Last Exit in New Jersey

by C. E. Grundler

  She rubbed her arms. “That’s me.”

  “Are you cold?” He wriggled out of his trench coat, offering it to her. “Here.”

  “What about you?”

  He fidgeted, glancing anxiously toward the sky. “I’m good. Take it, please.”

  She slipped into the coat. It was soft and warm, with the faintest scent of baby powder.

  Hammon studied her, looking troubled. “How do you know I might not want to hurt you?”

  “I don’t, really. But you said you weren’t dangerous.”

  “Still, what if I grabbed you and tried to drag you somewhere dark and isolated…”

  “Like right here?” Maybe it shouldn’t have amused her, but it did.

  “That’s not the point. What I’m saying is, what if I tried to do something awful?”

  “Like what?”

  He blinked.

  “Awful is rather vague,” she said. “More detail would help. Awful like gruesome murder and dismemberment, or awful like kinky perverted. You need to be more specific.” Even by the dim firelight, she could see color rise in his face. “Thought so,” she said, idly rubbing his temples.

  “The point is, you don’t know,” he insisted, his voice breaking.

  “And neither do you. For all you know, I’m an axe murderer.”

  He sighed and sank back across her lap like an offering, gazing up with rapt devotion. “I wouldn’t mind as long as you never leave me.”

  Hazel traced her fingers along his, amazed by her own behavior. It was strange but she felt so safe, so comfortable, as though she could trust him. His eyes were mesmerizing, and her heart raced, her pulse so loud in her ears it sounded like someone running.

  No. That was someone running!

  “Get down,” Hammon hissed, pulling her to the ground as a beam of light bounced through the lot, arcing back and forth.

  “Hazel?” Micah called in hushed panic. The light swept past the smoldering fire and back, then locked on them, approaching fast as Hammon lay frozen, unblinking.

  “What the…oh, God, Haze…” Micah leaned close, tentatively poking Hammon. “Is he dead?”

  Hammon hiccupped.

  “Guess not.” Micah glared at her. “You scared the crap out of me; I wake up and you’re gone.” He aimed the beam at Hammon’s face. “Who’s your friend?”

  Hammon’s trembling grip on her arm tightened. Hazel snatched the flashlight, switching it off. “This is Otto.” She pulled her arm free and gave Hammon’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Otto, this is my dear, annoying cousin Micah. Otto owns Nepenthe. You remember, the boat I delivered here two years back. Small world, isn’t it?”

  “Microscopic,” Micah said flatly. “Why’s he lying there like that?”

  “He doesn’t feel good.”

  Hammon nodded in agreement. “Headache.”

  Micah shot Hazel a look that could have come straight from her father. “You scared the hell out of me, disappearing like that. You know you shouldn’t be out alone like this with some weird guy.” He glanced at Hammon. “No offense.”

  “None taken. I tried to tell her the same thing. She could get in trouble…or worse.”

  “See? Even the weird guy agrees. I think we should be getting back,” Micah said, holding his hand out.

  Hazel didn’t move. “Why?”

  Micah’s eyes narrowed. “Because I said so.”

  “Wow. For a second, you sounded just like Dad. We’re just sitting here talking.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not leaving you alone with some strange guy I don’t know. Let’s go.”

  “No, wait!” Hammon stared off at nothing for a moment. “Yeah, okay. That might work.” He looked from Hazel to Micah. “Anna…uh…I was thinking, we could maybe all go get something to eat and hang out a while. You know, just talk. All of us, I mean.”

  “We could do that,” Hazel agreed. “No one’ll know. And I’m hungry.”

  “It’s two thirty in the morning,” Micah countered. “What’s open?”

  Hazel laughed, sensing victory. “Half the diners in New Jersey.”

  “And White Castle.” Hammon struggled to sit up, digging keys out of his jeans. “There’s one right down the road. If either of you can drive stick, we could take my car.”

  I’M GOING TO COMBUST

  “You’re welcome,” Annabel said smugly. “And from now on, when I say something, don’t argue.”

  She was right, as usual. If not for Annabel’s actions, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have been at that boatyard to begin with, owning a boat that seemed to lend him instant credibility with his wary new friends. And he wouldn’t be heading up Route 9, riding shotgun in his own car, with Hazel at the wheel, grinning and shifting expertly while Micah shared the backseat with some spare sails, lines, and Hammon’s hallucination.

  “Talk to them,” Annabel said. “See what we can learn. Like where they’re from.”

  Hammon nodded. “You two live around here?”

  Hazel looked back at Micah.

  “We’re visiting friends,” he said.

  “Deliberately vague,” Annabel said.

  Hammon said, “For how long?”

  Micah glanced at Hazel in the rearview. She shook her head ever so slightly. “Hard to say,” Micah answered, examining the roll cage. “This car is too cool. I’m driving on the way back.” He met Hammon’s eyes in the mirror. “You race professionally? That how you got all messed up, in some epic wreck?”

  Hazel twisted back and whacked Micah on the shoulder. “Sorry,” she told Hammon. “Micah has the tact of a five-year-old.”

  Hammon shrugged. “It’s okay. And yeah, pretty much, crash, burn, crispy to well done. Lots of fun reconstructive surgery, grafts, metal rods, and plates and all.”

  “And the fangs?” Micah asked.

  Hammon nodded. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of weird, right? They’re implants. I was pretty messed up after that whole wreck. Physically and mentally, I mean. I was actually dead for a time. And for a while I really wished I’d stayed that way.”

  “You were dead?” Micah leaned forward between the seats. “Like flatline, no pulse, no breathing, for real? That is so cool. What was it like?”

  Hazel gave him a smack in the arm.

  “I’m just asking!”

  “It’s okay,” Hammon said. “It was peaceful; that’s all I remember, at least until I got pulled back. Then there was pain. Drains in my skull, skin grafts, endless surgeries; like I was some twisted torture experiment. My face was real busted up and most of my teeth were history and the doctor said I’d need implants. I was feeling pretty morbid, hung up on the whole ‘undead’ thing, so I insisted on the fangs. But my one doc was cool, he said they might be good for my mental state, and I could always change them back. But now I’ve got this thing about going near hospitals and pretty much anyone in a white coat, so I never got around to it. It’s hard to explain; when I did it, I had my reasons. Most times it’s not an issue. I usually just avoid daylight. And people. And smiling.”

  Micah grinned at Hazel. “You think your dad freaked when I dyed my hair blue? He’ll love this! Hey! You got satellite radio. Sweet!” He leaned up farther and poked at the presets, set to alternative rock, big band, and classical. He elbowed Hazel. “No country.”

  “You like country?” Hammon asked.

  “Hell no,” Micah said. “I hear fiddles and banjos, I get nervous. But her dad has satellite radio in his rig, and all he’ll listen to is commercial-free, cussin’, cheatin’, drinkin’, honky-tonkin’ music.”

  “He’s serious,” Hazel said. “A while back my dad hauled a boat for someone who sells high-end sound systems, and in exchange the guy installed a real nice setup. But don’t dare change the station and you’re supposed to turn the volume to zero and shut the radio before you shut the truck, or you get a twenty-minute lecture on how that degrades the sound quality on the speakers.”

  “Like you can even tell with that music.” M
icah grinned at Hammon. “Know what you get when you play country music backwards? You get your dog back, your house back, your pickup back, and your wife back.”

  “It’s not all bad,” Hazel said. “There’s some good alternative stuff, like Cross Canadian Ragweed, Wilco, and Cowboy Mouth.”

  Micah grimaced. “Watch it, Haze. Your Down Jersey roots are showing.”

  “And what’s wrong with Down Jersey?” she challenged.

  “What’s Down Jersey?” Hammon asked.

  “The Jersey Everglades,” Micah said. “The southwest end of the state. Miles of desolate, barren, godforsaken salt marsh, sand, pines, and bugs so big they’d carry off a Buick.”

  “Bivalve,” Annabel said.

  Hazel smiled. “Heaven.”

  “Yeah,” Micah said. “If you’re the thirteenth Leeds child.”

  Hammon nodded like he knew what that meant.

  “The Jersey Devil,” Annabel explained.

  Ahead, a red tractor trailer swung wide into the oncoming lane. Hazel and Micah swiveled in unison as they passed.

  “Wrong stacks,” Micah grumbled quietly.

  Hazel nodded, scowling. “Wrong running lights.”

  “I’d put money on it the truck Stevenson’s got has a real nice stereo,” Annabel said, “But what’s Stevenson doing with their truck?”

  They pulled into the Route 9 White Castle, nestled beneath radio and water towers. Hazel parked and climbed out, holding the seat forward for Micah. Hammon stared at the building, radiating terrifyingly white light.

  “You coming?” Hazel said, waiting.

  “I figured we’d use the drive-through.” That was why he’d suggested White Castle to begin with. He couldn’t go inside. There was light inside. LOTS of light. What if she was repulsed? What if—

  “Seriously?” Hands on her hips, Annabel glared at him. “You vowed you’d die for her, and you can’t even go into a freakin’ White Castle?”

  She had a point. He took a deep breath and climbed out, following Hazel through the glass doors and into florescent-lit doom. The lights scorched down, though no one seemed to notice him or care.

  “And you didn’t burst into flame,” Annabel said. “Go figure.”

  “Give me a minute,” Hazel told him, ducking into the bathroom. Hammon backed behind the polished stainless-soda dispensers. Without his coat he felt naked and exposed, and he pulled his shirt closed, trying his best to will himself invisible.

  Micah strolled over. “You okay?”

  Looking down, Hammon nodded.

  “You sure? You look like you’re gonna pass out. Relax. I think she likes you. That little rag boat of yours scored some high points. And besides, she digs scars.”

  “See,” Annabel said. “There you go.”

  “And that’s why we need to talk.”

  And here it comes. The “get lost” speech. Micah stepped to the counter, ordered half the menu, then turned to Hammon. “You got to understand: Haze, she’s grown up kind of sheltered. She doesn’t usually let people get close. I don’t want to see her get hurt. She gets upset, that could be real hazardous to your health. You follow?”

  “Are you telling me to leave?”

  Micah’s eyes narrowed. “Would you?”

  Hammon swallowed, straightening. “No.”

  “Even under threats of violence.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Micah nodded. “Thought so. You seem decent. Weird, but with her that’s a plus. I’m just saying, be careful. Real careful.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t upset her, don’t make any sudden moves or try anything stupid without her permission, you’ll be fine.”

  Annabel said, “I have a bad feeling Stevenson upset her.”

  Hammon’s stomach twisted; he could still picture Hazel passing him in the Viper, her eyes glistening with tears. He didn’t want to imagine what Stevenson had done; the possibilities were too awful to consider. All he knew was first chance he got he’d be paying that evil bastard a visit.

  “Steady,” Annabel said. “Don’t get all worked up until we know more. Stevenson may be a scumbag, but I don’t see him doing anything to hurt a kid like her.”

  Hazel returned as Micah paid and she studied Hammon, looking from him to Micah with concern. “What?”

  Hammon couldn’t speak. Micah only grinned. “I told him how you’re into weird guys in trench coats.” Micah turned to Hammon as he collected the food and moved to a table. “She’s even got a poster of Silent Bob on her cabin door.”

  “CABIN,” Annabel pointed out. “Not bedroom. I’ll bet that sunken boat in Bivalve was theirs.”

  Hazel glared at Micah in mock aggravation, shooting her straw wrapper at him as she took a seat. She looked up at Hammon, still standing, and she slid over, making space beside her and smiling reassuringly. Micah spread the feast across the table and they dug in, eagerly grabbing fries and clam strips.

  More than anything Hammon really wanted to pretend all was good and they were just three kids out late having fun, but he suspected Hazel and Micah were in more trouble than they realized. For their sakes, he needed to learn what he could about their connections to Stevenson and Revenge’s disappearance.

  Coached by Annabel, he delicately fished for information. His new friends spoke of random things—music, food, movies, and pets—but behind the smiles and laughter, their answers were cautious, avoiding anything too specific, especially names and places. They worked as a team, casually skirting and deflecting his questions, redirecting the conversation. Every so often Hazel seemed to relax a bit, or perhaps she was getting tired. Her guard would drop, and Micah would shoot her a meaningful glance, a gentle kick under the table, or he’d interrupt her altogether.

  There was one thing Hammon did confirm, though, much to his profound amazement: Hazel seemed genuinely interested in him. Even as he stumbled over his own words, she understood exactly what he meant. She didn’t appear concerned by his weirdness; in fact, as Micah had said, it seemed to set her at ease in some inexplicable way. She listened intently as he spoke of Gary’s shop, cars, dogs, and cats. Annabel steered him clear of mentioning Revenge, hidden trucks, sunken schooners, or evil beyond all measure, even as questions piled up in his brain.

  By the time Micah announced that they should start heading back, Hammon concluded he knew next to nothing about Hazel, only that she’d somehow stolen his boat and his heart and he couldn’t live another day without her. Her path had crossed Stevenson’s; he didn’t know how or why, but clearly things had gone badly. She was trusting, innocent, and vulnerable, and she was in more danger than she could comprehend. It was up to him to protect her.

  The first hint of day was creeping over the horizon as they parked at the boatyard. When they’d all gotten out, Micah said, “Sorry, kiddies. Fun’s over. The sun’ll be up soon, which means our friend here needs to return to his coffin, and our hosts might not appreciate us being out all night.”

  Hazel nodded, color rising in her cheeks. “Can we have a minute?”

  Micah rolled his eyes but strolled on toward the shed. Hazel turned to Hammon. She nibbled her lip, apprehension in her eyes.

  “Kiss her,” Annabel whispered.

  Hammon froze. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to pass out. The sky was growing brighter by the second. He had to do something, anything, beside stand there paralyzed. Hazel stepped forward, touched his hand, and he jumped. This was insane. Why couldn’t he have just kidnapped her? Then things would have been under control.

  “Doubtful,” Annabel said.

  He’d try again and this time he wouldn’t let Annabel stop him. He needed some rope, strong and secure, but soft enough not to hurt.

  “No,” Annabel snapped. “You need to kiss her, tell her you’ll see her later, then go pay Stevenson a visit.”

  “There you go again.” Hazel pushed the hair back from his eyes. “Off somewhere in your head.”

  “I’m afraid it’ll all fall apart. That’s the story of
my life. You’re gonna snap out of your trance and run screaming. Things like you don’t happen to me.”

  “You worry too much.”

  Hammon hiccupped. “Force of habit. Survival of the paranoid.”

  What about chloroform? Did it really work, or was that just in the movies? Where would he even get it, and was it safe? He wouldn’t use it if there was any risk. He didn’t want to hurt her, only to protect her. Once he kidnapped her, they’d be alone together, miles from shore, safe from the world, then he could explain everything.

  Annabel sighed impatiently. “What part of no don’t you get?”

  Hazel fidgeted, waiting. There was duct tape aboard Nepenthe. That would work. He moved closer, breathing in the scent of her skin, and he started to lean to kiss her, then panicked, ducking to the side.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, backing up.

  Her arms slipped around his waist, pulling him close, and she smiled. “It’s okay.” Her lips touched his, and tentatively she kissed him.

  “Awwww,” Micah said behind them. He’d walked back for her. “How nauseatingly sweet. Now break it up, young lady, before you get cooties.”

  “Yeah,” Annabel snickered. “And you need to lock yourself in the head for a while.”

  “I’ll see you tonight?” Hazel asked.

  He’d find Stevenson, find out what happened that night, then he’d be back. He’d get everything he needed. Rope, duct tape…He was sure he was forgetting something important. But what?

  “To knock it off and tell her yes,” Annabel said. “And give her your number.”

  “Definitely. Here.” He dug a paper from his pocket, scribbling on it. “My number. I’ve got some things to do, but I’ll be back, definitely. About nine, okay? You like soft cones? We’ll go to the Dairy Queen.”

  “Okay.” She smiled. “Oh, wait. Your coat—” Hazel started slipping it off.

  “Keep it. Then you have to see me again.”

  And this time, he’d be ready.