moment on he had lived by his own rules, carving a random path across countless states as he traveled, endlessly searching for the innocent child he had extinguished years before as he continued to kill.
He had lost count of how many lives he had taken. It hadn’t been planned, not at first, it had just sort of happened, much like that first time. He could no longer remember the faces of those he had murdered, their images pooling in his mind, a shapeless form that would eventually resemble her face.
In the end, they all became her.
From the salesman just trying to make his way home to his wife and kids, to the sweet old grandmother who had pulled over to give him a lift, not once thinking of her own fragile safety. He killed at random, when the mood struck him, and never really for any reason other than the thrill.
He was sick, a sick, twisted reject. Something he could finally admit to himself in the silence of the night just after he had taken another life. In that knowledge was power and in that power was forgiveness.
He couldn’t help what he was. After all, he was just another one of God's creatures, a messed up creature perhaps, but still made in his likeness. That very thought comforted him as he traveled down empty roads, his hand outstretched as he waited for his next ride, his next victim.
As if in answer, the long body of a midnight black Thunderbird restored to perfection glided to a stop beside him. It was the only car on this long, lonely stretch of road heading into the desert, the pulsating lights of the city a distant memory now. The door opened, the metal creaking slightly as Jason entered, accepting his second ride for that night.
"Need a ride, son?"
Jason eagerly accepted, tucking his backpack on the floor near his feet before turning to the driver, a practiced, boyish grin in place. “Thanks, I thought I’d be out here forever.”
“My pleasure. There's not too many cars out here this time of night.” The man eased back onto the road, his long, narrow face cast in shadows as they picked up speed. He glanced at Jason, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Car problems?”
Jason smiled widely, darkly amused by the innocent question. “You could say that. I swiped a coyote a couple of miles back. It cracked up my ride pretty bad.”
The man nodded slowly, noticing the specks of maroon on Jason’s pant leg and the long scratch that ribboned angrily down his cheek toward his neck.
“The names Howard Dean,” He held out his hand to Jason, glancing away from the dark stretch of road for a moment.
Jason grasped the man’s hand in his own, marveling at the wiry strength in Howard’s grip. Jason’s mind was instantly filled with visions of slicing Howard's throat with the blade he always carried at his side.
Over the years he had quickly graduated from the simple pleasures of asphyxiation to beating his victims to death, and on the rare, special occasion, to slicing their throats. Nothing quick and fancy, no, not for him. Long, slow slices that tore through layers of skin, mauling veins and severing arteries as his victim’s spasmed helplessly beneath him, finally succumbing as they choked to death on their own blood.
“The name's Jason,” he replied, his fingers sliding free from Howard’s slowly, in a brief caress. He watched Howard’s eyes widen momentarily, his Adam’s apple convulsing in his throat at Jason’s silent invitation.
Howard glanced back towards the road, his pulse a steady throb that was visible in his neck. Jason continued to stare at Howard, his gaze lingering on the man’s slim build. He had become the ultimate predator, able to read his victim’s needs and desires better than their own simpering wives, abusive husband’s and nagging mother’s could.
He was the perfect predator, a legend in his own mind, and he would use any tool at his disposal to achieve his dark desires.
It looked like Howard liked to play with men. Most of the men who picked him up late at night on the road usually did. From the gruff truck drivers with their blunt tipped fingers to the nervous middle-aged father of three who was out in search of appeasing his desire while his family slumbered at home, completely unaware of the double life he was leading.
“You’ve got some blood, there,” Howard pointed to Jason’s hand.
Jason curled his fingers into his palm reflexively, “Yeah, back when I hit the coyote, made a damn mess. I nearly had to peel the thing off my hood.”
“I’ve seen a couple of coyote out here, not too many though. They are remarkable animals. Nature's perfect hunters in fact, from the way they wear down their prey before finally attacking with such cunning brutality. Simply amazing creatures. Damn shame you hit one. Lucky you only got that scratch there. It could've been a whole lot worse.”
Jason stilled, his grin chased away by the direction the easy banter had taken. He gingerly fingered his cheek, wincing at the slight sting.
“I didn’t see your car back there,” Howard’s voice droned on, softly soothing.
“No, I ended up off the road when I swerved. After that I couldn’t get the damn thing to start.”
“We could drive back, maybe see if we can get it started together. I’m pretty handy when it comes to fixing things.” Howard eased off the gas, ready to turn the wheel at Jason’s request.
Jason reached out, grabbing the wheel slightly. “That’s okay, really. I’d rather just head into the next town and send a tow truck down in the morning.”
His fingers trailed across the back of Howard’s hand lightly as he guided the wheel straight once more. “I really just want to crash someplace for the night. Maybe a motel or something, anywhere will do.” Jason leaned back in his seat, settling into the leather as he eyed Howard with a calculated gleam. “So, where you headed to?”
“I’m in town for a conference, one of those weekend things.” Howard smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly.
“How come you’re out so late then?” Jason asked, needing to know his prey better. It was always so much more satisfying when they allowed him the briefest glimpse of their lives before he silenced them forever. It almost felt like was home, like he was family.
“I couldn’t sleep. It must be all the lights and noise I suppose. I don’t know how anyone sleeps in this city.”
“That’s because most of them don’t. They just come here to gamble, get screwed and then go home feeling like they’re the luckiest bastards in the world.” Jason glanced out his window, marveling at the emptiness of it all. “So, you got any family? Wife, kids?”
Howard chuckled softly, “No, it’s just me. I usually travel alone. There’s really not much time for family.”
“Sounds kind of lonely.”
“It’s not so bad. I make friends occasionally. Sometimes more,” Howard trailed into silence, his face hidden in the shadows. “My work keeps me busy mostly. I’m truly lucky, I get to travel all over the world doing what I love.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Jason asked, not really caring. It seemed Howard was just another loser without a home, just like him. He was doing him a favor really by ending his pitiful existence. He would end this man’s life in his supposed prime, his middle-aged boredom a pitiful joke.
Someone like Howard would end up living well into their 80s, alone, in a nursing home while his pretty nurse jammed a catheter into his bladder, not even able to relieve himself like a man anymore. He was doing the guy a favor by ending his life before he was just another piece of garbage rotting away in his own human shell.
“I’m a doctor, a surgeon actually,” Howard replied, leaning forward to switch on the radio, the soft strains of music filling the car. “I don't actually practice any more, it's mostly just conferences and lectures now, a few books. You know, that sort of thing.”
Jason tapped his fingers along to the soulful beat of the Mammas and the Papas and their “California Dreaming.” The rhythm washed over him, making his blood sizzle slowly as the words settled in his mind. It was time. He could feel it.
It was as though God was telling Jason to go ahead, to grab the knife by his side
and jam it into Howard’s soft flesh. The car would lose control as they struggled, Jason’s own fate uncertain in those final moments as they fought for supremacy, life against death, man against monster.
It would be up to God to decide who lived.
The song ended, easing into the deep-throated voice of the announcer. The two men stilled as his words shattered their cozy intimacy.
“A news bulletin alert has been issued by the state of Nevada. The police have reported they have found Linda Caldwell, the young mother and waitress from Las Vegas who had been missing for nearly a week. Her body was found brutally dismembered and her murder is believed to be the work of the Roadside Slasher…”
Howard reached out, deftly changing the station. The car was once more filled with music, this time the intoxicating beat of “Nights in White Satin."
“No, wait,” Jason flipped the dial back, frustrated as he caught the tail end of the radio announcer’s bulletin, his monotone voice trailing off into the next set of music. Jason gripped his hands at his side, the cool weight of the knife in his pocket beckoning him to end it now.
“Where do they come up with these names?” Howard chuckled as he glanced at his companion. “I wonder if the media is more in awe of these crimes or repulsed by them with the canned nicknames and constant coverage. It’s almost as though they can’t wait for the next murder, next car chase, or next brutality to
Highway to Hell Page 2
