Ren: The Monster's Adventure

by Sarah Noffke

  Dahlia shrugs, uncharacteristically sounding patient, and then looks over to me. “I just thought it would be quaint and fun to visit a farm.”

  “You’re not missing anything. If you’ve gone this long without having your nostrils laced with shit then count your diva ass lucky.”

  “Come on, Ren,” she says. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  I clear my throat. “Must have gotten my fill last week when I stepped in and stopped that bank robbery. Or maybe it was when I prevented an evil mastermind from stealing a ton of Americans’ money through a treacherous tax scheme. Or it could have been—”

  “We get the point,” Adelaide says, trying and failing to push a pacifier into Lucien’s mouth.

  “Yes, she’s trying to shut me up too, little monster. I feel you,” I say back in the direction of the baby who I can’t see in his rear-facing car seat. I complained that turning him backwards was one way to make him feel left out of the “fun.” That’s when my pain-in-the-ass daughter informed me that it was the law. The government just isn’t happy unless it’s telling us how to sit, what to eat, and how much of our salary to give them. God fucking forbid I get a splinter in my finger. Then they shut up and tell me I’m not any of their business. Good thing I work for a real entity who has exemplary healthcare. The Lucidites might be a scorching sunbeam on my soul, but what they do makes sense.

  “That’s curious,” Dahlia says.

  “Yes, it’s a sun and the earth rotates around it,” I say, pointing at the fireball making its fiery path through the sky. “I know you always thought that the earth rotates around you, but contrary—”

  “Shut up, Ren,” Dahlia says. “I meant this light that just blinked on the dashboard. I wonder what that means.”

  I flick my eyes at the orange light. It isn’t a symbol that instantly registers in my mind. “Maybe it means you’re going too fast,” I say, eyeing the speedometer.

  “I don’t think so,” Dahlia says, like she’s actually considering and disqualifying my notion. “It looks like a door with one arm.”

  I glance at the orange light in the dash. Nothing in my memory connects with that image, but my knowledge of mechanics is fairly inadequate. It’s one of the few areas where I can say I’m a bit sheltered. I chose to learn about philosophy, psychology, and history while others were schooled in these lesser subjects. Truthfully, all my battles have been ones of the mind. No wars are fought with actual machines, so one shouldn’t confuse their history lessons. People fight people. Outmaneuver others. Machines aren’t really a part of the equation if a mastermind is involved.

  “That’s not a one-armed door,” I say. “It’s a wire connected to a circuit.”

  “What?” Dahlia says, yanking her hands off the steering wheel like it’s on fire. “Are we okay?”

  I reach out and grab the wheel with a single hand. “Not if you wreck the car.”

  It’s tricky to steer this beast of a vehicle with one hand. “Take the wheel back, would you? We are fine. If the light was a problem then it would be in red and there would be other warnings.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” she says, taking the wheel again, as she inhales a breath. “I mean that other light just came on.”

  “Which?” I say, leaning over to scan the dash.

  “That one,” she says, pointing at a scale. “E” is at the bottom of it.

  “Hmmm,” I say, wishing I did anything more than high-level stuff my entire life. “E. I wonder what that means. Maybe it’s for engine.”

  From the backseat I hear a giggle. I spin around and Adelaide immediately covers her mouth with her hands. “What’s your problem?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all. Just delirious from hunger,” she says.

  “Then eat your young,” I say, indicating Lucien beside her, who is now waving the dumb plastic keys around like he’s a big hotshot. “That’s what rats and other pests do.”

  She nods, still giggling.

  “If I find out you brought along a flask and are getting pissed back there I’ll drop you off on the side of the road,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Nope, just giggling at something this child did. He’s seriously funny,” Adelaide says, tears in her eyes from her increased laughter. She’s never been this entertained by the little monster. Must be the hunger.

  “Check the manual, Ren,” Dahlia says, grabbing my attention. “Look up this light. I bet it’s in there.”

  “Where’s the manual?” I say, staring around at the numerous compartments in this monstrosity.

  “I don’t know. Probably the glove compartment. That’s where the one was in my first car,” Dahlia says.

  “You’re first car? You mean when you were sixteen? Is that how long it’s been since you bloody drove? It sure feels like that many decades,” I say, opening the compartment in front of me. It’s neat and filled with multiple manuals. One for the audio system, electronics, and extra features; a quick reference manual; and then a thick one that has way too much information. I flip open the smaller guide and go straight to the table of contents.

  “You both really don’t know what that light means?” Adelaide says from the back. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this a practical joke for my entertainment?”

  I twist around. “I never do anything for your entertainment because I’m hoping you will get bored to death, if you know what I mean,” I say. “And you know what that light means? I thought you didn’t know how to drive.”

  “I don’t, but I’m not a sheltered bloke like you two appear to be,” she says.

  “I’ll have you know I’m a fucking genius,” I say, slapping the manual shut.

  “Yep, but you don’t know what that universal symbol means,” she says, busting out with a laugh that her offspring joins in with.

  I look at the light on the dash. “Universal? What? Look, I haven’t been in any mental hospitals so maybe I have a gap in knowledge that you own. What do you think that means?” I say, pointing at the light.

  “Well, if you’re going to be rude then I’m not telling you, look it up,” Adelaide says.

  “Whenever have I not been rude? Tell me what the symbol means, Addy, or Dahlia will start singing.”

  She claps her hands over Lucien’s ears. “God no! I’ve kept him away from that source of evil this long. Don’t you dare!”

  Dahlia smiles into the rearview mirror. “I think it’s overdue really,” she says and then begins humming in that voice I love so dearly.

  “Fine, fine, fine,” Adelaide says, waving her hands frantically in the air. “You’re about to run out of gas. That symbol is a gas pump.”

  I turn and look at the symbol, then at Dahlia. “Gas pump? This car takes gas?” I say to her. “I thought it was electric.”

  “I have no idea what it is,” she says, eyeing the symbol hard like she’s trying to decipher it.

  “Well, just pull over at the next turn-off. There’s bound to be a petrol station up ahead,” I say.

  “Not for thirty miles actually,” Adelaide says with a laugh, doubling over.

  “What?” I say to her.

  “There was a sign back there. We passed it when you buffoons noticed the problem.”

  “Adelaide,” I say, a warning in my voice.

  “Guess you two should have agreed to pull over when I asked. And maybe next time Dahlia will grab the snack bag,” Adelaide says, too proud of herself.

  “Thing is, there can’t be a next time when you’re dead,” I say, slamming back around and into my seat. My eyes hone in on the orange light which really should be red based on its significance. This is what happens when bloody engineers and scientists run the world. Fucking incompetence.

  “Oh, again with the threats. Haven’t you learned by now that I’m acting out for the attention?” Adelaide says with a repugnant chuckle.

  “Fine,” I say, not turning around. “If we don’t make it to the gas station then you’re dead to me. Hope you’re happy.” />
  “I’ve never been so cheery, actually,” she says, too much glee in her voice.

  ***

  “Oh, thank the gods,” Dahlia says, turning on her blinker. “There’s a gas station.”

  “When did you a) become the religious type and b) adopt a poly-gods’ religion?” I say.

  She shrugs, veering the automobile off the highway and onto the off-ramp. “I figure why not adopt all the religions. It can’t hurt.”

  “Except that a divided heart won’t work for baby Jesus. He wants all of your faith,” I say.

  “Well, he can just deal with my polygamous ways the same way I’ve dealt with yours,” Dahlia says.

  And I eye her now. The woman before me has changed so much in the last three weeks. It was inevitable. And I’m not sure how to think about it. Mostly I don’t. Mostly I pretend that what’s happening to her isn’t real. It’s the only time in my life that I’ve stuck my head in the sand but it feels like the right call. Like if I maintain a deluded perspective then it’s better than facing reality and cursing it with my negative thoughts. That’s why Christians baptize, right? And why we have shit television and lame sporting events. It’s all a distraction from what’s really going on and going to happen. We are going to die and who knows where the fuck we are going to go. Well, I’m ninety-nine percent certain I know where we go. I’ve seen it. Heard testimony. But I’m not at liberty to share that one secret that God keeps tucked in his pocket.

  “There’s a station just down the block,” Dahlia says, relief in her voice. “After that little scare and family treachery everything is going to be all ri—”

  And just then the motor to the vehicle stalls, clicks, and then fizzles out like a battery losing its spark. The crunch of the gravel under the tires is suddenly loud as Dahlia yanks the monstrosity of a vehicle onto the shoulder, away from cars speeding off the highway with drivers hoping to grab a soda and a bag of crisps for the rest of the journey.

  “It’s dead,” Dahlia says, punching the button for the ignition.

  “And guess who else is dead to me?” I say, my head turning over my shoulder but not connecting with the girl in the back who is suddenly silent.

  Chapter Three

  “Well, on the bright side the gas station is just right there,” Dahlia says, angling her hand at the petrol station roughly one hundred yards down the road.

  I was cursed with fiery red hair that usually earns me double takes from strangers when I enter a room. For that reason I prefer not to look on the bright side of anything. Bright things are jarring, distracting, and rarely are they actually positive as in the context that Dahlia is using the term.

  “And we are way over here. So what’s your plan, dear Dahlia?” I ask, looking out the car window at the sunlight threatening to roast us in this godforsaken machine.

  “Well, one of us has to walk over there and get a gas thingy to fill up the car,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact.

  “Which one of us?” I say, my tone full of heat.

  “It’s not going to be me. I’ve got to stay with the baby,” Adelaide says from the back.

  “Dahlia, did you hear something? It sounded like wind and smelled like it was carrying a strong scent of bullshit,” I say.

  Dahlia shakes her head at my antics, dismissing me. “Well, you know I can’t risk being seen,” she says, pulling her hat down like the paparazzi is waiting in the bushes outside the vehicle.

  “So it sounds like I’ve been elected to walk over to that crummy station and fix the mistakes that never should have happened, is that right?” I say.

  “It is the manly thing to do,” Dahlia says.

  “The manly thing would be to dream travel to a GAD-C and be lounging in my armchair within the hour,” I say.

  “Actually, that sounds like a man who never wants to have sex again,” Dahlia says.

  “Oh, gross,” Adelaide says from the back.

  “Fine, as I’m accustomed to doing I’ll save your bloody asses,” I say, throwing the door open and stepping out into the disgusting summer sun. I immediately feel a dozen freckles pop up on my face, shoving the other billion to the side so they have their own permanent resting spot. The dust from the vehicle is thick in the polluted air and although the trek to the rusty gas station isn’t far, it also isn’t pleasant. Three mosquitoes try to suck my blood during the short walk. They must sense that it’s rich in vitamin D and chock-full of more goodness than that of most of the population. Worst of all is that I’m sweating like a fucking goat when I arrive to the shade and bad smells of the station. The door buzzes when I push it open. Instead of wasting my time looking at the poorly organized shelves, I march up to the counter where a guy is busy watching MMA on a TV screen overhead.

  I snap at the buffoon and slowly, as if he lost his reflexes in his own lousy fight, he turns to look at me. He doesn’t say a word, instead just blinks at me, like he’s waiting for his visual cortex to catch up and deliver the present image along with an appropriate response.

  “Gas can. Where are they?” I say.

  He lifts his chin and looks over my shoulder. Then directs his gaze back to me. “All out, mister.”

  “What? This is a fucking petrol station, is it not?” I say.

  “Waiting on a shipment,” he says, like that’s a sufficient answer for his incompetence.

  “How do you expect to make money with this hell hole of a business?” I say, honestly looking for a real answer.

  “Is that your car?” he says, angling out the window at the black SUV in the distance.

  “It is and it’s apparently out of petrol, hence the need for a gas can,” I say.

  “Why don’t you push it here and fill her up. Won’t take you too long.”

  “Why don’t you?” I say and then pause to look at his dumb face. Then I realize he doesn’t get it. “Seriously, I’ll pay you to push that shit over here.”

  He looks at the vehicle and then at me. Then does it again like a fucking idiot doing calculus. “Can’t,” he says like that’s a real answer.

  “Can’t why?” I say.

  “I’ve got to man the shop,” he says, waving his hand at the grossness around us.

  “I would think that you’d have to be a man to do such a thing and you clearly don’t meet that description,” I say.

  His brow wrinkles as he tries to piece together the insult I’ve made at him. “This is the only convenient station for a long bit, mister.”

  That’s the low-life’s way to threatening me. Warn me. “Yeah, fine,” I say, not seeing a better option here. Yes, I could get in his head and make him push the car. But then, what sort of example would I be setting for Adelaide, who I sense is struggling with how and when to use her powers. And she’s sloppy, still leaving tracers. Making messes for me to clean up when she gets into people’s heads and manipulates the wrong way. I have to resist using mind control for Adelaide’s benefit. And if this is what being a parent is then I kind of want to slit my own throat. It makes me feel old and accountable and thoroughly self-righteous.

  The buzzing sound seems to mock me when I throw the door open and leave. And for some fucked up reason it’s hotter now outside than a few minutes before. Fuck my life.

  Now there’s a woman standing outside the shop. I use the term “woman” loosely. She’s more of a troll dripping in wrinkles, with a nose that would fit better on a bulldog who has seen better days. Judging by her clothes, she’s a gypsy. And judging by her smell when I march past her, she is allergic to soap and water. Bangle bracelets clang on her arm as she waves to me. “Hey, sonny,” she says.

  I consider ignoring her, but then realize I could pay her to push the vehicle. It might kill the hunched over old woman, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. “What?” I growl.

  “You’re a Lewis, aren’t you?” the woman says, and I just then notice that her eyes are glassed over. She’s blind.

  “A Lewis?” I say.

  “Your surname,” the woman
says.

  I scratch my forehead beading with disgusting sweat. “What do you want? How do you know me?”

  “I rarely know how I know anything, but I was sent to give you a message,” the woman says. Her hair is in long dreads and blends right into her dark tattered clothes.

  “Tell the voices in your head that I said to fuck off,” I say. “I don’t play games.”

  “This isn’t a game. It’s only a message,” she says.

  “Look, do you want to make some money?” I say, wondering if I can really go through with making the old bag push a gigantic vehicle.

  “You will meet three wise women on your travels,” the bum says.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “They will bestow great wisdom on you. Wisdom that you may know, but have forgotten. And if you put it all together, then you’ll benefit greatly,” she says, her voice croaky.

  And I want to bark at her and run off but instead I say, “How? How will I benefit?”

  “That’s not for me to know. I’m the messenger who alerts you to this. It is your job to listen. To piece it together. Your future relies on your compliance at the very end,” she says.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I say, taking a step closer to the woman.

  She swivels her gaze at me, although I’m certain she can’t see me. Her eyes are bluish white. Mostly white. And it’s strange to look directly at her. “I’m talking about helping you to make sense of something. Three wise women. They will find you. And you must listen to them or pay the consequence of ignoring their wisdom. One will give you the key to your future.”