Family (PART 2, FINALE)

The drive continued on. There were no stars overhead, no glowing moon. Just the road, lined intermittently with pale orange sodium lights, and the thickening wilderness around it. The highway was about to end, and it would soon be the isolated, abandoned back road that no one wanted to drive on at night. Roland wasn’t sure he wanted to drive on it himself, but he knew he was almost there. Just a few more miles, and he would be back in control again.

The turn-off appeared quickly, a sharp turn into dark nothingness, blink and you miss it. The road was paved, though God knew why. No one lived back here. No one but the old lady with twenty cats, and the alcoholic redneck with the beat-up pickup truck. And, of course, Roland and his demons. Each minded their own business, never questioning, or even noticing, each other’s suspicious behaviors. They were too far away from each other to bother. Roland’s victims could scream all they wanted, and no one would hear them.

Roland drove through the trees, his foot now flat on the gas pedal. The transmission protested a little as he forced the car onward, but still, he crawled along the road. He felt as though he was driving through molasses, or towing a weight too heavy for his midsize vehicle behind him. The needle on the speedometer, incredibly, wavered between 75 and 80 miles per hour. Then why did he feel so sluggish?

And still, still she stared. It had been hours since he’d seen her face, but her gaze burned into the back of his head, penetrating into the deepest trenches of his consciousness.

She spoke.

“Mister, please. I have a family,” she said.

Normally, when the girls said something like this, Roland turned on the syrup. Not to worry, he would assure them, you’ll see your family soon enough. We’re just going to stop at my house, it’ll be real quick, I promise. He prided himself on his winning smile, the one that all the girls back in college had loved. Most of his victims calmed down after that; they believed him, trusted his soothing voice, his quiet words. But not this time, not this girl. Her voice had sounded pitiful, but Roland knew better than to assume that she was the one she was pitying. His simmering unease, his creeping paranoia, suddenly erupted into white-hot hatred, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel harder. He yanked the rearview mirror back to its normal position. She was in shadow except for her eyes, blue icicles lit by a narrow strip of light. The sight of them only made him angrier.

“Shut up.” He said. “I should think that you, of all people, know what I am by now. I’ve been doing this for twenty years, do you think I give a shit about your family? I’ve seen many of them, on the news, talking about their missing little girl. Do you know what I do whenever I watch those features? I play a little drinking game. Every time the mother cries, I take a shot. Every time the father tries to appear stoic on camera, I take a shot. Every time I see a photo or video of the kid whose naked body I just dumped in the woods, I take a shot. It’s fun, you should try it sometime. Except you can’t, because you’re about to become one of those kids. So you might as well sit back and relax, kid, because these are the last moments of your-”

“You don’t understand.” The girl’s voice cut through Roland’s rant like a knife in the dark, and Roland, in spite of himself, fell silent. “That wasn’t a plea. It was a warning.”

Roland turned in his seat, the chill in his spine returning. “What are you talking about?” He said, desperately trying to stop his voice from shaking.

The girl said nothing. She lifted her arm, and pointed.

Roland turned back around…and slammed on the brakes.

The figure in the road had neither flinched nor startled when Roland had stopped in front of it, despite being close enough to touch the hood. It had pale arms that hung limply at its side. It wore blue jeans and a striped T-shirt. Everything from the mid-torso upwards disappeared into blackness. Roland sat there for a minute, mouth agape. The idea that this was his drunken neighbor, the man a mile up the road, flitted briefly through his mind, but didn’t pan out. This man was too thin, too well-dressed. And anyway, the neighbor would not have left his house on foot—if he went anywhere, he drove.

“Idiot, what are you doing in the middle of the road? Get out of my way!” Roland shouted. The figure did not budge. Roland tapped the horn, then, when the figure still did not move, pounded it with his palm. The seconds ticked away into minutes, and still, the figure stood in the road, motionless.

Roland thought briefly of backing up the car and moving around the man, but the road was too narrow, the embankment on either side of it too steep and thick with trees. And at any rate, he was no longer in the mood to be charitable.

“Fuck this,” he said, and stepped on the gas.

The car moved an inch, then Roland heard a bang. The figure in the road had slammed his hands on the hood of the car, and it lurched to a sudden stop. Roland looked on, panting like a marathon runner, his heart pounding. In a blind panic, he slammed his foot on the gas.

The engine roared. The tires squealed and smoked. And the car did not move.

Roland let up on the gas, then stepped on it again, pushing the engine to its limit. The figure’s hands sat on the hood of the car, and though he couldn’t be sure, Roland thought he saw dents in the thick metal. Whatever it was, the figure was holding Roland hostage.

That was when he heard the rustling, the footsteps coming towards the car. They were all around him, shadows looming near each of the passenger windows, and he even felt a presence standing behind the vehicle. And there were more sounds, more stirrings. Roland thought he could hear whispering, mocking words he couldn't understand, punctuated by soft laughter echoing in the darkness. He looked back at the figure holding the hood of his car. He could see glowing, red eyes, and pale lips pulled back into a grin too large to be human. The teeth ended in neat, sharp points.

He turned and looked at the little girl. She stared back, emotionless.

“You did this.” He said.

“No,” the girl said, “you did.”

The driver’s side window shattered. Long, ropy arms pulled him out of the car, as easily as a little girl pulled a rag doll out of a toy box. All around him were eyes, everywhere, always, glowing, red eyes.

Roland's screams were heard by no one.

Family (PART 1)

He saw her in the parking lot, waiting outside the store. She looked to be about six years old, and he was probably right—he’d gotten good at guessing ages. She sat on a bench sucking on a bloodred lolly, her pale blonde hair in pigtails. She wore a tiny pink t-shirt with a tiny pair of blue jeans, a tiny pair of white sneakers on her feet. Little girls never wore dresses anymore. That was Roland’s lament these days, but even he knew it didn’t matter very much. She wouldn’t be needing those clothes very long anyway. Dresses sure were easier to take off than jeans, but he had shears.

He stared at her for a minute, watching her suck on her candy. She had bight blue eyes and pale skin. It wasn’t his normal catch (blondes were, after all, rarer), but Roland wasn’t picky. While some had a preferred look, he took all kinds—white, black, dark hair, light hair, fat, thin—but only girls, not boys. Never boys. He wasn’t a queer, after all.

The girl took a bite of the lolly, munching on the glassy pieces with loud, wet crunching sounds. Once it was gone, she hopped off the bench and threw the stick in the garbage, her lips and tongue a bright red. She stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, making sure (Roland was mildly impressed that she knew this) to look both ways before crossing the street. She toddled slowly up the lane, her fingers clutching her t-shirt.

Roland couldn’t believe his luck. He hadn’t planned on taking her now—he typically watched them for awhile before learning their habits and gathering a strategy—but the opportunity presented itself too perfectly to pass up. He threw his cigarette on the ground and crouched beside his car, lying in wait.

What foolish parents they were, letting her wander the parking lot on her own. Roland was surprised; most were more cautious these days. Nobody left their kid in the car anymore, mostly out of fear that they’d be accused of letting them roast to death. And leaving them outside on their own seemed to invite the bad guys, the ones like Roland. Though stranger kidnapping was very rare (kids were more likely to be snatched by a relative, Roland knew), everyone feared it. They feared it the way they feared airplane crashes, even though cars were more dangerous.

He challenged himself, taking them this way. Most kids were snatched on their way to school, or while playing outside. Public parking lots were comparatively safer for kids, or riskier for Roland. Large public spaces with lots of adults around in broad daylight were foolhardy places…but sometimes Roland got lucky.

He lay in wait beside the car, watching, waiting for her to cross his path. He had a very small timeframe. If he didn’t catch her, she would go screaming for an adult, and his cover would be blown. And he was getting sick of having to move around. His heart began to pound in anticipation.

He saw her. He caught a flash of pink t-shirt and blonde hair, and within an instant he was upon her. Her body grew tense underneath his grasp, but to his surprise, she did not wriggle. Nor did she scream—Roland had clamped a hand over her mouth, but there’d been no need. He carried her, like a stiff lawn ornament, to the car, opening the back seat and shoving her inside.

“Mister, are you kidnapping me?” She said as he strapped her into the seat. She said it almost mockingly, as though it were a game.

“Kidnapping? Nah. You’re gonna come with me, your Uncle Roland. We’re gonna play games. You like games?”

The girl did not answer.

“Well, you’re gonna like the games I got. You just be a good girl and be quiet, okay?”

The girl did not answer. Roland shrugged and pulled out of the parking lot, still unable to believe his luck.

He merged into traffic and got on the freeway, tuning the radio to an oldies station, and flipped on the cruise control. Late afternoon was fading into evening, and the sun sank lower in the sky. He had a long drive, and he wanted to be home by nightfall. He adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could see her, sitting in the backseat. He liked to watch their faces as he drove.

She was so quiet. So quiet. It was unusual for his victims, but it had happened before. Most of them would cry, some loudly, some quietly, shrieking sobs and barely-audible sniffles. Others would scream at him from the backseat, telling him that their daddies would save them, that the police would hear about it, and come for them. Still others thought it was a game, that they would drive around awhile and then go home to their families. The few that had made no noise just sat, pale and shaking, refusing to look him in the eye.

This one did not shake. She stared instead, a deep, probing stare that filled Roland’s vision from the rearview mirror, even out of the corners of his eyes. But it wasn’t even the staring—though that was unnerving in and of itself—that fed his sense of growing unease. It was the coldness behind it, the utter lack of emotion. She didn’t appear to blink.

She was not at all afraid. Though this too had happened before—some of them had looked relatively carefree until he brought out the knives—he had the impression that what he was looking at now was not a display of childish naivete, but of knowing; of sheer, cold clarity. She knew what he was, and she watched him like a cat eyeing a mouse.

Roland shook himself a bit, refusing to acknowledge the chill that went up his spine. For the very first time, he adjusted the rearview mirror, no longer able to stand those eyes. His hands had gone cold.

The drive was longer than he thought. The sun appeared to sink faster in the sky, bright yellow rays fading to orange, then red, then violet. But the road stretched onward, a long straight line lengthening in the darkness. Road signs that had appeared far away a mile ago approached slowly, and he never seemed quite able to close the distance. He passed them after what felt like minutes, hours longer than he should have. And still she stared.

The gas station appeared on the right, and he turned into it, turning the wheel more harshly than he intended. The car jerked into the parking lot, and both he and the girl slid a little in response to its momentum. He turned off the car and left it without a word, slamming the door behind him and stumbling into the convenience store.

Bright fluorescent light assaulted him from all sides, and he found he could not move until his eyes had fully adjusted. He wandered aimlessly around, staring at the neat rows of brightly colored labels, of candy and chips housed in plastic packages. He passed all the rows, the millions of rows, until he reached the last aisle, the refrigerated drinks. He opened one and pulled out a bottle, barely reading the label before opening it and throwing his head back, draining half the bottle. He screwed the cap back on and took a few long, deep breaths.

He had to get ahold of himself. The cold liquid he’d forced down his throat had made him realize this much, though the fog in his mind had hardly lifted. He stared at the frosted glass on the cooler window, barely able to make out his reflection in it. He got chills all over again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go; never in the 20 years he had been doing this had he ever felt this way. Even the anxious jitters he’d gotten the first time he’d snatched a child were nothing compared to this. He swung his head toward the far wall, where the clock said 10:50.

Roland furrowed his brow. That late already? Even with the distorted sense of time he’d felt on the road, it hadn’t felt as though he’d been that long driving. Clearly, he’d missed his turn-off, as he wouldn’t still be driving. They should be at his house right now, the girl his newest fleeting possession. Though he didn’t normally believe in such things, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d blacked out and was now missing a sizeable chunk of time, like those nutjobs you heard on late night television who’d talk about being abducted by aliens.

He shuffled up to the front cash register, putting the half-empty beverage bottle on the counter and digging in his pockets for his wallet. The clerk scanned his purchase and eyed him nervously, his brow furrowing as if in worry. Roland ignored him and produced a five-dollar bill.

“Hey, man, are you all right? You don’t look so good,” the clerk said, taking the fiver and digging in the register for change.

Roland, startled, looked up at the clerk. “Do I?” He said weakly, clutching his beverage like a child would clutch a stuffed bear.

“Yeah, man, you’re real pale. Maybe you should go home and rest awhile.”

Roland nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He said. He turned away and headed for the door, now aware that his heart was pounding, and his feet felt as though they’d been filled with lead.

“Take care!” The clerk said as the sliding glass door closed behind Roland, and he shuffled back to the car.

In the dim light, Roland could see her silhouette in the backseat. Though he couldn’t see it, she knew her gaze had followed him, and she was now staring at him in the darkness. With dread, he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, setting his bottled drink in the cupholder next to him. He put on his seatbelt with shaking, clammy hands, the buckle slipping clumsily around the clasp several times. When he’d finally settled into position and pulled the car out of the lot, his hands were shaking.

Why hadn’t she escaped? Roland scowled at the road ahead of him, staring at the white dotted highway line, refusing to glance at the rearview mirror. He’d left her in the car unrestrained and with no instructions to stay put. She could have fled the car at any moment. Why was she still here?

Get rid of her as soon as possible, he told himself. There would be no games, none of the usual acts he would make the other children perform. He’d pull her from the car and slit her throat where she stood, burning the remains, and his bloody clothing with them. It was the only way to be sure.