barely able to lift her legs, long dark hair soaked and damp, [[a kitten caught in the rain]].

Before she can reach the door handle, you hit the big pedal. The car surges forward, carrying you off into the night. The last thing you see are her eyes, [[dark as pitch]].

Were they eyes at all? Or just dark holes where eyes should be? The answer seems terrifying and fades away the more you [[grasp at it]].

The empty road ahead is almost a comfort. The break in the storms is almost a mercy. The glow of a neon OPEN sign in the diner ahead, [[almost an oasis]].

You remember that painting as you stagger through the door. The late night/early morning crowd this far out looks like something from The Hills Have Eyes, but even murderous hillpeople like [[a cup of coffee]].

You catch her eyes across the room, they're a [[a faded blue]].

The girl in the faded MISSING poster is pretty as a ghost. Probably better you didn't stop during [[The Drive]].

You pop the door and she slides inside as if she was expecting you. Water drips onto the seat as she settles in, fastening her seatbelt. She sits [[silent and still and untroubled]].

The radio chants a repetitive string of numbers as you resume your trip into the dark corridor, rain covering the windshield so thick the wipers despair. [[She begins to speak]].

"It was the winter." "It was cold." "It was a cold winter. That's what I remember." You feel her eyes on you. Or where eyes were. Hard to tell where those dark holes lead in this lightning. But something moves within them. [["What season is it now?"]]

You tell her. She nods, doing some kind of mental math before smiling sadly to herself, then returning her attention to you. "I don't know how to thank you," she says. "But how about a kiss?" [["Sure, that'd be fine."]] [["How 'bout you buy me dinner first?"]]

She laughes and shakes her head, a pretty, girlish gesture. "What do you want, then?" [["How about you tell me what happened?"]]

She scoots as far as the seat will allow. You feel slender, cold fingers dig into the back of your neck. Nails sharp as glass dig into the flesh. Her eyes //Black as midnight Black as pitch Blacker than the foulest witch// [[The kiss]]

Her lips taste the color of ice that never melts. Her tongue tastes the color of freshly turned earth. You almost [[don't notice when a slender leg slides over yours]].

The nails dig into the soft flesh of your neck, spikes pinning you in place. The car leaps forward, engine straining as she slides onto your lap. "Don't worry," she coos, a breath of the grave against your lips. "[[It will be over soon]]." "[[And it won't hurt]]."

Like Hell it will. With the hand on the wheel, you wrestle for control, shoving the girl off you. The trunk of a tree fills the windscreen but you steer back onto the road, covered in sweat. [[Something seethes beside you]].

No, it won't hurt at all. Ice cold blue washes over you. There's a jolt of sharp red, the scream of metal, the crunch of bones. A hard jab of red. Black. [[White]].

The shape of her is coming undone. The girlish figure is melting away like wax in sunlight. Features run and drip down her white form. Dark lines and shapes [[rise in their place]].

You stand by the side of the road. A car throws light the color of jaundice as it makes [[The Drive]].

Two black holes replace her eyes. Memories of a few teeth hang from her jaw. Obsidian claws reach for you. [[Even the tree would be better than this]], you think. [[But ghosts aren't real, are they?]]

You mash the accelerator and point towards the hulking trunk beside the road. It'll be quick, you promise yourself. [[And it won't hurt]]. Not like those claws.

No, none of this makes any sense at all. It must be a dream. [[Mercifully, you wake up]].

The familiar confines of the bedroom meet your blinking eyes. Your heart slows and you remember to breathe. The ghost at the foot of the bed smiles, revealing a mouthful of razors. You try to convince yourself it's another dream. [[And it won't hurt]].

Her laugh is sepulchral. "You don't actually care, do you?" "[[Of course I do]]." "[[Just making conversation]]."

The silence says she's surprised. It's a moment before she starts to speak. [["Go on," is the only nudge she needs.]]

She settles in silence again, possibly offended, possibly thinking. The wipers beat steady time on the windshield. The radio recites a string of numbers as it crackles in and out. Next time you look over, [[she's a cloud of silver vapor]].

You finally ask, or maybe wonder aloud, or maybe she's in your head. Regardless, you want to know [[what she's doing]].

"I need you to believe," her voice says, echoing through the speakers of the radio. "I need you," the radio sings from beyond the grave, hissing and crackling. "It's the only way I'll make it through." [[The headlights go out]].

You careen down an unlit corridor through the trees, trying to make out what you can as the wheel lurches this way and that. Taking over the radio was one thing, the power steering quite another. [[Willing to listen yet]]? [[But ghosts aren't real, are they?]]

"I'll listen to whatever you have to say," gets the cars lights back on and the steering back under your control. A thoughtful silence. [["Go on," is the only nudge she needs.]]

"It was the winter. It was cold. It was a cold winter. Did I already say that? [[It's gotten hard to remember]]."

"We were driving... ..and arguing, I guess. We always seemed to be doing that. [[We were going somewhere]]."

"It was a dance, I think. Yes, that was it. And he didn't want me looking at other guys. And I said I'd look at who I wanted. [[Things got out of hand]]."

"I got out of the car. He took off. [[I walked in the rain]]."

"Barefoot. I remember the way the asphalt bit my feet. The cold. The wet. The way the fabric clung to me." [[Silence, for a beat]].

"Then there was this light. So brilliant, it was blinding. [[I couldn't see what was making it]]."

"I felt it, though, when it hit. He was so proud of that thing. Couple hundred horsepower in that big body. [[I felt every one of 'em]]."

"Weirdest part was I remember his face through the windshield. Just a flash. An impression. He was surprised. Like he hadn't expected to find me on the road. [[I guess he thought it was just an act]]."

The only sound is the gentle swish of the windshield wipers as she lapses into thought. "So that's my story," she says. "Not much else other than that." [["He called his buddy and they shot a deer to explain the blood and damage."]]

"As for me, I'm right over there by the forked tree," she bobs her head to indicate it. "They did a real good job of hiding it. I didn't even get one of those roadside crosses." You can almost make it out with the headlights, [[a small bump of earth]] underneath the forked tree. But it [[may be best to not disturb the dead]].

The car stops almost of its own accord. The rain runs cold and clear down your face as you climb out. [[Should you pay attention to that roar in the distance?]] [[Probably not.]]

You feel her eyes on you. The questions bubble, but don't come. The steady hum of the radio continues. A thought occurs, you can almost [[grasp at it]]. But now it's gone.

That's a graceful backstep. You can make out the raindrops glistening on the red body of the car as it streaks by. The cold adrenaline dump hits a moment later. [[The car vanishes a moment after that]].

It's a really nice car. You have time to reflect on the chrome grillwork before it blows into you. You make out the face behind the wheel. At least it's over, you tell yourself. [[And it won't hurt]].

The smell of crushed grass and turned earth and rain, endless rain, welcome you into the trees. There's no marker or headstone or even a sign. Just a small lump in the ground. [["Sorry," she coos, "I don't often have visitors."]]

Maybe you should [[say a few words]]? It only seems right.

Funerals are hard enough when you know the person. [[But you manage a few words]].

"That's mighty sweet," she says from just over your shoulder. "But I need you to remember me." "Can you do that?" [[It's not exactly a forgettable kind of evening]]. [[But ghosts aren't real, are they?]]

The last impression you have is her smile. Even the clouds seem to be lifting. Better get back to [[The Drive]].