by Jax Spenser
Chapter 4
July 22nd …again.
I just had a nightmare. Should I call it a daymare? All this shit with Mom, Dad, and the stranger is getting me too amped up. My chest feels tight. Something’s wrong. Something is coming, like a storm, and it doesn’t feel like it can be stopped.
And the hitchhiker, what’s wrong with him? I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the bathroom. And the look he gave me. Whatever it is Dad doesn’t see it, that’s for sure. Instead, he’s decided to take John Bruce to his town. To help some random stranger. Hours out of our way. We’ve been driving in the mountains for too long, with no one saying a word, but finally we passed a sign for a town …
Sedona 2 mi
I hope this is where we dump John Bruce.
I wish we would just make a run for California. Just Dad and I.
I tuck the Memory Book into my armpit and hold it in place with my hand. I need to protect it. Those words keep coming back to me – This could be your last memory.
Dad clears his throat and I look up and see him annoyed with his seat somehow. He keeps trying to adjust it, as if he hasn’t been the only one driving the same car for ten years. He must be nervous. He’s never this quiet. There’s an eerie silence in the car. It makes the air almost electric. One false move and zap, we’re all dead.
I check out John Bruce and I’m certain he hasn’t moved an inch. The sight of his generic red hat and loose-fitting sunglasses makes the lump in my throat stick.
Outside the window, there are towers and walls of layered rock. The colors remind me of something that’s been cooking too long. Dried and burnt. How can anything survive here? Yet, it’s so full of life. I see a crazy-looking, spiky cactus, lizards scurrying between rocks, one single pine tree shooting sixty, seventy feet out of a crack that’s formed in solid rock. Life is popping up wherever it can.
Arizona is nothing like Oklahoma. For one, it’s not flat. It’s not sickly brown and colorless because the grass and trees seem like they would rather commit suicide then stick around waiting for the next tornado to hit. The sun touches everything here.
A car’s horn and brakes screeching snaps me out of my thoughts.
We’re driving through downtown Sedona, surrounded by boulders and canyon walls. The road’s turned into a busy main street with traffic that’s winding up a hill to a stoplight. The streets are lined with cool-looking shops and people wandering around like there’s some kind of festival going on.
“Dad, look there’s a coffee shop; can’t we just stop for a sec?” I ask, breaking the silence. Dad twists up his face. I must be interfering with the mission to get the wacko to Crazyville.
“Keegan let’s just drop him off, then we can stop to look around.” Stress creeps into his voice. Maybe he’s finally regretting his decision to help the stranger. “Besides, you really want coffee from a place called The Mystic Bean?”
“Hell yes!” I say. Then up the ante, “Come on, Dad, my nose is hurting again. Five minutes. I’ll run in, run out.”
He gives, “Well, maybe we can—”
“Billy Roe, let me remind you, we are twelve minutes from the final destination,” John interrupts. Psycho pilot is hitting turbulence.
That’s the last straw, I know it. Dad must be thinking the same thing. Enough shit from this creepy hitchhiker. Now Dad’s just going to stop the car and have John Bruce hit the road. Maybe he won’t even slow the car that much. John Bruce and his stupid red hat will have to jump. Later sucker! Enjoy the road rash!
But Dad doesn’t stop the car. He drives on. In fact, he’s doesn’t even seem bothered anymore.
And with a slight movement, the stranger turns his head and Dad jerks like a fly’s buzzing in his ear. Dad looks over to John Bruce and nods.
What was that?
My face gets hot and my chest rises and falls faster with each second that passes. The anger wants to explode and wipe out Dad and the stranger who’s taken over our car.
“What? We’re not going—,” I begin, but it gets stuck in my throat.
On we drive. Past the cool little coffee shops where customers sit out front working their little electronic toys. Past a corner lot filled with pink Jeeps. Past a bed and breakfast claiming to have maps to over ten power vortexes. Past all of Sedona. I can only grind my teeth in silence. The back seat’s been forgotten. Again.
“Dad?” I get out. He doesn’t respond. “Dad? So we’re just going to keep going?” I want to yell. I have every right to yell. Instead, I say, “Fine, whatever.”
He has no idea how mad I am. Because he never notices. Never cares. I should come first. He should have stopped for me. How much more do I have to take? My chest feels like all the air is being drained out of my lungs.
Then, “Are you sure this is the right road?” Dad asks. Good, he’s getting antsy.
“Yes, Billy Roe, we are close now. Turn here.” John says, steady and calm.
We pull off the paved road onto a gravel one. Sedona, with all its people and traffic, must be seven, eight miles back. It’s long gone and I’m not even sure I would know how to get back if I had to.
In front of us, a mesa stands like some crazy comic book creature. I have to look twice at it because it really does look like some giant monster waiting for its chance to attack.
Rolling along, we enter a dense thicket of branches growing over the road, which is all but gone. It reminds me of a tunnel. Sharp little arms whip the car. We push on, spinning sand under tires. I sit in the back seat, rubbing my hands and wanting to take my own skin off.
C’mon, Dad. Do something.
Finally, he speaks up. “Look, Mr. Bruce, this isn’t even a road. I’m gonna turn around.”
Finally.
But before Dad can follow through on his only act of courage, we shoot back onto a paved road. A beautiful, crisp black paved road. Did that just happen?
We come skidding to stop. “What in the hell!?” Dad mouths.
“Billy Roe, I told you. This is the right road,” John Bruce says.
Dad looks back at me. I don’t know what to say. This is too strange. Dad turns back around, body tense, his fingers pick at the steering wheel. He doesn’t look at John Bruce. Maybe he’s too scared.
The stranger smiles, “Drive, Billy Roe.”
I’m holding my breath like in the bathroom. What is happening? I force myself to inhale. The pain in my chest is crazy. Like an elephant tap dancing on it.
“Dad, can we go back? I want to go back.” I’m whispering in Dad’s ear.
Again, Dad seems to jerk his head because of some imaginary fly.
He doesn’t answer me.
I fall back into my seat. An image of Mom flashes in my head again. She’s standing over me smiling, only this mom wants to do damage. I don’t know why, but I wish this mom would take me away from here. It doesn’t make sense but it has to be better than being with this insane person on this fucked-up road.
“Keeg, we need to get John Bruce home.” Dad says and eases the car forward.
As a reflex, my feet push into the floor as if they could stop us from going any further.
Up ahead I see buildings. And a sign just before that. It must be where the hitchhiker is taking us. I stick my head out the side to get a better view and for the first time I see the soil beside the road.
It’s … red.
Adrenaline pumps into my limbs. I feel like I’ve fallen back into the nightmare. Red, a dusty, faded red but definitely red. Redder than anything I’ve seen since we’ve been driving.
Pressure so intense on my chest, the fucking elephant won’t stop!
We approach the sign, which must have the name of the town we’re entering. The words come into focus.
And then I get the feeling. The very familiar feeling. Oh God, I’m going to black out! It’s coming. But I want to see the name of this town.
Please wait, I beg the blackout.
I c
an feel the car slowing but the sign’s too far away. I open the door. Dad hits the brakes. I jump out and run.
So much weight on my chest. Bad, elephant, bad!
Red everywhere. It’s the dream. Here it comes … the letters on the sign, becoming clearer.
… the blackout’s so close.
I feel my legs numbing. I’m dragging my feet to the sign. Arms reaching for the ground. Eyes for the sign.
Blackout coming. The numbing, the dulling of sound.
The sign reads: Sedonia Falls.
I’m dropping when I see the thick concrete curb below me.
This one’s going to hurt.
