I turn on the faucet and am surprised to find clean hot water. The idea of washing away my aches and pains is nearly as tempting as knowing the blood covering me is mostly from other people.
In the shower, I can’t wash my hair but wet it nonetheless. I fear the pain of hot water on my wounds. My leg smells, and my head still bleeds when I press gently on the wound. The water washes away the foulness on my skin. The blood and sweat disappear down the drain.
Having no towel, I dry off using a shirt from my suitcase. A little part of me wonders if the man is watching. Looking around, I don’t see any sign of cameras, yet I don’t care if my nudity tempts him.
I’ve wasted too many years embracing lies. I can’t do it again. Not here when my fate rests entirely in the hands of a stranger. He can do whatever he wants whenever he chooses. Pretending I can avoid a terrible fate if only I remain in dirty clothes is too big of a lie.
Dressed in a white shirt and gray sweats, I sit back on the bloody bed. My brown hair drips onto my shirt, creating damp circles just over my breasts.
My mind wanders but goes nowhere of importance. I think of Neapolitan ice cream on a blistering summer day and the way my family’s old Sheltie licked my scraped knees. Unable to think about John or my sister Athena, who haunts me most days, I am lost in comfortable thoughts detached from guilt and grief.
At some point, the man enters the room and stares at me. Incapable of concentrating on him, I revel in the fantasies of a different Odessa.
Eventually, our gazes meet, and I stare into the unreadable eyes of a killer.
“We’ve both spilled blood,” I whisper.
“Everyone spills blood in the Lost Highway. That or they have their blood spilled.”
“I spilled it before I came here.”
The man shows no reaction. When a tear rolls down my cheek, I’m too exhausted to wipe it away.
“Why did you take the Lost Highway?” he asks a long time after we last spoke.
“I had to get away,” I whisper, leaning over and resting my head on the pillow. “I was on the run. I sound so dramatic.”
The man doesn’t share my smile. He only watches me, and then his gaze is on the light flooding through the window.
“The storm is over,” I tell him as an excuse to end the silence in the room.
Disappearing out of the door, the man shuts and locks it. I close my crying eyes. Outside, the storm passes, and the world goes on, but I only want to sleep and forget.
Chapter Five
Odessa
I dream of hitting the laughing woman. Even after the bat cracks open her skull, I won’t stop pounding her head with the weapon. I turn her to mush in my dream and realize I’m the one laughing. Waking, I feel a smile on my face.
For years, I’d heard the Lost Highway was haunted. I even watched a TV show about the many reported disappearances on Highway 202.
John never believed in the supernatural. He claimed the hills around the highway were home to drug runners, and the missing people likely saw something they shouldn’t. He also said the police couldn’t control the area, so they allowed the haunted rumor to keep tourists from using the highway.
I hadn’t believed John’s theories. I’d preferred the haunted highway idea. Now I’m trapped in a room decorated with blood and suffering. A nameless man holds my life in his hands, and I don’t know how to find my way home.
Forcing my body into a sitting position, I remind myself how I can’t return home. Freedom from here will only be a prison somewhere else.
I stare at the door and wait for the man to return. Where is he right this moment? Is he torturing someone in another room? I wonder if he suffers nightmares from his sins. I even worry he might be dead, and I’ll starve to death in this room.
By the time the door flies open, I’m convinced I’ll never see him again. His expression is no longer unreadable. He reminds me of a hunted animal. On the edge, he nearly drops the tray next to my lap on the bed.
“Eat fast. Drink faster.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, deciding there’s no harm in antagonizing him when my fate is likely sealed already.
The man says nothing. He glances at the tray and then back at me.
“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” I mumble, biting off a piece of bread.
“What is there to say?”
“You could tell me your name. Or at least give me something to call you, so I’m not forced to think of you as ‘the man’ in my head.”
“I’m called Quill. Does this information improve your situation?”
“Yes. Is Quill a nickname?”
“Stop talking. Eat and drink. I need to put you away while I hunt.”
Frowning, I empty the glass of water. What does he mean by putting me away? Do I even want to know?
Afraid now, I struggle against his grip when he pulls me to my feet. I reach out to hit him, but he easily seizes my wrist in his viselike grip.
“Never touch me,” he growls deep in his chest. “I am trained to kill when threatened. If you harm me, I will kill you whether I want to or not. I won’t warn you again.”
His words sting as much as his grip on my wrist. All morning, I hoped Quill was the virtuous type of captor. The kind of monster uninterested in putting objects in my body and turning me into a human suitcase. While he’s a step up from Dag, I can only passively stare while he drags me out of the room and down a tight hallway lined with family pictures.
Quill nearly carries me into a country-style kitchen with pale blue cabinets and a butcher block counter. Who in the hell owns this house? I know it’s not Quill.
Opening a small door, he yanks me down a narrow flight of stairs to the basement of my nightmares.
“No,” I say, fighting him despite his warning.
I’m struck in the face by the scent of torture while my bare feet find the floor sticky with blood. Quill grips my bicep, effortlessly tugging me forward regardless of my attempt to flee. When he presses a lever, a small door opens in the wall.
“You’ll stay here while I hunt,” Quill says, shoving me into the cramped closet.
My hands reach out for him, and I cry, “No!”
He slaps away my hands. “Don’t touch me,” he warns again.
“Please don’t shut me in here.”
His dark eyes remaining feral, he doesn’t care about my panic. I don’t think he even sees me. “If I fail my hunt, suffocation is preferable to what the Death Dealers have in store for you.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Consider it a mercy killing.”
“No!” I scream as he slams the door.
I hear the latch lock, and the door doesn’t relent to my pounding. Quill’s footsteps echo as he hurries upstairs. I listen to him move around the house before there’s only silence.
Crying, I struggle to calm my panic. The room is sealed shut without even a sliver of light under the door. I breathe too fast and choke on the stale air. Barely able to turn around, I can’t sit. When I try to lean against a wall, sharp edges tear into my flesh.
My mind returns to the woods before Quill took me. I’d bashed in a man’s brains with a bat while he called me his dolly girl. Upgrading my weapon, I ran with his ax and hoped for escape.
Then in an instant, I went from survivor to wounded animal when the metal trap snapped on my leg.
Moments later, Quill appeared from behind a tree. He silently moved toward me, and I couldn’t look away. Despite the mask on his face and the weapon in his hand, I prayed he might save me.
And he did.
Only so he could leave me to die trapped in a standing coffin.
Chapter Six
Quill
The wind tempts me with my prey’s scent. The echo of footsteps guides me through the dense woods. The first Death Dealer I discover swings upside-down from a rope. Moving through the trees, I stand before him, and our gazes meet. He isn’t one I know.
“Let me down and we’ll share the
girl.”
“Why should I share when I can have her to myself?”
His sweaty face loses its smile. He hasn’t been in the Lost Highway long. Humanity exists behind his angry gaze.
I wrap the wire around his throat and tighten. The prey struggles as I increase the pressure. Even after he falls limp, I squeeze the wire until his head snaps off and rolls a foot away.
Kneeling down, I stare into his bulging eyes. All of my life, I’ve been curious about the way people die. Their last thoughts. The final expressions on their faces. My morbid obsession suits me well in Lost Highway.
After I remove the corpse, I reset the trap. The woods crackle around me, signaling I have more work to do.
The next Death Dealer rests on his stomach. His head has nearly disintegrated from the ferocity of the trap’s spring action bolt. Again, I reset the trap and move on.
I desire to kill one of them with my bare hands in the way I did a day ago. The traps are useful, but I miss the physical exertion of breaking a body.
Odessa is a live being, physically present in the way too many in the Lost Highway can no longer claim. Her presence has awakened my need to interact with the world. My fingers ache with the desire to ball into fists and smash against hard flesh.
I hear rustling nearby. A massive person approaches from deep in the woods. His movements never hesitate. He doesn’t worry I’ll prepare for his attack. A prey of such size and fearlessness electrifies me. I don’t want to kill what is already trapped. My gift is destroying what claims to be indestructible.
Standing near an ancient tree, I watch from my spot as the rustling increases. The man’s footsteps intimidate the ground, but I inhale with barely veiled anticipation.
My eagerness is well worth the wait when the massive hulk is revealed. More beast than man, he salivates at the sight of me. We both enjoy the promise of stealing life. I smile at the thought of hurting him. His bones will break under my control. I’ll open his flesh and make him howl in pain. I want to see the life leave his wild eyes.
He carries blades in both hands. They’re extensions of him now. I dodge the first strike while the second tears into my shoulder. The pain invigorates me. I smile at the sight of my blood dripping from his blade.
My foot meets his knee, and the big man crumbles. No screams of pain leave his meaty mouth. He only grunts and returns to his feet. I move around him, dodging a few of his strikes and blocking others. My heart beats faster. Adrenaline flows. I inhale the sweet scent of death around me. The Lost Highway is alive, and I’m part of it. We breathe in sync.
I punch the big man in the jaw before striking him in the throat and then his nose. My fists pound his face even as he digs a blade into my side. The pain energizes me, giving my punches more power. After my fists’ unrelenting attack, his face transforms into a battered mess.
His right arm breaks under my violence. Then his left shatters at the elbow. The blades are no longer extensions of him. They fall to the ground, soon followed by his body.
Falling upon him, I lead with my knee and feel his ribs crack under the impact. He finally cries out. Now afraid and in pain, he rekindles enough of his humanity to beg me for mercy.
I laugh at his words and look upward at where the trees block the sky. This place has no pity for the weak. The Lost Highway only wants death, and I’m its best dealer.
Chapter Seven
Odessa
Those victims locked in this basement long ago speak to me of their suffering. They tell me of a man capable of twisting the human body into atrocities. They were trapped in the Lost Highway until the owner of this cabin freed them from their pain. Death was their salvation, and they promise it’ll be mine too.
I can’t breathe. Even after I calm myself, I can’t deny how shallow the air feels. I’m suffocating just as Quill warned. My chest tingles first and then my lungs beg for more air. Closing my eyes, I attempt to find a state of calm to allow me to breathe more slowly. I don’t think I can hold on long enough for Quill to finish with his hunt.
I know he’ll return. Quill’s face is beautiful, but his soul is corrupted. He is not a man like John. He’s an eternal predator capable of destroying others. I saw the way he fought Dag. Never was he afraid for himself. He only feared I’d escape. Now he’s in the woods against other monsters. His instincts won’t waver against them, yet I doubt I’ll survive long enough to see him open the door.
In the darkness, time falters, and my mind questions. Am I suffocating in a madman’s cabin in the Lost Highway’s woods? Or am I back at my house with John’s hands wrapped around my throat? Have I hallucinated Kim, the killers, and Quill? Am I dying at the hands of my master and a man I couldn’t love?
The voices tell me death will be a beautiful end to a dreadful life. No one will miss me. I’ve never accomplished anything except destruction. I’ve corrupted all I touched. Death will release me from the guilt of letting my sister die. Death will allow me the bliss of unbreakable lies.
I think of John squeezing my throat. His enraged face revealed this wasn’t part of our sex games. I’d broken his black heart, and he yearned to break me.
“I’m doing you a favor,” he said as I struggled to breathe.
Death stared right back at me, and I flinched. I refused to embrace it.
My fingers found the knitting needle I’d left out on the bed earlier in the day. I planned to knit a baby blanket for my pregnant coworker. This gesture meant nothing to anyone except the idiot in the mirror.
Once the needle opened up John’s throat and he fell to his side, I should have run and called the police. I knew I could walk away from his bleeding body.
The needle felt alive in my hand, controlling me. I stabbed him again and again, long past his last breath. I refused to stop until my bloody hands could no longer hold the needle. Once it stuck in his eye and I couldn’t yank it free, I finally relented.
John said he loved me, yet he wanted to end my life. I never loved him, yet I wanted to end his life. Who was the monster between us?
The voices promise John won’t meet me in death. I will be free from regret. My past won’t matter. They found peace, and I would too.
I think I’m crying. I feel the heat on my face, but my mind spins, and I’m unable to tell what’s real. Am I trapped in this closet or back with John? Should I let go or live? I don’t know the answers.
The darkness takes me before Quill can answer my questions, but the voices aren’t pleased.
Chapter Eight
Quill
Upon my return, I find the cabin untouched by the other Death Dealers. The closest any of them get is an injured female thirty yards from the front porch. Having grown too arrogant about my skills, I underestimate hers. The dying woman scratches my cheek and nearly gouges out my left eye before I put her down.
I blame my sloppiness on Odessa. The impaled woman reveals my new companion’s future. How soon before Odessa loses her ability to speak? The process is different for everyone, but I doubt she’ll last any longer than Mary or the other people I brought to the cabin.
Before walking inside, I give the woods one more scan. How many Death Dealers still exist? I rarely check the highway anymore. I don’t know what drew me this time around. I’d promised myself to stop bringing people here since Mary. Now with Odessa, I don’t know what to do with her.
Once in the basement, I move slowly. Energy swirls around me, biting at my flesh. Too many lives ended here, and some of them never left. I smell the burn of their power in the air. They challenge me, hungering death even after facing theirs.
I open the closet to find Odessa slumped to the side. Her green eyes stare blankly upward. When I snap my fingers in front of her flushed face, she doesn’t react.
Kneeling in front of her, I suspect a trick. She’s breathing too fast, and her hands wrap around her throat as if she’s choking. I reach out and poke her between the eyes. Odessa doesn’t blink or show any other reaction. She’s lost in her head, and
I glance around at the angry energy. When I left Odessa down here, I’d forgotten how the voices like to play.
I say her name, but nothing registers in her gaze. She’s lost wherever her mind retreated to find solace.
Picking her up, I carry Odessa to the living room. When I place her on the couch, I notice her oozing leg wound. I sigh at how quickly she deteriorates. Mary took longer to get this far gone.
Leaving her on the couch, I clean and dress her wound. Eventually, her gaze finds me, but I don’t know how much she sees. I tell her the medicine will heal the wound and kill any infection. Odessa doesn’t react, but I sense she understands.
I switch on the TV set and wonder if anything will be visible today. I flip through one static filled channel after another until finding an old movie.
Odessa and I sit across from each other with her on the couch and me in an uncomfortable green chair. I don’t watch the movie. She doesn’t either. I wait for her to return from the hiding place in her mind.
“I killed a man,” she says long after the movie is over and the sun is gone.
“I’ve killed many men.”
“Don’t leave me in there again.”
“We’ll see.”
Odessa’s shell-shocked expression shifts into something more alert, nearly menacing. She’s awake now. Fully back with me in the cabin and no longer in her head.
“Whose house is this?”
“He said his name was Tom Hallward. I met him sometime after I arrived in the Lost Highway. I’d seen him in the woods. He eventually invited me into his home to look at his trophies.”
Odessa examines her bandaged leg. Her gaze reveals relief at knowing she’ll heal.
“He tortured women in his basement,” I continue. “He also had a woman in your room. He’d become lonely with his life here and wanted a companion. Someone he could talk with like he couldn’t with his trophies.”
Lost Highway Page 2
