Road to Nowhere

by Christopher Pike

  Anything at all.

  She found them in the family room. Lying on the floor in front of a smouldering fire. Lying together asleep beneath a patchwork quilt their faces blank under the spell of sleep. She stood watching them and they didn’t move once. Their breathing, though, she could hear that. The sound of air going in and out of their lungs annoyed her. She was confused, but she knew this much: they weren’t supposed to be sleeping together.

  She took the knife out of her back pocket.

  The steel of the blade glowed red in the faint light radiating from the low flames in the fireplace. The vision she’d had in her kitchen returned as her mind began to clear. What was there to be confused about? This afternoon she had been Bill’s girlfriend. Tonight Rene was his girlfriend. Three minus one equals two. The mathematics were simple. Goodbye, Teresa, and thanks for introducing us. You were finally good for something. Bill changed partners like he did shirts, she thought in disgust. He'd have a hard time, though, taking off the shirt he was wearing now if there was a knife stuck through it – all the way through to the inside of his ribcage. Rene also would have a difficult time combing her beautiful black hair if it was soaked with blood. Dried blood was known to cause hard-to-manage knots.

  Teresa didn’t know which one she hated more.

  She stepped into the family room.

  “Then what did you do?” the priest asked.

  Teresa was embarrassed. “I came to my senses. I’m no killer. I dropped the knife and ran out of the house. When I got home, I packed an overnight bag and got in the car and started driving. I picked up Poppy Corn and her friend, Freedom Jack, just before I got on the freeway.” She shrugged. “And now I’m here. That’s my confession.”

  “Are you running away from home?” the priest asked.

  She had denied the question all night, but it was harder to lie in the presence of this fine man. It seemed he had an intuitive sense for when the truth was bent. Lowering her head, she sniffed again. Her face was still damp from her tears.

  “I am, yes,” she said.

  “Do you know where you’re running to?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re going nowhere.”

  He was not asking her. He was stating a fact. She raised her head. “I suppose I’ll end up somewhere,” she said.

  The priest surprised her. He shook his head. “Not necessarily. You’re in trouble, Teresa. There’s nowhere left for you to go.”

  Suddenly she was having trouble breathing. The confessional room that she had found cosy only minutes ago now seemed claustrophobic. Even the smell of the flowers was bothering her, making her sinuses swell. Something had begun to clog her head. Pressure grew in the centre of her skull. It grew as her heart throbbed there – the same throbbing she had experienced in her wrist.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I dropped the knife and left Bill’s house.”

  “Are you sure you dropped the knife?” the priest asked.

  “Yes. Positive. I wouldn’t lie about it.”

  The priest sighed. He looked down at the book, resting closed on his lap. It was an old volume, with a cover dried with time. She couldn’t tell if it was a Bible, though. There was no title on the outside.

  “The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves,” the priest said. “We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we’re afraid. We fear we will not find love, and when we find it we fear we’ll lose it. We fear that if we do not have love we will be unhappy. But the nature of God is love. The nature of God is happiness. We are a part of God, and because of that we have nothing to fear.” He looked at her and smiled gently. “Relax, Teresa, and tell me what happened. I will not judge you, no one will. I am not asking you to confess. I am only asking that you drop your state of denial.”

  Teresa was perspiring heavily. “But I’ve told you everything I know. I did not stab them – I wouldn’t have done that. You have to believe me.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I left! I ran away! I got in my car, went home for a few minutes to pack, and ran away from home! What do you want from me?” She burst out crying. “I can’t tell you what I don’t remember!”

  The priest was interested. “Is it that you can’t remember something?”

  “Yes! I can’t remember what I did with the knife!”

  The priest leaned forward. “Let me help you remember. This is where you are having trouble. You left Bill’s house. You—”

  “Stop!” Teresa cried, jumping to her feet. “I have to go. I’m sorry, but I can’t go through this. I don’t deserve this. I’ve done nothing wrong except be abused. That’s my only crime, Father.”

  The priest took her in with sorrow on his face. “It’s a crime to be abused,” he said.

  “You’re damn right it is.”

  Teresa strode from the room. Poppy was waiting outside, kneeling in a pew beside the confessional booth. She could have been deep in prayer for all Teresa knew, or cared. But Poppy jumped up and chased after her as Teresa hurried from the church, out into the fragrant courtyard, and then back towards the front of the church. Teresa had eyes only for her car. She needed to get in the car and get away as fast as she could. She had felt that way at her apartment.

  “What happened?” Poppy gasped, running to catch up with her.

  “I learned that the road up ahead is blocked,” Teresa said. “But it doesn’t matter. We can break on through to the other side.”

  Poppy stopped dead in her tracks. “That’s what they all think.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They were in the car driving north at high speed, the road deserted in both directions. The rain fell again, in torrents now. Poppy was silent in the back seat. Free fidgeted in the front, wired to the max. He had changed into a black suit with a red hat. His garment bag lay folded on his lap. It appeared to be empty. He was talking about a place up ahead that he said she had to see.

  “They have great food there,” he said. “You can get anything you want. The service is wonderful. They have an incredible wine selection. There’s no waiting, either. Only a few people know about the place.”

  “It sounds nice,” Teresa muttered, distracted. The expression of sorrow on the priest’s face continued to haunt her. Of course, he was a nice man, but he’d had nothing really important to say to her. She didn’t know why Poppy had been so anxious for her to meet him. He’d been way off talking about her being in a state of denial. She hadn't done anything wrong – what was there to deny? Anyway, how could you expect a priest to understand relationships? They were all celibate.

  The sky was growing lighter.

  Dawn was not far off.

  “It’s just up ahead,” Free continued. “I’ve been here before. There’s nothing you want that they haven't got.” He slapped the dashboard. “Hell, they even sell money, it’s that full-service kind of place.”

  “Neat,” Teresa said. She spoke to Poppy. “Have you been there before?”

  “Once,” Poppy mumbled. “For cigarettes.”

  Teresa laughed, although she didn’t feel much like laughing. She was so close to throwing up that she had to drive with the window down even with the rain blowing. “We’ll be sure to get you cigarettes,” Teresa said.

  “Don't bother,” Poppy said. “I’m trying to quit.”

  “It’s here!” Free shouted, pointing excitedly. “Turn off here. Wow, I can’t believe it. We made it. I was afraid we were never going to get away from that goddamn church.”

  “What turn-off is this?” Teresa asked, squinting through the pouring rain. She must have the name of the road wrong. It couldn’t be—

  “Bardos Lane,” Free said.

  “But isn’t that the name of the club you’re supposed to play?” Teresa asked. Free laughed hysterically.

  “Yeah!” he said. “We were closer than we thought. What a break. We’re already here. Amazing.”

 
“But you said the club was in San Francisco?” Teresa said.

  “I was wrong,” Free said, rubbing his hands fiendishly together. “We don’t have to go any further. We can satisfy all our shopping needs here.”

  “Our shopping needs?” Teresa asked.

  “Yes,” Free said. “We’re going to a mini-mart. I love mini-marts. And this one’s my favourite. Oh, there it is! Make a left up ahead, Teresa. Let’s just you and I go inside. We don’t want Poppy with us. She’s in a grumpy mood and she’ll just spoil our party.”

  “You don’t want to come in, Poppy?” Teresa asked, as she pulled to a halt in front of the store. Free’s excitement bewildered her. The mini-mart was like a million others in the world. It appeared to have no special qualities. Yet she was relieved to see it. She figured she could buy some aspirin and maybe something to settle her stomach. She was through with Junior Mints for the night.

  “No,” Poppy said.

  “You should at least get out and stretch,” Teresa said, opening her car door. Free was already outside and standing in the rain, getting soaked. He was the craziest guy.

  “I stretched my legs at the church,” Poppy said flatly.

  “Have it your way,” Teresa said, climbing out.

  Free hurried her to the door of the store, which was good given the amount of rain coming down. But just before they went inside, under the shelter of an overhang at the front of the place, he stopped and wanted to talk.

  “Remember I asked if you could do me a favour and you said yes?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You told me you would do anything for me?”

  “I will. I like you a lot, Free.”

  He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “And I love you, Baby. But I need a pretty big favour at this stop. I’m only asking this ’cause I know you and I are going to be together for at least a long while and I’ll need the money to take care of you and love you and you just got to help me out, you see, ’cause Poppy won't, she never would, and that's just the way she is and I can't change it. Do you understand?”

  Teresa chuckled. “Hold on, you’re confusing me. What favour can I do for you? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “Do you have your knife?”

  “My knife?”

  “Your mother’s steak knife? Didn’t you say you had it in your back pocket?”

  “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She smiled. “The only thing I have in my back pocket is that joker you put there when you pinched my butt.”

  “Check it out,” Free ordered.

  “What?”

  “Check in your pocket and see if you’ve got your knife. I might need you to use it in a second.”

  Teresa stuck her hand in her pocket, just to prove that she didn’t have a knife. Because it was a ridiculous assumption. She didn’t walk around with a knife, and besides, she couldn’t have sat in the car for the last how many hours with something as long and hard as a steak knife snugged up next to her.

  Ouch!

  A hot pain subbed at her left hand, the one she had thrust in her pocket. She quickly pulled it out to see that it had blood on it. Free was right. She poked more carefully into her pocket with her right hand and drew out the knife. It was the same knife she had taken to Bill’s house.

  “I can’t believe it,” she gasped.

  “Let’s get inside.”

  “But I'm bleeding!”

  “We’ll get you a Band-Aid.” He grabbed her arm. “Come on, we don’t have much time. The sun’s starting to come up.”

  They entered the store. A tall man with chestnut brown skin, a white goatee, and a bald head stood behind the counter. He looked half-starved, like an Ethiopian who had seen one drought too many. He nodded in their direction but didn’t speak. Teresa thrust her knife back in her pocket, out of sight. Free quickly dragged her round the store collecting beer, doughnuts, a carton of milk and Junior Mints. She started to tell him that she didn’t want any candy, but before she could speak he was already piling the articles up on the check-out counter, and besides, he had just pulled out a gun and was pointing it at the tall African.

  “Give me everything you’ve got,” Free said calmly, staring the man in the eye. “Or you won’t have to worry about renewing your health insurance policy.”

  “Free!” Teresa screamed.

  “Don’t tell him my name,” Free said impatiently. “We are robbing this store. If you identify me to him he’ll be able to identify me to the cops. I can’t let that happen. I’d have to kill him before I let that happen.”

  “But why are you doing this?” she cried.

  “Keep the bills coming,” Free said to the man, who was nervously emptying the register on the counter, beside the beer and the doughnuts. Free continued, speaking in her direction, “I am doing this because I need the money. I’m in love with you and I will have to support you for the next sixty years. Also, there’s some fine white powder I’ve grown very fond of and it costs more than you can imagine.” He paused and his head whirled in the direction of the door. “Take out your knife. We are about to have company. Do it!”

  Teresa withdrew the knife from her pocket. Why, she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to hurt anyone with it. She had never hurt anyone in her life.

  A young woman walked into the store. At first Teresa thought it was Poppy. They were about the same height and had the same long dark hair. But this woman was a few years older. She wore a nurse’s uniform. Her eyes grew big when she saw Free with a gun.

  “Stay!” Free shouted to her. “Get your hands up. Move over to my partner. Slowly! Don't try anything funny or your boyfriend is going to be sleeping alone tonight. Cover her, Baby.”

  Teresa stood helpless. “I can’t.”

  Free shoved her in the direction of the young woman. “Don’t argue with me! Stick your knife at her throat and keep it there.”

  Teresa slipped behind the woman and raised the tip of the blade to her neck. The woman shook with fear two inches in front of her and Teresa was grateful that she couldn't look into her eyes. Teresa felt as if reality had fractured into a million insane pieces. Free was such a great guy. She had slept with him for God's sake! But here he was, a common thief, like John. A heroin addict, too, maybe – no wonder the guys had been friends.

  This cannot be happening.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  No, they weren't that far away.

  “Jesus Christ!” Free swore. “Not again. Teresa, grab her by the hair and don’t let her go.” He started to scoop the money into the pockets of his black coat, his gun still levelled at the man. He shouted at the store employee. “You! You back up! You get your hands up and don’t look at me!”

  “Jack,” Teresa pleaded. She had taken hold of the woman’s hair to pull her closer, even pressing the blade more firmly against her throat, but she was losing it. She was one inch from fainting. The store whirled around her like a merry-go-round. The sirens screamed. Everything was happening so fast. The cops were practically on the doorstep!

  “We’re going to have to make a run for it,” Free yelled, dollar bills falling out of his pockets. He backed away from the tall man. “We can’t leave any eyewitnesses – we’re going to have to kill them, Baby.”

  “No!” Teresa cried.

  “Yes!” Free cackled. He was having a good time. “We’ll waste them and drive back to L.A. and spend all our money in all the wrong places.” Free shook his gun at the man. “Say goodbye to truth, justice, and the American way.”

  “No!” Teresa screamed.

  Free shot the man in the face. The bullet entered his nose and left behind a shattered mound of red dripping tissue. The man fell far and hit hard. Free threw his arms in the air and whirled in her direction.

  “Slit her throat!” he ordered.

  “No!” Teresa cried.

  “The word is yes!” Free laughed. “Open her veins! Yes! Make her bleed! Yes! Do it! The police are coming!”

&
nbsp; “Don’t ask me to...” Teresa began, but she didn't get to finish because the young woman suddenly tried to struggle free. Perhaps she figured her odds were poor just standing around, and Teresa would have privately agreed with her. But in the woman's struggle, she shook forward and the knife Teresa had at her neck accidentally cut her a little bit. It was definitely an accident, but it wasn’t exactly a tiny cut. Because the neck was chocked with big important veins and the blade was razor sharp and – well, Teresa cut her bad enough so that the blood began to flow. Bad enough so that the woman collapsed on the floor the moment she shook free of Teresa’s hold. Free laughed as he looked down at the nurse squirming at his feet, her hand raised to try to stop the bleeding.

  “Teresa,” he said. “You did it to her faster and more efficiently than I could have.” He raised his gun and pointed it at the woman’s head. “But now that you’ve passed your test there’s no reason your second victim should have to suffer.”

  “You can’t,” Teresa moaned.

  Free shot the nurse in the back of the neck.

  The blood and soft tissue splattered Teresa’s face.

  Free stuck his gun back in his belt. “I can and so can you. Let’s quit this place, Babe. We can have beer and doughnuts back home. In L.A.”

  Free grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the store.

  Into the failing night, where they saw no police.

  They climbed in the car. Free drove.

  Teresa stared at the blood on her shirt. A nurse’s blood.

  Poppy lit a cigarette and stared out the window.

  Bored. Poppy was bored and they had just killed two people.

  Teresa didn’t understand anything.

  “This is a fast car,” Free said, getting on to the freeway.

  Anything that had happened since she had left home.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Free said, heading north.

  Even the things she could remember.

  “Where?” she whispered.

  Nowhere, the priest had said.

  “Your place,” Free said.

  The road led nowhere.

  “This isn't the right way,” Teresa mumbled.