Destiny Calling

by Maureen L. Bonatch

I passed farmland and homes far from the road and isolated by the surrounding dense woods. Even though this town was tucked right on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, it didn’t look like it. The trees were close together with a few larger ones hanging over the road, blocking the sunlight from view. The further I traveled, the more I felt as if the woods were swallowing me up.

  “Don’t trust him.” The eerie words echoed in my mind.

  “Don’t trust who?” I wondered aloud. I’d encountered more than one potential candidate already.

  I glanced into the rearview mirror, barely able to see out the back window with the piles of boxes, old food bags, and shoes. Why I was going to stay in an apartment offered to me by some crazy, old lady was beyond me, but not trusting anyone was how I’d lived my life as Jane. That life was over. Now I was Hope.

  A loud thud jerked the car to the right, and I fought to steer the wheel toward the side of the road as the thud, thud, thud continued. The car shook and shuddered until I brought it to a stop and stepped out. Confirming what I already knew, I kicked the rim of the deflated tire. “That’s just great.” Popping the trunk, I willed a spare tire to appear, as well as a mechanic to replace the flat.

  Both were equally unlikely. I’d taken out the spare tire to make extra room for my stuff. How often do you get a flat tire? I had belongings I didn’t want to leave behind more valuable than an old tire.

  I ran my hands over the goose bumps springing up on my arms while surveying my surroundings. Barren trees and scrub as far as I could see. The bar was at least five miles behind me. If I remembered correctly, I’d hit the main road in about a mile if I continued on foot. Surely, town couldn’t be far from there. I grabbed a jacket and my purse then wrapped a scarf around my neck.

  After about a mile, the screaming of my thighs reminded me of my nonexistent exercise routine.

  My only company was the sound of wildlife sneaking through the woods, or at least I thought it was wildlife. I glanced over my shoulder repeatedly, expecting a mammoth of a man wearing a hockey mask to lumber from the woods intent on hacking me to pieces.

  These images kept my pace steady despite my fatigue.

  The sound of my labored breathing became apparent…because it was the only sound.

  I stopped and strained my ears, inhaling deeply to slow my breath. The stillness of the woods weighed heavy. I looked down the road I’d traveled and then toward my destination.

  Nothing.

  The occasional crackling of twigs in the woods had stopped, as had the birds. Even the swaying of the trees had ceased, the gentle breeze stilled.

  It was dead silent.

  Squinting into the depths of the thick woods, I tilted my head and saw…something.

  There was a large black area. Was that moss? Or tree bark?

  It stood out in the green and brown setting, seeming out of place. I squinted. Maybe an oddly shaped tree?

  Then it moved.

  Just a little bit, kind of like a ripple in the scenery or a wave of water at the beach. But one thing for sure, it wasn’t a tree. I stumbled back, tripped over my foot, and fell on my ass, knocking the air and all rational thought from my mind.

  The black form was in motion now, heading toward me. I scrambled back, crab-like, until my fingers dug into slushy snow when I reached the other side of the road. I struggled to get to my feet, pushing up into a squatting position but unable to stand. The air around me thickened to the consistency of pudding, as if a weight pressed me down, making every movement an effort.

  I hunkered down with my hands on the ground in front of me, as if at the start of the race. Actually I was, but had no idea what I was running from, only that it wasn’t human.

  I fought to lift my head a few inches, unable to suppress a moan. Sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my face, despite the chilly air. When I couldn’t move any further, I strained to lift my eyelids to face whatever was coming. I didn’t have to see anything to know something was there. I could feel it. But I had to see, to know if this thing was what had killed Tessa.

  The trees rustled as they parted for its passage, then I got a look. The new buds and sprouting spring leaves on the trees weren’t parting. They were withering and dying as the creature passed through them. Large branches snapped and fell to the ground. The buds blackened and disintegrated into dust as the black cloud making up the form approached.

  The figure waxed and waned into a human-like form then back to a cluster of blackness and distress. A monster was the only way to describe it. I felt it more than saw it, as the creature struggled to compose itself into a form but failed. It was as if all the self-loathing, bitterness, and hate in Hell had come packaged in this thing.

  With my head bowed, I awaited my fate to descend upon me. I whimpered, too tired to lift my head. All the effort, all the stress, was exhausting. How could I get justice for Tessa? I was just one person.

  I laid my head on the road.

  Chapter Three

  “Go find your family.”

  Tessa’s last request surfaced in my mind as I lay on the road. It had been written in my birthday card I’d found when I went through her things.

  Tessa was the only person who’d been there for me. The closest I’d had to a mother, but now I was an orphan for the second time around.

  Silently I’d promised to avenge her when I’d knelt beside her lifeless body. Giving up now, to be crushed by a walking wall of hate after I’d come this far, was no way to do that.

  Hope for the best had always been her advice. My laugh was harsh, as her words made sense now. I forced all my burning anger and hate into it…into hoping. Hoping to find my mother, to avenge Tessa, and to live another day. The surge of hope flowed through me, forcing the agony and despair out. Staggering until I could stand, I held out my arms waiting to embrace the creature barreling toward me. It picked up speed the closer it came, as if the anticipation had gotten to be too much. It was almost upon me. Grinding my teeth, I tensed and waited for the impact that never came. The hate train stopped abruptly, hitting an invisible wall. I took a step toward the creature, ready to finish it.

  The roar of a motorcycle in the distance shattered the silence.

  The creature cringed, like the receding wave on the sand, and then it shattered into thousands of tiny specks of blackness. I shielded my eyes, but no shards of the creature hit me as it disintegrated.

  It was gone.

  The returning chatter of the birds confirmed its absence. I took a few deep breaths, uncertain if the motorcycle or I’d scared the thing away, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  I increased my pace down the road, glancing over my shoulder as the roar of the motorcycle engine slowed, signaling its approach. I put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. The biker pulled over and lifted his muscular thigh over the huge, black bike.

  Of course, it would be him. Griffith.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare tire on that thing?” I gestured to the motorcycle.

  He pulled off his leather gloves. “Where’s your car?”

  I pointed toward the road obscured by the trees. Their bare branches made the woods seem all the more ominous, as though their skeletal arms blocked the path.

  He studied the woods, then me. “You were walking alone? In the woods?” He approached me moving with the grace of a large jungle cat, tensed and ready to spring. “Did anything unusual happen?”

  I wasn’t about to try to explain what I’d encountered. I wasn’t even sure I could. Crossing my arms over my chest, I suppressed a shudder. “Yes, a flat tire about a mile ago. Can you tell me where I can get it fixed?”

  He looked at me for what felt like an eternity, but in reality lasted only a few seconds. I must’ve passed the test.

  “I can’t figure it out.” He regarded me, then the woods, and shook his head.

  “What?” I followed his gaze, taking a step closer to Griffith when a large dog stepped from between the branches of a low-hanging pine
tree. The dog melted back into the depths, making me wonder if I’d imagined the animal.

  “You.” He shrugged. “Although your heap of a car breaking down doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Hey, my car didn’t break down. I ran over something on that pothole cratered road.” I put my hands on my hips. “My car might be up a bit in miles, but it gets me around.” Besides being all I could afford.

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, but that car’s not safe for travel.”

  “Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” If safety had been my primary concern, I’d never have come here in the first place. I stood a little straighter, and tilted my head back to catch his eye. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  “Just how is that?”

  “One glance at the car you’ve turned into a mobile home, tells me you’ve been living in that broken-down heap. You have to be low on money to eat peanuts out of that bowl at the Last Call.” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Then there are the dreams I’ve had about you.”

  I held up my hand. I hadn’t realized we’d been sharing the dreams. He wasn’t as observant as he thought, because I’d not taken one peanut out of that crusty bowl. “Umm…about my car?”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Since you insist, we’ll discuss the dreams another time.” He rested against the bike, crossing one ankle over the other. The fabric of his jeans tightened and drew my attention.

  I remained silent, unsure if I wanted to discuss the dreams, now or ever. One of them was so erotic the nuns at the orphanage would’ve made me do penance for days for even having an imagination to think about it, and in the other dream, I wound up dead.

  “My house isn’t far. I have a can of tire repair we can try first. If nothing else, it’ll get you to the garage, because the closest one is miles from here.” He patted the seat of his bike. “Hop on.”

  I eyed the beautiful beast of a man and the one he’d rode in on. Neither seemed like a good idea.

  “On that thing?” I shook my head. “Oh no, I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before, and I don’t intend to start now.” The tiny seat looked barely big enough for him, let alone me as well.

  “I don’t mind walking. It’s good exercise.” I peered down the long, barren road ahead.

  Griffith raised his eyebrow and inclined his head. “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

  “No.” My reply didn’t sound convincing.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You shouldn’t be walking in the woods. It’s not safe. They’re…” His expression tightened, and he focused on everything but me.

  “They’re what?” I challenged him with my stare but when he met it unwaveringly, I had to look away.

  “Nothing. You’re trying to avoid me, aren’t you?”

  I pulled back. “What? You’re changing the subject. Why would I want to avoid you? I don’t even know you.” The memory of the dream flickered through my mind. I hoped the cold had reddened my cheeks, concealing the blush I felt spreading there.

  “You will.”

  His intent gaze, made me want to squirm. Because he was right. Something about him made me want to know everything about him, but at the same time, I wanted to run for the hills. But knowing what waited in those hills, or at least these woods, I wasn’t anxious to return.

  “The way you took off when I met you at the bar, you seemed like you were running from something. Or are you running to something? Tell me what it is. You can trust me.” He waited for my reply.

  How could I explain what even I didn’t understand?

  He shrugged at my silence, probably mistaking my confusion for stubbornness. “Well, suit yourself. I wouldn’t wander too far. People have been known to get lost, or something, in those woods.”

  “I can see that.”

  From the nervous expression Griffith struggled to conceal, he seemed to be conveying more than concern for the underbrush. If something made a hulking man like him nervous, I suppose I should be terrified. I twisted my hands in indecision.

  He patted the seat again.

  “Motorcycles are dangerous.” Tessa used to call them death machines. Eat your vegetables, always carry a condom and don’t ride a motorcycle were practically her mantra. Not that she had to worry about any of them with me, but she tried her best to be a mother, and starting with a sassy thirteen-year-old couldn’t have been easy.

  He shrugged. “If you want to wait here, I’ll get the tire repair kit and come back.”

  “Okay, be careful.” My voice faltered, as I forced false confidence.

  His expression darkened and all traces of humor disappeared. “There are things that can hurt you much more than riding a motorcycle.” He sighed. “Besides, you’re the one that needs to be careful.” He turned to mount the bike.

  The wind picked up, and the trees started to sway. “Did you hear that?” I held back my hair as it whipped around my face. The trees looked frantic in their dance. Excited. Alive.

  “Hear what?” The way Griffith’s jaw tensed told me he’d heard something, as well.

  I heard it again. It sounded like, the cat. Several crows took flight from the trees, cawing as they passed overhead. “Why are there so many birds around here?”

  “There’s a lot of road kill.” Griffith tracked the birds’ departure across the sky.

  Wrapping my arms tighter around my middle, I shivered as the wind’s icy tentacles licked at my neck. I closed the few steps between us.

  “You’re cold.” When he enveloped my hand in his, a feeling of well-being and relaxation overwhelmed me. I startled, and his grip tightened. Warmth emanated from him into me, dispelling the cold. Closing my eyes, I relished the thawing of my uneasiness. The wind picked up, and the trees sounded as if I was holding a seashell to my ear with the ocean roaring.

  Perhaps I was being difficult. Maybe it is a good idea to ride with Griffith.

  “It’s a good idea,” Griffith said.

  I opened my eyes. Had I spoken aloud?

  Griffith’s unusual, intriguing gray eyes caught my gaze and trapped me there. I sank into their depths and forgot the cold, wondering why I didn’t want to ride on that bike with this stranger. I leaned toward him and stumbled a bit, breaking his grasp on my hand as he reached to steady me.

  “Let’s go.”

  “What?” I stepped out of Griffith’s reach, unsure what happened, but more wary about the woods than him or riding his motorcycle.

  “You coming?”

  I looked at the metal machine that could easily crush me with its weight and sought the only excuse I could think of. “You only have one helmet.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s for you, of course.” He grabbed it, spinning it once in his hands, and offered it to me.

  That sounded like a challenge. Plus, anyone who can successfully lift one eyebrow and look intriguing while doing it frustrated me. I’d always ended up with both eyebrows raised, looking surprised instead of sexy. “You should wear it. It’s your helmet.”

  “If you insist.” He turned toward the bike, shaking his head. “But I think you’re crazy.”

  “A lot of people do.” I shot back, before I could stop myself.

  Griffith paused in his stride and then mounted the bike.

  As I was figuring out how to swing my leg gracefully over the bike, he turned and placed his palm on my cheek. My breath caught in my throat and my lips parted.

  “Wear it for me.”

  “Why?” At that moment, I would do whatever he asked. I nodded and allowed him to slide the helmet over my head, closing my eyes when his fingertips pushed the hair out of my face. His hands rested on my shoulders, then slid up my throat, gripping gently. I tilted my head back. He pulled the strap tight then placed his finger between it and my chin, tugging as he clasped the buckle. He placed a hand on each side of the helmet and tilted my head so I was eye level with him.

  “I want to keep you safe.”

  It was what he�
��d said in my dream. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He turned away and sat waiting for me to mount the bike.

  He’d never answered me in the dream either.

  I threw my leg over the bike, and the wind receded. The trees slowed, then stilled, as I settled into the seat. There was nothing to hold onto. I groped the sides for something to grab to keep from tumbling off the back.

  “Have you ever felt truly alive?”

  I tried to think of a clever retort like I usually relied on to keep people at bay, but found I didn’t want to. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re about to. Hold on to me.” He studied the road ahead of him. “Trust me.”

  I didn’t know if he meant the bike ride or him, but I tentatively gripped his waist. He reached back and pulled my arms around him, pressing my hands against the firmness of his stomach.

  My tension lifted, and I sighed, resting my cheek against the smooth leather cloaking his broad back. Heat radiated from him, soothing my anxiety.

  The engine of the motorcycle roaring to life cut through the silence.

  As we took off, I clamped my arms in a death grip to keep from falling off as my body jerked backward. The scenery whizzed by with amazing speed like a rush of adrenaline. When I closed my eyes, I was flying.

  Trust him? No. But for now, I was going to enjoy the ride.

  ****

  “This is your house?” It was bigger than the last apartment complex I’d lived in.

  Griffith shrugged. “The house was my parents’. They’re gone. Now it’s mine.”

  Still feeling the sharp pains of the loss of Tessa, I’d have given up any house to have her back. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged.

  I stretched, taking in the surroundings. Out of town was an understatement. It was more like out of civilization. I’d never have guessed this desolate town existed a few miles from the city. The sunlight barely broke through the canopy of trees despite their naked, skeletal appearance, leaving the house cast in dark shadows. Thick curtains covered the windows and moss obscured most of the brickwork. Brown, wasted vines roped over the majority of the structure. “Just how old is this house?”