The Nightcrawler

by Mick Ridgewell

  Scott drove out onto the street slowly moving alongside the rig. When the two front bumpers were even, someone darted out in front of him and stopped directly in Scott’s path. He jammed both feet on the brake pedal and the tires screeched to a halt. It was a girl, or young woman. She stood there for a few seconds, eyes wide with fright. The sun’s reflection gave her a celestial glow.

  Her trance-like stare was broken by some noise from behind the rig. She ran to the passenger side door of the Charger, swung it open and climbed in before Scott could object.

  She screamed, “Get the hell out of here!”

  Scott hit the gas pedal and blue smoke from the burning rubber of the rear tires spewed out from the wheel wells. He stopped at the corner and looked in his rearview. A large man carrying a baseball bat was running up the road yelling something that to Scott was just gibberish. Gibberish that was without a doubt, fueled by anger.

  The girl hugged her backpack and looked back over her left shoulder. “Go.” Her tone and volume made it quite clear that whoever that was back there was dangerous. The tires squawked a bit as the Charger made the right turn and accelerated back up the road to the interstate.

  With the angry batter no longer in view Scott looked over at his passenger. She was very young and pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. Scott’s best guess had her at eighteen, twenty tops. She wore denim shorts that were tight around her thighs, a white sleeveless T-shirt that seemed a size too small and a Detroit Tiger’s cap. A long blonde ponytail trailed out of the cap and her blue-green eyes stared unblinking into the rearview mirror on the door.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Scott asked. She didn’t answer. She continued to stare out the window as if the guy from the truck would be giving chase any minute. Scott pulled off the road.

  “Look, either you get out of the car or answer the question. What the hell was that?”

  “Like, okay. I’ll tell you, just drive.”

  She looked at him while wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “He picked me up near Toledo. I’m hitching to LA to get a job. He seemed nice enough. When I started to fall asleep, he told me to climb in the back. Said I’d be more comfy. I’m like, it’s better than waking with a stiff neck. So I did.”

  She paused and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Stupid me.”

  “So anyway, I’m in the back sleeping and I get woken up by a hand squeezing my ti…, my breast.”

  She paused again but this time she seemed resolute, not shaken at all.

  “Creeped me out. Well I pepper-sprayed the fucker. Didn’t get him clean or he wouldn’t have chased us down the road with that bat, but he’ll think twice the next time he tries that. Like, what a perv.”

  “No doubt he will,” Scott replied grinning like she was his little sister who had just chased off an overly amorous suitor.

  “I tell you, he seemed nice but he sure was gross. He smelled worse than a football team after a game. Had a real mangy looking face and the yellowest teeth you ever saw.” She shuddered as if a cold draft had just slinked down her back. “And he was trying to be Mr. Cool. I climb in the truck and he says, ‘How far ya goin’ babe?’ then he shoots his finger at me like it’s a gun and clicks his tongue.” She paused again shaking her head. “What a geek.”

  She didn’t notice that she had lost Scott somewhere. He was now staring through the windshield, his left hand on the wheel and his right massaging his temple, the speedometer climbing. The needle was past one twenty and still going up, the scenery a blur through the side windows. The Charger began to whine in protest.

  “Hey mister, slow down!”

  Scott turned toward her with a start then looked at the instrument panel. He released the gas pedal and the whining engine resumed its throaty drone as it coasted along the highway. When it got below fifty Scott guided the car onto the gravel shoulder sending a huge cloud of white dust into the air. The Charger fishtailed a bit before coming to a stop on the shoulder.

  He sat silent and motionless staring into nothingness as deep and black as outer space. Sweat beaded his forehead. His respiration was fast and deep. He could feel a throbbing deep inside his head. He just sat there staring.

  A tiny voice broke his trance. “Mister, are you okay? Like you were way out there.”

  Slowly he turned to face her. He had forgotten there was someone in the car. “Who are you?”

  “Ashley. You picked me up after I got out of the truck. You know, across from the Wendy’s.”

  “How old are you, Ashley?”

  “Nineteen, almost twenty, I’ll be twenty next month. You think I look twenty?” She turned to face him smiling as though he were about to take her school picture. “Some people think I look much older than I am. I’ve been getting into bars since I was sixteen. Once a doorman was fired because he let me in and somehow they found out how old I was. I…”

  Scott put his hand up between them and she got the hint and stopped talking. “Ashley, I’ve got a headache the size of Texas.” Both his hands were rubbing circular indents into the side of his head.

  “You shouldn’t be driving then, should you?” She grabbed his right wrist and pulled his arm toward her. She squeezed her thumb and index finger into the skin between his thumb and index finger. “It’s a pressure point.” She said. “My mom taught me this. It really works.”

  “Ashley, can you drive?”

  “I’ve been diving since I was like eleven. Daddy used to let me drive the pickup when we were out in the country. He said some day I might need to drive him home if he got hurt. I was always like, I’m sure.”

  “Good. Then you drive. Stay at or below the speed limit. Take the next exit that has some kind of lodging. Okay?”

  “Like, no probs.”

  Scott looked at her, raised eyebrow, as if he were an English teacher. “Ashley, please do not use ‘Like’ anymore. You seem to be a bright girl and it makes you sound like an idiot. And besides that I hate it.” She nodded.

  They both got out of the car and traded places. Before Scott had his seatbelt fastened, the rear wheels were spinning in the gravel and the Charger fishtailed onto the road in a billowing cloud of white dust.

  “Jesus Christ, Ashley! You can’t drive this car like Daddy’s old pickup.”

  “Like relax. I’m just getting used to it. I’ll be fine.”

  Scott put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Scott had fallen asleep in the car while Ashley drove and wasn’t sure where she’d stopped. He knew when he checked in that they were at a Best Western somewhere in Missouri and that was good enough. He got two keys for a room with two beds. You’re welcome to the other bed he told her handing her the second key. He paid no attention to the you dirty old man look of disdain the desk clerk gave him when Ashley took the key. The headache had exhausted him and all he wanted was a bed.

  While sitting at the desk in room 218 he estimated that between the car and the room he had slept for about twelve hours. He hadn’t slept twelve hours in a single day since high school.

  The room was dark but for the luminescent glow from his laptop screen and a dull hue from a desk lamp. Scott was dressed only in black boxers, he had a towel around his shoulders, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Ashley slept while he checked his e-mails, which were all non-issues. Most were congratulatory praise from his boss and co-workers. A note to say his dog Max seemed to be missing him. Thomas checked to see what he thought of the Charger. A few thank-you notes from clients and the last a potential client inquiring about a Lamborghini.

  He spent most of the time just staring at the screen. His mind was going over the previous two days. That smelly fuck from Detroit, just a homeless guy, that’s all he is. He wasn’t pumping gas, or walking through the streets of Forest Glenn. He wasn’t driving the truck Ashley jumped out of and he definitely wasn’t chasing us down the road swinging a baseball bat. He was still in Detroit panhandling for
change. Maybe he would hit up that pompous ass Thomas for change today. Funny thing, Thomas hadn’t really done anything to offend Scott but Scott didn’t like him much just the same.

  About to do some online research on a new contact in the UK. Scott heard a rustling sound to his left. He turned to see Ashley get out of bed and walk into the bathroom. The light in the room was very dim but she appeared to be wearing nothing but a T-shirt. The loose fitting garment hung almost to her knees. It was much too big to be hers; maybe it belonged to her father or a boyfriend. The fabric seemed well-worn and draped her every curve in a provocative fashion. Scott’s conscious mind was telling him she was much too young, but some inherent animal tendency deep inside prevented him from breaking his gaze until she closed the bathroom door.

  The sight of the cotton fabric clinging to her curves woke all his senses. The AC sent a chill down his exposed torso, the air smelled faintly of tobacco, and he realized he hadn’t eaten for thirteen hours. When the girl came out of the bathroom he said, “I’m going to get some breakfast, are you hungry?”

  “Huh! Oh. Shit, is it even morning yet?” She was squinting at the laptop then yawned. She didn’t notice the way Scott’s eyes seemed to be locked on her body. She stretched her arms out, arching her back and standing up on her toes reaching for the ceiling to shake off the sleep. The cotton hem of the T-shirt climbed enticingly high on her thighs. When she settled back into an “at ease” stance, she grinned and asked, “Sounds cool. Do I have time for a shower?”

  “Sure take your time.”

  Her youthful exuberance and tone had extinguished his erotic interest and his attention returned to the computer. Ashley turned back toward the shower then stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

  “Hey mister, you were in such a crap mood in the car last night, you didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Sorry I guess between the mad batter and the killer headache my manners took a break. The name’s Scott.”

  She beamed like a child being offered ice cream, “Pleased to meet you Scott,” then she disappeared behind the bathroom door.

  When Scott heard the water running in the shower he put on a pair of pleated shorts and a slightly wrinkled shirt. He pulled on ankle length white socks and a pair of white runners. He repacked his small suitcase excluding his carry-on bag and laptop and took them out to the car.

  It had rained overnight and the wet pavement surrounding the Best Western sparkled in the floodlights mounted on the side of the building. The air was refreshing compared to the heat of the previous day. It smelled of nightcrawlers and the damp decaying mulch piled high around the landscaped grounds of the hotel. A particularly large worm had caught Scott’s eye. It slithered across the parking lot just behind the Charger. Nearly a foot long, it left a trail of mucous that ran all the way back to where the lamp light faded into the night. Scott stood watching, wondering why they always came up on the pavement when it rained. If they didn’t get underground before the sun got too warm they would dry up and die. If the birds got them, the end would be quicker. Yet there they were, all over the parking lot heading for what?

  His wonderings about the worms came to an abrupt end with the sudden bang of a car-trunk being shut. About thirty feet to his right a man stood behind a black Lincoln. He was just standing there, looking at Scott. Scott could only make out a silhouette against the streetlight behind him. The posture was eerily familiar. He began to make his way toward the Charger. His gait was unmistakable. It was him, Scott was sure of it; it was the bum from Detroit. He must have stolen a car. God knows he couldn’t afford a Lincoln. Scott locked his stare on the man’s eyes. When he stepped under the full glow of the mercury-vapor lamp overhead the light revealed his face.

  “That’s a real nice car you got there, son.” His friendly voice had an undertone of envy.

  Scott looked at him with relief. It wasn’t the bum. A tall and slender man between fifty and sixty ogled the Charger like a child in a toy store. The top of his head was completely bald and the hair on the sides mostly gray. The gentleman was well-dressed, clean-shaven, and he had a smooth gliding stride. As he approached, Scott got a thick whiff of English Leather that overpowered the smells brought on by the rain.

  Scott didn’t reply. His pulse had spiked at the sight of the man’s approach, and he was feeling a bit jittery. While he took a moment to settle his nerves, the stranger continued.

  “Yes sir. My first car out of college was just like this one. It was a 68 though. If I’d waited six more months I could’ve gotten the 69. This one’s the same color mine was.”

  He walked around the car. He didn’t seem to care whether Scott had no interest in his rambling or that he was there at all.

  “Would you like to look under the hood?” Scott asked, fully recovered from his jitters.

  “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Scott said reaching under the hood. He pulled the latch to release it. With a clunk the hood popped up and he raised it as far as it would open. Beneath the light overhead and the two bulbs Thomas had installed in the hood, the engine gleamed like it might have in a showroom forty plus years ago. Scott thought he could sell the car to this guy right now and get on a plane to LA where things would make sense.

  “My name’s Scott,” he said extending his hand.

  The man took his hand and shook it firmly, the kind of handshake that oozed confidence and leadership. “Wayne Roberts. It’s a pleasure, Scott.” Wayne was now leaning both hands on the fender of the Charger admiring the big shiny V-8 under the hood.

  Scott had satisfaction on his face and with his best used-car salesman voice he asked, “Would you like to hear her purr?”

  “I sure would, Scott.”

  Before Wayne even finished, Scott had settled himself into the driver’s seat and was putting the key in the ignition switch.

  “Wait till you hear this, Wayne,” he called out.

  Wayne stood back from the car as it started up with a rumble that echoed off the walls of the Best Western like pit lane at Indianapolis. The fabric of his shirt fluttered in the breeze from the big motor’s fan.

  Wayne resumed his place at the side of the car, staring into the engine compartment in a trance. Scott joined him and noticed that old Wayne didn’t appear to be with him. He looked like he drifted off to another world, or another time. Could it be, Scott wondered, that Wayne was cruising his hometown strip, all his hair intact and down to his shoulders? Imagining himself driving fast with his left elbow resting out of the open window, his best girl in the passenger seat and the Beatles crackling from the AM radio.

  “What do you think, Wayne?” Scott stood directly in front of the Charger now, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and sporting a smile he hoped would be sincere and friendly. Wayne looked up with a bit of a start and Scott asked, “Would you like to take a quick spin? You can drive.”

  Wayne looked down at his watch and reached out for Scott’s hand. “Thanks for showing me the car, Scott, but I have to get back inside. The wife is likely already wondering what happened to me.”

  Before Scott could even begin his sales pitch the old man was steps toward the hotel. He stopped once, turning to get another look at the car, and then waved at Scott still standing at the front bumper. Scott closed the hood and walked around to kill the engine.

  Without getting in the car, he shut the 440 down and removed the keys. Wayne was just getting to the side door of the Best Western when Scott slammed the door, the noise echoed loudly through the still morning. Scott watched Wayne enter the building, amused at the way the light over the door reflected off the top of his shiny head. It wasn’t until Wayne was out of sight that he noticed the orange glow of the rising sun silhouetting the hotel.

  He looked down at the pavement and followed what he thought was the slime trail left behind by the worm he was watching before Wayne’s arrival. He couldn’t be sure it was the same one. The parking lot was crisscrossed with glistening lines that headed in
every direction but didn’t seem to go anywhere.

  He didn’t know why the gooey trails held his attention but his eyes followed one after another. He amused himself imagining the lines as a map of the LA freeways. This one’s the Harbor freeway, that one’s the Santa Ana and the one over there’s the Hollywood Freeway. He was about to start naming the surface streets when he heard it. That sound, the clicking sound the bum made with his tongue. He could feel his heartbeat quicken and had to force himself to breath.

  He fought back the fright taking over his conscious mind and slowly looked in the direction of the noise. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even human. Twenty feet away a huge crow stood on the curb with a foot long worm dangling from his beak. He felt a bit of rage thinking that was his worm, the one he watched earlier. How stupid was that, getting mad at a bird for eating a worm. The bird was staring at Scott. It had no fear in its eyes. It was defying Scott to come closer.

  The crow flipped its head back and the worm disappeared down its throat. Then Scott noticed a shadow beneath a tree on the lawn about twenty yards from the Best Western sign. The shadow was moving. He squinted hard trying to focus on the shadow.

  “What the hell is that?”

  The sound of his own voice gave him a start. He took a step toward the crow, trying to make out the moving shadow.

  “Holy shit.”

  Two steps closer. The ground was moving. It wasn’t a shadow moving, it was the ground, dark brown wet soil moving in a wave like a mudslide after a heavy rain on a deforested hillside. The wave moved over the crow, engulfing it. The mud seemed to collect on the crow. The pile was getting taller and taller but it didn’t advance onto the parking lot. It was four feet high as Scott stepped closer. His curiosity temporarily overwhelmed his fear. He had to figure out how mud could form a pile on its own. He was in horror when he realized it wasn’t mud. It was worms. Thousands of thick brown nightcrawlers, squirming higher atop the now buried crow.