Lost Highway

by Hunter, Bijou

  “What happened to him?”

  “He wanted me to share this cabin and help hunt the other Death Dealers. He promised to share his trophies with me.”

  Odessa watches me and waits for an answer. She needs things spelled out because she is trapped in the old way of thinking. I wonder if that’ll slow her descent into madness.

  “I don’t share, so I waited until Tom told me everything he knew, and then I snapped his neck right over there,” I say, pointing to the kitchen table. “When I released the trophy from your room, she ran out of the cabin. It was just after sundown, and I assume the wolves ate her.”

  Odessa glances at the window where the world hides behind a curtain of darkness.

  “Wolves? Is that what you hunted earlier?”

  “Wolves only come out at night here. They’ll eat anything. Never go into the darkness unless you wish to be torn apart by wild animals.”

  Odessa glances around the room and considers her next question. I haven’t spoken this long to someone since Mary. She had a million questions, and none of the answers helped her in the long run.

  “Why couldn’t you leave me locked in the room? Why that coffin?”

  “Anyone can take you from the room. I did you a favor.”

  “I could have suffocated in the coffin.”

  “It’s a closet, and you didn’t suffocate.”

  “Would you have cared if I did?” she challenges.

  “I don’t know.”

  Odessa’s anger fizzles. I don’t know what she expects me to say or promise her. Now she only stares at her hands resting in her lap.

  “The TV doesn’t get good reception here in the woods,” she says.

  I don’t answer because she hasn’t asked a question, and I don’t speak unnecessarily. Besides, she wouldn’t appreciate the answer.

  “What scratched your face?” she asks after some time.

  “A woman.”

  “Did you clean the wound?”

  Staring at her, I don’t answer. Should I lie or share the truth as I did with Mary? I have no preference either way, but I think keeping Odessa around longer would be best.

  “What now?” she asks after the channel goes out and we’re left in a dark room with only the static to keep us company.

  “You return to your room.”

  “Is there anywhere else I can sleep?”

  Standing up, I stare at her long legs spread out on the couch. “This cabin has three bedrooms. One is mine. One is yours. One is the trophy room.”

  “So no.”

  When I reach for her arm to lift her up, Odessa shrinks away, and I hesitate. Her expression rips away my confidence for only a moment, but it’s long enough to startle me.

  “Why did you kill the man?” I ask.

  “He wanted to kill me.”

  “Why did he want to kill you?”

  “I didn’t love him.”

  “Why didn’t you love him?”

  “He wasn’t worth loving.”

  “Few people are,” I say, grabbing her arm and forcing her up.

  Odessa stumbles a few times on the way to her room down the hallway. I sense some of her clumsiness is to test my reflexes. Does she plan to escape? I don’t doubt she’ll try. They always do.

  Chapter Nine

  Odessa

  The mind can’t sit idle for long before fighting back. I’m trapped in a room with no stimuli. The view outside is blocked now by a wooden plank. Quill made the adjustment the morning after his hunt. I pretend this gesture is to protect me from what’s in the woods rather than to drive me mad.

  I stumble around the small room, examining every marking. How many trophies left behind their blood? Would any of them find relief in knowing Tom was dead? Why did so many violent perverts gravitate to this place? What did it say about me that I ended up here too?

  Without the sunlight through the window, I lose track of time. Quill only visits to bring water and bread. He doesn’t speak to me. He shows no reaction when I ask if I can come out.

  Losing my appetite, I stop eating the bread. I sit on the ground and hum any songs I can remember. Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers becomes stuck in my head. Even when I dream, I hear the song and can’t forget I’m trapped.

  My dreams offer no reprieve. In every single one, I run through the woods, never finding an escape.

  I notice something about Quill during one of his visits. Despite not knowing how long I’ve been in the room, I do know it hasn’t been long enough for the scratches on his face to heal completely. However, after a few visits, his cheeks reveal not a single mark.

  Stunned by how the deep cuts are completely gone, I reach for his face. He snatches my hand mid-air and frowns at me.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you want strangers touching you?”

  “You touch me.”

  Quill blinks a few times as if he hadn’t considered the idea he needed to follow the same rules. I doubt he mulls over many things. He seems more reactionary than analytical.

  “If you grab me, and I feel under threat, my instincts dictate I kill you.”

  “That would be a real shame,” I mutter, yanking my hand free. “Imagine all of the beautiful experiences I’d miss of staring at the same walls.”

  Quill doesn’t smile. I don’t know if he’s capable of such a gesture. My mind can imagine him spending a lifetime with only frowns and blank stares.

  After he leaves me alone again, I think about his wounds. My leg still throbs, but he’s completely healed. Somehow, this revelation inspires me to escape.

  At some point over the last few days, weeks, eons, in my cell, I noticed the cameras. Two of them face the mattress while a third is pointed at the bathroom. Though Quill can see me, he makes noise before opening the door. His movements are typically silent, but the tray and cup clink when he reaches for the lock. If I can time his arrival and my move to behind the door perfectly, I might get the drop on him.

  I sit on the mattress and stare at the door for hours. Calming my breathing, I wait for the right moment. If it doesn’t come the first time he enters, I’ll wait until the next. Or the time after that. In my current situation, time and patience are luxuries I have in spades.

  During his next visit, Quill manages to open the door without making a single noise. I wonder if he’s figured out my plan. He shows no sign of knowing I want to lock him in my room and make a run for freedom. Of course, Quill’s face remains a puzzle. Even if he were preparing to kill me, I doubt I’d know it.

  The next time Quill arrives, I’m in the bathroom. Now I’m convinced he knows my plan and is timing his visits accordingly.

  I don’t give up. What else do I have to do than plan an escape?

  All day and night, I wait for him to open the door. My plan repeats in my head. Sooner or later, I’ll make my move. What happens afterward is best left unplanned. I don’t know what is outside the cabin or how to return to the highway. The first step to answering those questions is escaping this room.

  I lose track of how many visits Quill makes before he creates enough noise to alert me in time. The moment I hear him at the door, I bolt from my spot and nearly lose my footing from sitting for so long. I’m ready, though, and I reach the door as it opens and blocks me from his view.

  Only a second passes before I slam the door into him and knock him away from the entrance. I rush around the door and yank it shut. I’ve gotten it nearly closed when his hand grips the inside handle.

  A shot of panic passes over me, and I nearly let go. My instincts take over. When I release my side of the knob, and the door flies toward Quill, he loses his balance. Though he stumbles for only a heartbeat before reaching again for the door, it’s all the time I need. His face is the last thing I see before the door shuts, and I slide the lock into place.

  Quill’s final expression is one of intense rage.

  Staring at the lock, I can’t believe my plan actually worked. I outwi
tted the enigma.

  Quill doesn’t struggle against the lock or turn the knob once he realizes he’s trapped inside. Instead, he’s silent, which scares me more than any rage I could imagine.

  I hurry down a hallway toward the front door. My feet are bare because he’d have noticed if I wore shoes. Before walking outside, I stop in the kitchen and search for a weapon. Long shiny knives sit in a cutlery block on the counter. Grabbing the longest, I head for the porch.

  If I believed Quill couldn’t free himself, I might take my time searching the house for a phone or supplies. Even without knowing how he’ll break out, I sense he’s already working on his escape.

  Standing outside the front door, I scan the woods for movement. The porch feels grainy under my feet, but I don’t look down. I keep my gaze focused ahead.

  I take one step down from the porch and then a second. My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I steady my shaking hands. The feel of the dirt under my feet erases my fear. The wind warms my skin, and I shudder at the sensation of being outside. Locked up for too long, I look upward to allow the sun to warm my face. This simple gesture changes everything.

  Rather than an open sky above, I discover a mirror image of my world. I crouch instinctively, feeling as if the other cabin will tumble down on me. The trees around my cabin nearly touch the ones on the other side.

  I sit on the steps and stare upward, unable to look away. Did I lose my mind waiting so long to escape? Had Quill drugged the food? Was I still hallucinating in the closet?

  After some time, I realize the world above isn’t a mirror image at all. I spot a Winnebago and cars parked near the other world’s cabin. A large family carries bags inside. Kids play ball. None of them see me except a dog who stares upward and barks.

  I finally glance around to see how far the worlds connect, but the trees block my view outside of the small clearing around the cabin.

  Standing up, I walk inside and sit on the couch. Escaping feels like a dream from long ago. I imagined returning to the highway and hitching a ride to safety. Even if I spent my life in prison for killing John, I’d be away from here.

  Unfortunately, there’s no “away” any longer.

  Chapter Ten

  Quill

  Odessa’s final look before slamming the door shut on me is one of surprise. I’m startled by her strength after days of appearing more and more dazed. I watched her on the monitors and waited for signs of her unraveling sanity. Despite her passive demeanor the last few days, Odessa looked quite lucid when she locked me in her room.

  Tom showed me a secret door in the wall of the trophy’s bedroom. He was very proud of his additions to the cabin. I wasn’t nearly as impressed as he hoped, but his ingenious efforts do help me escape.

  Having never been used, the door sticks when I push on it. Only a hard kick breaks through the sealed hinges. I crawl into the tight opening, having trouble wedging my shoulders into the space.

  Tom was quite a bit smaller than my six foot five frame. I struggle in the tunnel, becoming stuck more than once before tearing through the outside exit. Once I grip the sides of the opening, I yank my large build through the small doorway only feet from the bedroom’s one window.

  Shaking out my arms, I focus on catching Odessa before she stumbles into one of my traps. I run around the front of the cabin and scan the woods for which direction she might take. She’s a simple woman and likely ran straight ahead.

  I return to the cabin to collect my weapons. There on the couch, I discover Odessa. She looks at me when I enter, but makes no effort to flee or fight back despite the knife in her lap.

  “You looked up,” I say, sitting in the green chair.

  “What is this place?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who are the people in the other cabin?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do they know we’re here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “The answer to what you really want to know.”

  Odessa stares at me, and I see her struggling against tears. “Tell me.”

  “There’s no escape.”

  “How can you know that when you don’t know anything else?”

  “Tom told me.”

  Shaking her head, Odessa sighs. “How could he know?”

  “He looked for an escape for a decade. Or so he claimed.”

  “So you don’t know.”

  “I know enough not to waste time searching for a lie.”

  “What about the highway?”

  “That’s where people enter. There’s no exit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve searched up and down the highway.”

  “There was a town before I merged onto the highway. Can we walk to it?”

  “It’s not there. The highway ends.”

  “How can it just end?”

  “You can walk along the highway for maybe twenty minutes before a wall of darkness stops you. I’ve tried both directions.”

  Odessa’s eyes flash around the room as she frantically searches for a logical end to her predicament.

  “What happens if you pass through the darkness?”

  “You are in darkness. After a minute, something pulled at my flesh. I turned back before it tore me apart.”

  “What if you kept going? Maybe if you ran into the darkness, you could reach the other side before you died.”

  “Or maybe you’d get lost in the darkness.”

  “I want to try.”

  “You will need to reach the highway without a Death Dealer killing you. Then you will need to walk along the highway for miles without a Death Dealer killing you. If you take too long, you’ll be out in the dark when the wolves hunt. Assuming you survive all of those obstacles, you are free to walk into the darkness and hope to pop out on the other side. Though I should point out how you don’t know if what’s on the other side is any better than what’s on this one.”

  Odessa shakes her head, refusing to allow reality to dissuade her old thinking. “I drove on the highway until I crashed. I didn’t get dropped here by an alien ship. I drove here. If there’s a way in, there’s a way out.”

  “You are assuming standard rules work in the Lost Highway.”

  “Don’t you want to try?”

  “I already did.”

  Odessa looks at the knife in her hand before setting it on the table. She leans her head on the back of the couch and cries quietly. I suspect I should comfort her, but niceties didn’t save the others, so I remain where I am.

  “What are Death Dealers?” she asks in a quiet, resigned voice.

  “We are.”

  “We?”

  “You, me, Tom, his trophies. Everyone here. That’s what Tom called them. I saw no reason to give them a new name.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I drove.”

  “Where were you going when you ended up on the highway?” she asks.

  “I was heading to the Lost Highway. Weren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Why take it?”

  “I don’t know. I was curious.”

  Her answer startles me. I’d never considered anyone accidentally making their way into this place.

  Wiping her eyes, Odessa asks, “Why would you come here?”

  “I heard about this place and wanted to see it. I heard people disappeared, and killers roamed the woods. I wanted to hunt those who hunted others.”

  “Why?”

  “Why does a man hunt a deer? For the challenge. Hunting violent humans in this terrain intrigued me.”

  Odessa studies me. “Are you insane?”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt it.”

  “You killed people before you came here.”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of people?”

  “Whoever they assigned me to kill.”

  “Who assigned you?”

  “I told Mary all of this, and she
died. I’m unsure whether I want to waste the time of sharing my life story with someone who will soon be dead.”

  “Who’s Mary?”

  “The last person I brought to the cabin.”

  “How many have you brought here?”

  “Three before you.”

  “How did Mary die?”

  I recall the crazed expression on Mary’s face the day I ended her life. She hadn’t meant anything to me, yet I still resented wasting time on someone I couldn’t keep around.

  “The Highway changed her. She became feral and attacked me. I don’t know if she meant to kill me, but my instincts kicked in, and I killed her.”

  Odessa doesn’t miss a beat before asking, “What about the people before her?”

  “The other woman was named Rachel or Rachelle. I can’t remember. She cut her throat out there on the porch while screaming about birds. I don’t recall the man’s name. He was a short time after Tom died. He wanted to hunt with me, and I let him until he began eating the Death Dealers we caught. I had to put him down.”

  “Is that why you lock me up? Do you think I’ll go crazy and eat you?” Odessa asks, and I spot a slight smile on her beautiful face.

  “The Highway turns people feral.”

  “What about Tom? He sounds evil but also like he wasn’t crazed.”

  “I initially thought the cabin kept him and me safe, but the others were here when they lost control. I don’t know why some remain sane and others don’t.”

  “Did Tom build this cabin?”

  “No. It’s here because it’s here in the other world. Why else would we have electricity, running water, and occasional TV reception?”

  “Who are the people in the pictures in the hallway?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always assumed they were the people in the other cabin. This place exists because it was built in the other place.”

  “Did Tom want to be here like you do?”

  “I don’t know. He lied about how he arrived here. His lips tightened when he lied. It was his tell.”

  “What if I don’t go feral and try to eat you?”

  “I suppose you can come out of the room. Though I’ve left a large hole in your wall so locking you inside might prove difficult.”