“The waitress . . . That really happened?”
He nodded. “How does it make you feel?”
“I don’t know. There was a minute where I kind of liked it. I mean, I wouldn’t have liked it if it had been just anyone but I guess when I saw the way you looked at her in the restaurant, it kind of made me mad at her. But then I think I felt really bad. It seemed so cruel. I don’t know if I would have thought it seemed so cruel if it was just me and you. But all those people standing around and laughing while she died. I guess I’m just not used to it. Or it’s just not my idea of a good time. But, more than anything, I guess I found it entertaining. I mean, when I was actually standing there watching it . . . I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything quite like that.”
He slid his shoes on. She couldn’t tell if he was paying attention to her or not. “All the feelings will go away. It doesn’t happen overnight. What you’re feeling is years and years of being taught to feel a certain way. But it’s all based on perception. You don’t want to be perceived as a cruel person. You’re thinking, if you get caught, you’ll go to jail and you don’t want to be seen as a criminal. But no one sees you anyway so you have to get rid of those perceptions. Even God doesn’t see you.” He laughed. “Just kidding. There is no God. Meaning there is no moral judgment. No eternity of damnation and hellfire. Meaning the only people that particular experience mattered to were those directly involved. And the only person who didn’t like it, probably, was the waitress. See, it’s very democratic.”
“What about her family?”
“What about the families of cancer patients, car accident victims, anything? Start worrying about people like that and you’ll go crazy.”
“I really have to pee.”
“No toilet. You should go on the mattress. The Boys’ll never know. And I wouldn’t mind watching.”
She dropped her shorts and squatted on the mattress, Walt watching her the entire time. She couldn’t really imagine anyone getting off on that but she guessed her imagination would soon change as much as her reality. She wiped herself with one of the disgusting blankets, pulled her shorts back up, and followed Walt outside.
He hadn’t told her exactly what time it was but it was one of those days where the sun never came out so it didn’t really matter. It would be gray and feel like dawn all day before gradually bleeding into a foggy night. They got in the car and she noticed the keys dangling from the ignition. She could have left. Now she couldn’t even say it hadn’t occurred to her. She remembered thinking about it and not doing it. A voice in her head told her that had been her chance. If she convinced herself she wasn’t responsible for anything that had happened before that, she would have to accept responsibility for everything that happened after.
Walt started the car and headed down the long lane, everything monochrome and damp and flattened.
“What would you have done if I’d left last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you and the Boys left to, um, retrieve the waitress . . . What would you have done if I’d taken the car and gone back home?”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
“But what if I had?”
“Then I guess I would have had to admit that I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Yeah. I told you . . . Me wanting you to be here is only part of it. You want to be here as much as I want you to be here. I guess if you had taken the car back to your house I would have found a different car and changed my plans. And would have wished the best for you because going back is not always an option.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing I can explain. And nothing I’ve tried. It’s just . . . well, the people who I’ve heard of trying to go back tend to disappear.”
“Disappear?”
“Yep.”
“Disappear like you never hear from them again or disappear like poof?”
“Poof!” Walt’s eyes widened. “The earth has a way of swallowing people up.”
That made her think of a cave again. She remembered the old man from last night.
“What happened to that old man?”
“Old man?”
“Yeah. He was in one of the smaller beds last night but he was gone this morning. What happened to him?”
“I don’t remember seeing him. The Boys must have done something with him.”
Erica thought she saw something glint in his eye. She was only seeing one side of him so it might not have been anything but she was pretty sure he knew something he wasn’t telling her. She could have pressed him about it but they were on the highway cutting through the drizzle and she decided to think about something that wouldn’t start an argument and was not as depressing. Like food.
“So hungry,” she said.
“First exit.” He reached over and patted her bare thigh. “Breakfast hungry or non-specific hungry?”
“Breakfast would be awesome.”
They took the first exit they came to and went to Bob Evans.
Arguments and Reconciliation
Breakfast for dinner was consumed in relative silence. Again, the check was ignored. Again, they smoked their cigarettes in the restaurant once they finished eating. Erica said, “I feel like a disrespectful asshole,” and Walt told her she didn’t have to do it. She didn’t stop.
Outside, the day was still heavy and gray. Walt said he had to shit and walked over to a massive black Hummer, climbed up on the hood, and dropped his pants. Erica, having no real interest in watching him, walked over to the edge of the parking lot and looked out at the highway. Since she’d never really had the chance to explore or even really think about exploring anything other than her very small section of the world, the cars seemed to be traveling to abstract destinations. She remembered Walt saying something about going to Dayton, Ohio. She’d have to ask him what that was about. Hopefully he had plans to move on to somewhere else after that. Dayton, Ohio, did not sound as exotic as New York City or Los Angeles or New Orleans.
She took a deep breath of the clean, watery air. An odd sense of calm settled in her marrow. She felt emptied out. Somehow, it was like the ability to do anything she wanted to do made her blank and dreamless, void of ideas. She had no clue what she wanted to do. Walt seemed to have ideas and she was content to follow him for now. She didn’t know how long that would last. She had felt independent for the past few years and now she had to wonder if she had been independent by choice or if she had been independent because she was alone. Or if the independence was the result of some harmonious balance. Of course, she hadn’t been independent. She’d been chained to the house. Chained to Granny. But that had kept her from thinking she should leave the house to do something and maybe she hadn’t wanted to leave to begin with. Maybe she could have just stayed there for the rest of her life, experience everything through the pages of Glamor Face or the television or the internet. The world at a safe distance.
Was that what the unnoticeable thing was? A way to take part in the world from a safe distance? A vampiric observation with virtually no chance for repercussion?
Walt came back and said, “Check it out.” He pointed to the Hummer.
An astronomical amount of shit was piled on the hood. It looked like it could have been the shit of several men over the span of a week. The amorphous pile reached halfway up the windshield and oozed over the sides onto the glistening asphalt.
“Whaddya think?” he said.
“That’s . . . a lot of shit.”
“Fuck yeah it is. I feel way better. You ready?”
She followed him to the car and they were back on the highway in a matter of minutes. Walt seemed to be in a good mood so she didn’t bother him with the Dayton, Ohio, business for now. The radio was on and he hummed along to it. Classic rock. She didn’t know why she expected more from him. Certain aspects were completely alien while most were just like virtually every guy she’d ever known. Still feeling like the day was weighing her down, she reach
ed into the back seat, grabbed a sweater, balled it up against the window, and went to sleep.
When she woke up about an hour later, Walt was chewing on one of her tampons and making a horrible face. She knew it was a tampon because the wrapper was in one of the cup holders between them and the string dangled from his mouth.
Noticing she was awake, he said, “These things are terrible.”
“Are you an idiot?” Maybe she was cranky.
He slapped a hand down on her thigh and squeezed until she whimpered.
“Hurting me,” she gasped.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I want you to.”
She was determined not to say it. She wondered what would happen. His fingers stabbed to the bone and radiated bright tendrils of pain. Nearly at the point of surrendering and issuing an apology she thought, He has one hand on my leg and one hand on the wheel. Quickly, she punched her hand in between his back and the seat and wrapped it around the gun she hoped would be there.
“Let go of me.” She aimed at his face, hands shaking.
“You won’t do it. Say you’re sorry.”
“The only way I’ll say I’m sorry is after I shoot you in the face. Let go.”
He squeezed harder.
She pulled the trigger. The driver-side window exploded and a car in the lane next to them went screeching and sliding into the grassy median of the highway. Walt let go, probably more out of surprise than anything. Now he had both hands on the wheel. “Man, how the fuck did you miss? Well, miss me, anyway. Pretty sure you got whoever was in the car beside us.”
Erica looked back. The car had come to a stop in the median. No one got out and then they were too far away for her to see it.
“I could try again.”
“But you won’t.”
“So, when the playing field is leveled, it’s still the gun that’s the real decision-maker, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Both of us can do what we want. You wanted me to say I’m sorry. I wanted you to let go of me. How long would that have gone on? Until I shot you? Until you shot me?”
“Or until you said you were sorry. That would have been called a peaceful negotiation.”
“But I would have never said I’m sorry.”
“Then you would have probably passed out from the pain and I would have taken my hand off and by the time you came to I would have most likely forgotten about everything.”
He took the soggy tampon from his mouth and tossed it out the window. Erica put the gun on the floorboard.
“We’re gonna need a new car now.”
“I think, before anything, I’m going to need a shower.”
Walt gripped the steering wheel tighter, his top lip pulling back from his blocky white teeth.
“Unless you think I can just want myself clean.”
“When you can do anything you want, hygiene is not an issue.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means it doesn’t matter if your pussy stinks or not.”
“Okay, well, I don’t know if you plan on being around me for a long time or not but here’s at least the first thing you should know about me: I like to be clean. I’m not a freak or anything, but I’m probably going to require a shower at least every couple of days or so. Given the . . . festivities of last night, at least one of them involving you, your friends, and a fuck ton of body fluids, I feel especially dirty even though it hasn’t been that long since my last shower.”
“Can it wait until later? We can just get a room somewhere and have a good night’s sleep.”
“And after we shower, you’ll go down on me?”
He smiled and held out his hand. “Deal.”
She shook his hand. “Deal.”
They continued along the highway, the wind deafening through the busted window, well into Illinois, well into dark.
“So what’s this about Dayton, Ohio?”
“That’s where we’re going. Ever been?”
“No. I’ve never been anywhere.”
“Seriously? No vacations or anything?”
“Nope.” She waited for him to press it, already half-knowing he wouldn’t. “So why Dayton?”
“Why not Dayton?”
“Is that their city slogan? It sounds really defeatist if it is.”
“I’m not sure. I just got a feeling the last time I was there. Like I’d be back or something. I think it’ll be a perfect place to start.”
“Start what?”
“Our life together.”
She didn’t know if he was being romantic or sarcastic. The singularity of that noun did not go unnoticed.
“Are you serious about wanting to spend the rest of your life with me?”
He put his hand on her thigh and gently rubbed it up and down over the blooming bruises. “I am. Just being around you gives me a certain feeling. Something I’ve never felt before.”
“But we don’t really know anything about each other.”
“What’s to know? I’m just like every other guy except for my gift.”
“You’re supposed to want to know everything about me.”
“I only know what you want to tell me. You’ll tell me what you think is important. Do you want to tell me everything there is to know about you? Because that includes the really dark, painful stuff too. If you want to know everything I’ve ever done, I could tell you. I carry a record of it up here.” He pointed a finger at his temple. “What matters is now. Now and from now on. Forward momentum.”
Erica didn’t look at him. She stared at the taillights of the car in front of them. The highway now felt dark and claustrophobic. “Maybe later. I might want to talk about it sometime. I just need to know you’ll listen.” It seemed like an evasive response and she wasn’t sure why she answered in exactly that way except, when she tried to see her past as a series of flashing vignettes and faces, she had trouble thinking of anything. There was her. There was her dead mother. Her absent father. Her sick and then dead Granny. But that was all just words. Sometimes she thought of her memory as a photo left in the sun and, if she didn’t see a person nearly every second of every day, it was like they just faded away.
“I’ll listen whenever you want me to. But, if I were you, I wouldn’t expect me to tell you anything. Agreed?”
She was still trying to grasp something, anything from her own memory, and absently said, “If I ever ask, you can just lie to me.”
They stopped at a gas station off the highway. He told her he was going to fill the car up and asked if she’d go in and grab some cigarettes. She almost said she didn’t have any money and remembered she didn’t need it. A tired and trashy woman with bleached hair hanging around a putty pink face stood behind the counter watching a reality TV show.
“A carton of Camel Lights,” Erica said.
The woman didn’t acknowledge her.
“Excuse me,” Erica said.
The woman turned around to give a quick scan of the pumps. The only cars out there were Erica’s and an even shittier Dodge Neon. As the woman’s gaze returned, she finally noticed Erica. Erica recognized the now almost customary click of surprise when the woman saw the lines on her face.
“I’m sorry, hon,” the woman said. “What can I get you?”
“Carton of Camel Lights.” Erica kept her eyes trained on the counter, like the cashier had some sort of built in retinal scanner.
The woman sat the carton on the counter without asking for ID and gave her the total. Erica grabbed the carton and said, “Thanks,” before heading for the door and fighting the urge to run.
She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe for the woman to say, “Stop,” or “Hey, you can’t leave without paying,” or “Those aren’t free.” Given the woman’s size advantage, Erica half-expected the woman to come after her, physically stop her from leaving the store.
But none of that happened.
She stepped outside to see th
e Neon idling just across the walk, Walt behind the wheel. It took her only a second to realize what had happened. Next to the pump where the Neon had been, a sloppily dressed man lay face down on the asphalt, probably dead but possibly just severely injured. Beside the pump they had pulled up to was Erica’s car, engulfed in a mountain of flame. Erica rushed to get into the car, feeling like the whole parking lot could explode at any moment.
“Got us a car,” Walt said.
“Got us some cigarettes,” Erica said.
He slowly pulled onto the road and they were on the highway within minutes.
“This car smells like ass,” Walt said.
“It’s pretty foul.”
“Maybe we can get another one at the hotel.”
“It’s a shit car anyway.”
It was after midnight before Walt started looking for someplace to stay the night. They were about an hour away from the Indiana border.
“I hope there wasn’t much in the car you needed. I really just threw all your shit in there to have something to do. It didn’t look like anything that couldn’t be replaced.”
“Everything can be replaced.”
“Tomorrow, if you want, we can find a different car and hit a store. You can get some new clothes and makeup. Girl shit.”
“That’d be nice.”
“I really want to eat you out. Like, right now.”
Erica shook her head. “No way. I’m way too nasty.”
“I can fix that.”
Maybe he knew what he was doing. Erica wasn’t sure. He pulled the car off an exit that didn’t have a number. There was something that looked like a truck stop, fluorescent and glowing. Erica’s stomach rumbled. There would be food at a truck stop. But, despite the overall open appearance of it, there wasn’t a single person or vehicle on the grounds.
“I’m not taking a whore’s bath in a shitty truck stop.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Besides, you’ll do what I want you to.”
Erica thought about arguing with him but it hadn’t been terrible so far. And it was better than really thinking. Her brain still felt tired. She decided to commit when it was convenient to her. Besides, Walt had proclaimed his desire to eat her out which meant whatever he had planned might be kind of sexual. While she didn’t ever want to see herself as submissive in her day to day life she had decided that, sexually, since meeting Walt, she kind of got off on it. And then she wondered if that had been the problem with the boys who’d come before him. Maybe they weren’t dominant enough. Maybe they weren’t mean enough. Maybe they weren’t rough enough.
Sociopaths In Love Page 6