The Nightcrawler

by Mick Ridgewell

  “So, do you think she’s saving the worm for later?” Beth was getting a little creeped out and was trying to make light of the scene.

  “Maybe he was saving the seats for his friends and we’re getting in the way,” Roger said as he finished his soda and stood up. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Later, bird,” Beth said. Following Roger’s lead, she got up, and skipping back to the car, Coke in hand, called, “Race ya.”

  She sprinted for the parking lot. Roger ran after her, slowing a little near the trash barrel to toss his empty can. Beth was sitting behind the steering wheel when he trotted up. Roger tossed her the keys and climbed in.

  A momentary darkness spooked them, and then an odd noise followed as the crow landed on the hood of the car. The worm still wiggled in its black beak.

  “How weird is that?” Roger said.

  “Pretty weird,” Beth answered, then started the car and backed away from the curb. The crow dropped the worm on the hood and flew away, caw-caw-cawing as it disappeared behind the restrooms and trees of the picnic area. Roger got out, picked the worm off the hood and threw it on the ground near the edge of the pavement. “Pretty fucking weird,” Beth said driving off toward the highway.

  They said nothing else as Beth guided the Jeep along the ramp leading back to the highway. Roger sat quietly, enjoying the rest from driving. The pavement on the ramp angling toward the edge of Highway 6 was blacker than any pavement he could ever remember seeing. The faded grass on the sides looked sickly pale next to the ultra dark blacktop. The bright sun, risen high to its midday point, made the sky look almost metallic. The surrounding trees, although not plentiful, looked much greener and more vibrant than the scrub they had left behind in Nebraska. Roger looked to the horizon but it was not visible through the heat waves shimmering up through the hot air. The surface of the highway was pale looking, almost white where it met with the lane exiting the rest area. A destination sign ahead read, “Sterling 80 miles”. As the Jeep approached the sign, a large crow, in Roger’s mind the same crow, landed atop the sign. Perched on the sign, its eyes as they had on the picnic table, appeared to lock on Roger. Its head cocked to one side, as if still trying to communicate with him. At least that was what he thought. Roger looked over to Beth, but she was shifting gears accelerating to merge onto the highway and checking for traffic, so didn’t appear to notice the bird, or she didn’t think a bird perched on a sign was anything unusual. Of course, a bird on a sign was perfectly normal, but it looked like the same bird, and Roger felt like he was being stalked, stalked by a crow.

  The crow seemed to watch them as they passed. Roger turned to see if it would follow, but it didn’t, and as they zipped along the highway, the sign and the bird disappeared in the same heat shimmer that obscured the western horizon.

  Having dismissed the idea that a crow could stalk him, or try to communicate with him, he reclined his seat a notch, put on the cap he got with the baseball uniform, and added his wraparound sunglasses. He pulled the bill of his cap down low. He propped his head against the headrest, his left hand on his lap, his right arm resting on the top of the door. He cupped his hand and angled it into the wind, raising and lowering the angle, his arm lifting then dropping with the changes in lift of the oncoming air. Roger didn’t notice Beth look over at him. She smiled when she saw him, the way a mother might smile at a little boy playing with the rushing wind from the car window.

  Beth returned her attention to the road; Roger stared at his hand, up and down, up and down. He changed the position of his hand and it began a left, right motion in concert with the up and down. Like a boy playing with his toy plane, he continued for miles. It brought back memories of childhood road trips, him and Lisa in the backseat of the Taurus wagon, him on the right, her on the left. It was always the same, him on the right, her on the left. It was like assigned seats in school.

  He adored Lisa when he was little. At least that’s what his parents told him, over and over again. He found it harder with each passing day to remember anything about her. Now as he sat watching his hand cut through the air he felt close to her. Memories of Lisa that he had long forgotten came flooding back.

  As if it had happened yesterday, he was reliving his first day of kindergarten. It had been unusually hot for early September in Vermont. The morning air was warm and humid. Summer flowers in his mother’s garden were bright and vibrant. Lisa wore a blue dress with white trim around the neck, and knee socks, as white as any fabric could be. Roger felt calm, as though he was there with her, still wearing the same shorts, Sea World T-shirt and white sneakers. He could almost feel the weight of his backpack straps pulling on his shoulders. There was a slight breeze that day and it carried the scent of his mother’s marigolds and snapdragons across the yard. He remembered telling his mom the previous night that he was scared of the school bus. When she reminded him that Lisa would be on the bus his fear faded.

  When he got to the bus he stopped. The big yellow doors folded open like a gaping mouth ready to swallow him whole. His fear had taken over. Lisa took his hand and he followed her without hesitation, because he knew she would never lead him into harm. He hadn’t let go of her hand until she led him right to his room. Lisa told him that Mrs. Miller was his teacher and she was going to take care of him. He always believed Lisa, always.

  Still feeling the warmth of Lisa’s hand he looked at his left hand, resting atop of it was Beth’s. His right hand was still flying outside the Jeep’s window. He let it drop to the door and closed his eyes. The radio was playing something of Beth’s that he didn’t like or recognize. The music faded and he was with Lisa again. He was in grade two, and Billy Clarou had just pushed him to the ground. From out of nowhere, Lisa had come and pushed Billy down so hard he bit his tongue and ran away crying, blood clearly visible in his mouth as he retreated.

  It was odd, unexplainable even, that he so vividly remembered her now. After all this time with barely any recollection, her memory had returned to him with such clarity. Sure, he remembered what she looked like from the pictures at home, but the sound of her voice, expressions she used, those kinds of things had been long gone for him. So now, all of a sudden, he wasn’t just having flashbacks, he was feeling that adoring love for her that he had forgotten how to feel. Why now? Was it Beth? Could she be bringing on these feelings? Maybe it was being out here so far from home.

  He fell asleep before he got an answer. Beth had just started to tell another tale and noticed he was in slumber land. She smiled as she looked back to the road. She had been working her own inner thoughts, which brought up the story she was about to share. It was about Dan Mandville, the Double-D’s captain, her boyfriend of a year ago. She hadn’t dated Dan long, had only really dated him because she was pissed at Jack, and she knew he wouldn’t approve of Dan. To this day, she couldn’t remember why she was pissed at Jack; she didn’t really care anymore and Dan was long since history. While Roger snored next to her, she filed that story away for later. The music on the radio had given way to a commercial break and Beth began to scan for something better. She stopped at a syndicated talk radio program, the current topic, Racism in America. The host had just welcomed a man who introduced himself as Bob from Alabama. Bob had started, very polite and cordial, but then became quite the opposite. The ”N word” had become his word of choice. The producer was working double time bleeping out all the profanity. Most of Bob’s tirade was bleeped, but his message of hate still came through.

  The next six callers were all calling in response to Bob. Four of them were appalled that the network would even allow him to finish, or that anyone in their fair land could spew out such trash. Two hailed Bob as a hero and nominated him for president. Beth agreed most with Judy from Ohio. Judy called in to say, that we all need to look at each other as people. She is a woman, not a black woman, and him, he is a young man, not a young white man. Why not congratulate Denzel Washington and Halle Berry for winning the Oscar, not for being black and winning the Osca
r. Forget minority rights, concentrate on the rights of all the innocent, good people in the country, in the world even. This, in Judy’s mind, was the kind of thinking that was going to get the world where it needed to be.

  Judy’s speech of hope for humanity kindled a long discussion from the host, as well as several callers. Some dismissed her words as rhetoric, or liberal, or even communist, while many called to bless her heart.

  While Beth was focused on Judy, her supporters and her rebutters, Roger was sleeping restlessly. His head moved slowly from side to side. Sweat gleamed on his face. His eyes squeezed tighter, and tighter, causing his face to look almost wrinkled and old. He was having another bad dream. Beth seemed to sense his agitation and her attention drifted from the road to Roger and back.

  He sprung to attention with a spasm that caused Beth to utter a startled squeak.

  “Another bad dream,” she said.

  “It was all there, not exactly the same but close.”

  “What?”

  “The dream I had that night. You know, when you came into my room. The dark highway, the far off rumbling of impending doom.” Impending doom, that was how he felt when he recalled the dream. He saw the same glow of headlights, the light standards on each side of the road appearing to bend inward to the road as if being sucked down by the speed of a devilish red machine. He stood rooted to the spot, unsure why it was all so familiar. He was also dumbstruck by the oncoming demon. He stood anchored, breathlessly waiting to be mowed down.

  “Just when I was going to be killed by the car I heard her voice.”

  “Lisa’s voice?” Beth asked.

  He just shook his head. “Roger,” she called. I didn’t answer her. I was sure it was the wind through the desert brush. “Roger,” she called out louder. I still didn’t respond. “ROGER,” she screamed, then I couldn’t ignore what my head told me couldn’t be there. I turned to see Lisa, my own guardian angel, standing beside me. She was still twelve, wearing a nice floral print dress.

  “She told me to get off the road, in a calm almost nonchalant tone. I was looking at her, the street lights were sparkling halos in my eyes, while I tried to focus through tears that had come when I saw her. “Lisa, I c-c-can’t move my l-l-l-legs,” I stammered through the tears.

  “Roger, you have to get off the road,” she repeated.

  “I just stood there, like a little boy, like the ten-year-old little boy I was the last time I had seen her alive. I just stared at her, waiting for her to fix everything.”

  He took a moment, looking away from Beth while he wiped the tears from his eyes. Not wanting to rush him, or intrude on what was obviously a very personal moment, Beth sat in silence.

  “Now!” Lisa screeched, and with a mighty shove using both her hands in the middle of my chest, I fell backwards off the embankment that was the edge of the road. I looked up in time to see her, but it wasn’t her, it wasn’t Lisa at all. You were standing on the road. You looked down at me, lying in the gravel and dirt and smiled. As the savage machine raced ever nearer you smiled down at me, lying in the gravel and out of harm’s way. I reached out trying to snatch you out of the path of the demon, but I was too far away and it was too late, it sped right through you. There was no sound but the howl of the engine.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOO,” I cried, but you were gone. You were gone and Lisa was gone. “

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With a crick in his neck and a pain in his side, Scott woke to the sound of a nurse entering Ashley’s room. After a fitful two hours in bed at the hotel he went back to the hospital for a visit and fell asleep in the chair beside her bed. He pushed himself upright from his slouch over the arm of the green faux-leather chair and massaged the spot on his side where the wooden arm had been digging into his ribs. He watched the nurse while she performed her ritual.

  “She’ll be fine,” she said to Scott.

  He gave her a nod then looked over at the sleeping girl. Her head was still bandaged and a purple bruise above her right eye had started to spread out from under the bandage.

  “Is she your sister?” the nurse said.

  He shook his head and asked where he might find a phonebook. Scott returned to Ashley’s room about an hour later. She was sitting up channel surfing on the tiny TV.

  “Man, TV is lame in this place,” she said. “They said I have to stay a day or two. I don’t know if I can stand it,” she added, rolling her eyes at the tiny screen.

  Scott approached her bed and handed her an envelope. “I’m going to miss having you around,” he said. “But I have to get back on the road.”

  “I know,” she said. She smiled in an attempt to ease Scott’s mind but the tears in her eyes showed her true feeling.

  “Listen,” Scott said. “Hitching is not safe for anyone but especially a pretty young girl like you. In that envelope is an open-ended train ticket to LA. My card is in there, too. Call me at the office and let me know when you’re getting in and I’ll make sure you have a ride. If you don’t have a place to stay you can stay in my guest room until you get on your feet.”

  Ashley was overcome by his gesture and began to cry in big sobs.

  “Hey, don’t go thinking I’m doing you some big favor. If you stay in my guest room, you will be working it off. I hope you can cook, and you better not be afraid of dogs because Max needs to be walked twice a day.”

  She laughed through the sobs and he gave her a hug then left the room without another word.

  Scott returned to the hotel, had a quick bite, and then went to his room for a shower. With a fresh change of clothes he was ready to get back on the road. He took little notice of the clerk while checking out. He took care of business, carried his bags to the car and drove off. The hotel was close to the highway and he was speeding west, on I-80 less than ten minutes later, the morning sun above the horizon, burned bright in his rearview mirror. The trees, pathetic as they were, cast long ghostly shadows on the ground along the highway’s edge. He turned the radio on but wasn’t listening; if he had been he would surely have changed the channel. Ashley had been listening to top-forty, Scott’s least favorite form of dribble. Well, next to rap that is. The perky drive time hostess played a song, took calls from the listeners, and did the news, the weather, and traffic. Hearing the traffic report put Scott in a cheerful mood. He actually chuckled. Traffic in Salina, Kansas at this time of morning was Old MacDonald’s tractor, Farmer Brown’s combine and a scattering of eighteen-wheelers out on the highway.

  It was eight-thirty when the next traffic report came on, then a Britney Spears song began and that was all he could take. He shut it off and relaxed, listening to the wind rushing in the open window. The air was dry and considerably cooler than it had been. It felt fresh, and his left arm was chilled to gooseflesh resting out of the open window, but he didn’t bring it in. After the oppressive heat of the last few days, this was invigorating.

  “She’ll be just fine,” he told himself, thinking of Ashley.

  “I have absolutely no doubt of that,” said a voice from the backseat.

  “Huh,” Scott uttered at the suddenness of the words coming from behind him. He looked in his mirror and there it was, the Nightcrawler, seated on the passenger side of the rear seat, smiling his yellow smile.

  “Jesus,” Scott cried.

  He spun around as if maybe it was a trick mirror, the seat was empty, had to be empty.

  “Mornin’, Scott,” the bum said. He pointed to the front. “You’d better watch where you’re going, you’ll kill yourself.”

  Scott turned his eyes back to the road, just in time to prevent the car from entering the median, and possibly the eastbound lanes. He jerked the wheel to the right correcting his position then looked back at the figure behind him.

  “You really need to watch the road, Scott, or you will seriously end up dead.”

  “If I die in here so do you, asshole,” Scott said with contempt. “How the fuck did you get in my car?” Scott was shaken, but was doing a
good job of keeping his voice steady. “Never let them see fear, Scottie”, his dad would always say.

  A slight laugh came from the backseat, “Scott, think about that for a minute. I am a homeless man from Detroit. How can I be in the backseat of this car? Now, if I can’t be here, then I can’t die here.” He was very calm, soft spoken and articulate.

  “Of course you can be here. I can see you, and I can hear you. In fact, I’ve seen you all over the country. In Michigan, Indiana, Kansas. Hell, you might just as well stay in the backseat, at least there won’t be any surprises that way,” Scott retorted, trying desperately now to sound like he was in control.

  “I can see that you’re getting upset. You have no reason to fear me, Scott.”

  “How the fuck do you know my name?” Scott was getting more agitated by the minute, his efforts to stay calm failing, his voice getting noticeably higher in tone and volume. “And since you seem to know who I am, who the hell are you?”

  “Who I am isn’t important, is it, Scott?” He paused briefly then continued. “If it were up to you, me and everyone like me would be exterminated, isn’t that right?” He was still calm but his dark eyes had become cold. “But if you must have a name to call me, why not Matt? Yes, I think Matt will do fine. After all I’m no more than a doormat for you to wipe your shoes on, isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I sure as hell don’t know why you’re in this car, but I’m going to pull over to the side of the road and when the car stops you’d better get the fuck out.” There was an air of confidence in his tone, and he guided the Charger to the shoulder. “Now get the f…” The backseat was empty when Scott turned to banish his unwanted guest. He sat for a moment, took three deep breaths like he was practicing yoga relaxation. He began to guide the car back onto the highway when the thunderous roar of a truck horn brought him back to reality. Had he been a little quicker he would have become one with the bugs on the grill of that truck. His heart beat quickened and he checked for traffic, and then returned to the road. His breathing was hurried and shallow. The air was still cool and the nervous sweat on his skin made him cold.