My Temporary Life

by Martin Crosbie

  I remember him hitting first, and then speaking. I remember what he did to me at the police station.

  “He wanted to know about you. About whether you knew, and if we’d planned on taking her together. I told him I’d lied to you and you didn’t know anything. He didn’t seem to believe me, but after a while he stopped asking me, hitting me. He sat down in the chair and it was crazy. It was almost like he started to smile, this strange mad, smile.”

  I’m holding onto the edge of the bed tightly now, trying to stay focused and not let my anger take over. I can see the snow through the window, from the corner of my eyes. It’s falling heavily again. Everything is turning white outside.

  “He looked at me and called me a slut, told me that I’d messed up, should never have come back. Then, he sat and didn’t say anything. It was like he was just thinking. After a while, he came over and stroked my forehead. It made me sick to feel his hand on me. He told me that it was going to be okay, that everything would be okay.”

  She looks up at me, focusing on my face. There are no tears, just anger, and all of a sudden, I know that I really did rescue her from the hospital. I don’t know how he would have done it, but he never would have let her leave there. He never would have let her come for Emily. He knew she’d never give up.

  I think about how lucky we’ve been, how our timing has been so close. We were just a few steps ahead of him all this time. He let me leave the police station, and then must have gone to the hospital to see Heather, before coming to the motel to get me. He couldn’t afford to have me out there, knowing his story, knowing what he’d done. He could deal with Heather anytime. He had her tucked away in the hospital, drugged. My mind races thinking of all the possibilities when the silence is broken by the loud ringing of the bedside phone.

  The man at the front desk wants to see me, wants me to come to the desk to clear something up. The number on my credit card has been written down wrong. It’s just a silly mistake. If it isn’t too much trouble, can I just come and see him for a moment. It won’t take long; he keeps apologizing.

  We have to check out anyways. I leave her in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, ready to go. I’m three steps down the hall when the realization hits me. I think about the man’s voice. I think about the indifference he’d shown when I checked in. I’d been just another customer. But, it’s different now. There’s panic in his voice, and I remember. I remember that nobody had written down my credit card number. It had been put through their machine. There’s no room for error there.

  I turn quickly in one swift motion, and throw open our hotel room door. Motioning for her to be silent, I roughly grab her with one hand, and our small bag in the other. Looking down the hall, I see nothing, hear nothing. I pull her in the other direction, towards the sign that says, ‘Emergency Exit’.

  My feet don’t feel like they’re touching the floor, as we almost glide in mid air, towards the exit. I push open the heavy fire door, and we’re pressed back by the cold air rushing in. There are some parked cars out back, and a man in a hotel uniform, leaning against a wall, smoking. He turns away when he sees us, uninterested. I pull Heather to the corner of the building, leaving her there. I squeeze her body one last time, and can feel her shivering from the cold, as I make my way around the corner, looking for the truck.

  I can’t see a police car or Postman’s truck. There are other vehicles in the parking lot, people scraping windshields, moving the snow from their hoods. I slide into Michael’s old truck, and quickly turn the engine over. I let the windshield wipers remove as much of the snow as they can, and drive back to where Heather waits.

  The man, still smoking, stands shaking his head at us now, while Heather jumps in beside me. He makes a motion with his arms, as though he’s telling us to clear the snow away from the windshield, but I can’t. I don’t have time. I can barely see out of the front window. I spin the truck around, back to the front entrance, and some of the loose snow falls off the hood and roof, giving us some visibility.

  There’s only one way out. We have to pass the entrance to the hotel. I can see the front desk through the big hotel windows. For a moment, I think that I may have been wrong. I think that perhaps the desk clerk really did need to see us. Maybe I’ve over reacted. But then I see it. He did have spare keys. His large, winter-ready vehicle is parked at an angle, right at the front door. The vehicle I took the keys from is sitting there. We don’t slow down. I don’t want to see Postman inside the front lobby. I drive as quickly as I think I can without drawing attention to ourselves. The truck’s rear tires gently slide sideways, and I right them immediately, as we pull out of the parking lot, and back onto the main road. I wonder what he’d planned to do. Had he intended to grab Heather while I went to the desk, or was he going to try and get both of us at the same time? Even without a police car, he still has a gun and a badge. That would have been enough to get us into his car. I take some solace in the fact that there are no other cars around his, and that he’s driving his own car. He’s alone.

  CHAPTER 30

  I passed the snowplough the night before when I was travelling in the other direction, so I know that the highway has been cleared, but unfortunately the new snow has covered it back up just as fast. I strain my eyes and push my neck forward, trying to see through the falling snow. Heather looks behind us and reaches outside, around to the back windows of the pickup, clearing them, trying to rub the ice from them. I pass other cars that almost seem to be standing still as they crawl safely along the road. The drivers look over at me in bewilderment. I suppose they wonder why anyone would drive so fast on such a treacherous night. We move along, and I watch the odometer slowly add a mile, then another, then another, and still there’s no one following us.

  The snow doesn’t slow down. It’s relentless. As we move farther along the highway, there are no other cars. I see the flashing hazard lights of cars that have pulled over and decided to wait out the storm. They’re parked precariously close to the outside ditches of the road. I take my foot off the accelerator as I pass them; trying to slow down, not wanting to touch the brakes of the old truck, as it coasts past them safely. I can see clearly out the rear view mirror now, and the windows are clear of snow and ice. There’s no one coming, no one back there. I try to relax, try to release my grip on the steering wheel.

  “I’ll keep looking back. You look forward.” She says it without moving her head. I steal a glance at her as she keeps her vision trained on the view through the back window. She seems afraid again. We escaped from him one more time, but it was close. I could almost feel him back there at the hotel, feel his horrible presence.

  I nod my agreement to her and try to keep my eyes looking ahead. I take my foot from the gas pedal a little, slowing down, staying safe. The side ditches are always there, almost moving towards us as we move forward. If I let my concentration lapse for a moment, I begin to slide towards the edges. There are no tracks in the road in front of me, to lead us. There are no other vehicles ahead, leaving a trail. It’s just white. Everything is white. I can tell the curve of the highway from the way that the snow has fallen on the sides. It’s like driving through a tunnel, with the snow banked on either side of us. Occasionally, there’s a gap, and it looks as though the road has veered off, but it’s just an area that the wind or terrain has cleared of snow. There are no cliffs or mountains, just flatness with long, empty fields on either side. I slow down again as the snow in front of me seems to cause a solid white blanket. It lets me see through it for only a moment, and then closes down again, furiously, silently falling.

  “I don’t see him. He can’t have followed us. Nobody’s getting through in this.” I try to console her, reassure her. Her body relaxes, and she lets it fall against her side of the truck’s bench seat. I hadn’t realized how tense she’d been, sitting upright looking back at the snowy highway, watching for her father.

  We have to stop. I have to pull over. There’s no visibility, no way to see. No matter how
hard I strain my eyes, I still can’t make out what’s ahead or behind us. The last vehicle we’d seen was pulled over to the side of the road miles back, waiting out the storm. I let the truck slow down on its own and slide into the banks of snow that are built up on the shoulder. The engine runs and the heater blows warm air onto the windshield. The snow falls with its gentle strength all around us, covering everything. The windshield wipers intermittently swipe it away, as it tries to cover the front of the truck.

  I shiver even though it’s warm inside the cab. I shiver from the stress, the fear, and from looking out at the cold night. My body feels like it wants to shake and convulse. I’m tired of it all, tired of chasing and of being chased. She reaches over and touches my shoulders, smoothes my hair, looking at me with her blue, blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of this. I didn’t want to do this to you, and I didn’t want to lie to you.” She looks stronger as she says it. There are no tears.

  I don’t think I really addressed it totally in my head until then, until I hear the remorse, the sorrow in her voice. The anger at her father was driving me. The anger had stopped me from thinking about the lies she’d told me. “I knew that something didn’t add up. I just knew, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I think I wanted to be the hero, for once I thought I could be a hero, a hero for you, for Hardly. I don’t know, for somebody.” I think about my friend for a moment, before continuing. “So, I didn’t ask. I didn’t ask the questions that I should have, and I just accepted what you told me.”

  “You don’t need to be a hero, Malcolm. I know you. You wouldn’t have let this happen, Malcolm. You’re not letting it happen; you’re doing something about it.” She’s not the confident girl from the party, or even the determined girl from the lake at the end of the world. She’s different now.

  We sit in the truck, touching each other, shivering, even in the warmth, watching the snow, wishing that it would slow down, stop. In the movie of my life that plays in my head, it’s always been easier than this, always simpler. The girl never lies. The girl is always perfect, and I’m always the hero. But, in the movie of my life that plays in my head, I always have to wake up. I always have to open up my eyes and face reality. This time I have my eyes wide open, and the girl is sitting right beside me, waiting for me.

  “You can’t lie to me. You have to tell me, even if it hurts to tell. That’s the only way I can do this, Heather. It’s the only way it’ll work.” I can hear the rattle of the truck’s heater. I can see the snow accumulating on the windshield and then getting wiped off. I can feel the aching on my face from the beating, but none of it matters. I’m sitting at the crossroads, willing to change course, and all I really want to hear is her answer.

  “I won’t lie to you. I’ll trust you. I should have trusted you.” She says it with honest conviction. Her eyes are warm. Her face that’s been bruised and slapped and hit by her father, looks at me without the cheekiness and confidence that it had when we first met. It’s different now. Although we’ve gotten to this point separately, I feel with her now. I feel as though we’re together again.

  I think of my Dad, and how much he’d like her. I think of Emily and what we still have to do. As I reach over to pull her close, there’s almost a sense of relief, in both of us.

  There’s a slight slowing in the snow. The steady, monotonous falling has decreased now and is more sporadic. We have to move, we have to get to Emily before Postman. I still don’t know what we’re going to do when we get there, but I know that we have to get to her. I ease the truck back out onto the road and press on the accelerator, pushing it forward. The back wheels spin and then grab the road. Heather settles into the seat, staying close to me, touching me.

  The exit for the second highway that takes us to Woodbine is still far ahead. We have several miles of long snow-covered highway to cover before we reach it. I try to relax. I let my foot push on the pedal until we find a safe, steady pace. The snow still comes down, but it’s manageable now, easier to see. The old truck stays solid on the snowy highway. I stop looking back. I ignore the rear view mirror. I want to reach over and touch Heather, tell her that it’s going to be okay, tell her that we’ll be with Emily soon, and then it happens.

  I see the blur of light, from the corner of my eye, and I know that it’s him. Heather is screaming. I can see her mouth open wide. I can feel the panic coming from her. But, I can’t hear her. All I hear is the steady hum of the truck’s heater and roar of his engine as it nears us. He must have been driving at a tremendous speed. His vehicle is behind us. I can’t look back. I want to see him. I want to see his face, his fury, but I have to keep my hands on the wheel, and my eyes on the road in front of us.

  She stops screaming, but keeps sobbing, without crying, making low convulsive noises. I can feel her bobbing back and forth on the seat, terrified. “Don’t let him. Don’t let him. Please, don’t let him.” I know that she’s thinking about Emily. The words mean nothing, but her fear is overpowering. The whole inside of the vehicle seems to be alive with her panic and desperation. It’s almost as though I can smell it.

  He’s almost beside us now, and I feel his big, strong vehicle make contact with the side of the truck. He’s trying to force us into the ditch, trying to get us to stop. I have no choice. I hold onto the steering wheel as hard as I can and press the accelerator, willing the old truck to stay straight, as it surges forward. It slides. The rear wheels slide to one side, and I have to hold onto the wheel as though I have the entire weight of the vehicle in my bare hands. I can hear his engine, up beside me now. The snow makes no sounds. The night is silent, other than the humming of the two vehicles. He squeezes up beside us. The hard, packed piles of snow seem to pin us together, towering from either side, but still we move forward.

  I don’t let up on the gas. I keep accelerating, keep pushing on, but it doesn’t matter. He’s there. When I speed up, he’s on our tail, pushing up beside us. I can’t outrun him. And, when I slow down, he lies back, playing, toying with us. The truck will only go so quickly, and its traction is limited. I get a few feet ahead of him, and it feels as though we can outrun him, then suddenly, he’s up beside us again. His vehicle is bigger, heavier, made for this type of terrain. It feels as though he’s daring me to drive faster.

  Heather is more focused now, holding onto the seat, her eyes constantly watching him, telling me where he is. “He’s almost beside us. He’s coming up now. He’s going to catch us.”

  I let my tense, tired foot slip from the accelerator for a moment, and allow him to catch up to us. I wait to look over, wait until I know that I’ll see him.

  I need to look at him, to see his face. His black, tinted window slides down as he speeds up beside us. He has the same look, the maniacal look that he had in the police station. There’s no rage or anger that I can see, just insanity. He’s laughing now, enjoying himself. Our two vehicles barely have enough room, as we squeeze through the piles of snow that are in the ditches on either side of us. He slides his vehicle over and pushes toward us. I can hear the sound and feel the metal on metal, as his car hits the truck.

  Every time he does it, I hold onto the wheel, trying to hold our ground, but the truck still moves, sliding over towards the ditch. I keep pushing the pedal down harder, and he keeps pace with us. He has his window down, and looks over, watching us, silently goading us. He doesn’t seem worried about the road, the snow. He looks almost nonchalant at first, but then as our speeds increase I can see him hold onto his wheel harder, and stare more intently ahead at the road. I have no choice. I have to try it. I have to try and force him to make a move.

  The exit to the highway that leads us to Woodbine is ahead. I know he can see it too. He must have driven this route hundreds of times. I push forward, increasing our speed. The truck is almost uncontrollable. I see the exit getting closer and closer. He’s still beside us, maintaining his speed too. We’re closer now, and the truck keeps going faster, not wanting to give up. I can sense him watching m
e as he drives alongside. I can feel him beside me. The snow is piled on either side of the short exit. There’s no room for two vehicles to get through. I wait until I see the curve of the road, the incline, the hill leading onto the other highway. I wait until I can almost feel the piles of snow, leaning dangerously into the road. Then, I do it.

  I take my foot off the accelerator. Firmly, I push on the brake pedal, and Postman keeps speeding forward, towards the exit. The back wheels lock up, and we start to turn. Heather flies forward, and her head bounces on the dashboard. I miss the first spin as the truck violently turns around. It’s too rapid, too quick. It turns us out of control, and I pray that all of our wheels stay on the road, away from the ditches. I don’t know where Postman is. I can’t see him as we circle around.

  I try to catch the next one, and fight with the steering wheel for control. It tugs at us, pulling at my whole body. It takes every bit of strength in me, to keep looking forward, and hold onto the wheel. I have no concept of which direction we’re in, or whether we’re moving forwards or backwards. It doesn’t matter. I just need to straighten us out, to get us to stop moving. There is no sound, no noise. We seem to be travelling slowly and quickly, at the same time, as we turn in circles on the snowy road. I can see the built up snow in the ditches sailing past us, and feel it falling all around. It only takes a few seconds for us to stop, but it takes minutes to pass in my head.