Truck Stop

by John Penney

  Roger took another hit off his joint. The faint sounds of sex drifted to him over the drumming rain. He looked the other direction and saw a double trailer-truck. Through the partially open shade, Roger could see Lucinda grinding away on top of some unseen trucker. She arched her back and thrust out her perky, pale breasts; the man’s hands slid up from below and grabbed them firmly. Rough, old hands. Black dried oil under the nails. They squeezed hard, but Lucinda didn’t react; she just kept riding away with a distant look in her eyes and her best “fuck me hard” expression frozen on her face.

  Roger couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in Lucinda’s head. Was she counting her fee? Or was she counting time until he came? The dirty hands gripped harder; Roger half expected them to leave oily marks on her milky white tits. God, this place was weird.

  “I hear she’s cheap, but her blow jobs really suck.”

  Roger looked over, startled. Kat was standing right behind him in the alcove.

  “And I don’t mean that in a good way,” she added with a smile, and reached over for the joint.

  Roger hesitated, passed the joint to her. “Bad, huh? Then you can definitely count me out,” he smiled back.

  Kat took a deep hit, exhaling long and slow. She studied him for a moment in silence, then said, “You know, you looked a little freaked when you came back from the bathroom. Cockroaches a little much for you?”

  “No, didn’t see any roaches,” he said, before taking another hit.

  “Too bad. They’re actually kinda like family. I’ve got names for most of them.”

  Roger chuckled, passed the joint back to her. She started to take another hit, then hesitated. “So, what then? You run into one of our local freakazoids back there?”

  Roger shook his head. “No.”

  Kat pressed on. “Well, you don’t strike me as a dude who gets put off his game if someone doesn’t courtesy flush. What was it?”

  Roger assessed his new friend for a moment; she wasn’t going to let this go. He’d been in this conversation a million times before, and it always went one way or the other. He had learned to inch his way into the topic and gauge how people were responding. If the explanation went south, he’d have to laugh it off and pretend he was bullshitting them, or, if they were open to the idea, things would be fairly cool. Most of the time he could tell how the person would react; sometimes he was surprised. It seemed like a pretty good bet Kat would be cool, so he shrugged. “I…I had an encounter,” he said.

  Kat looked at him, puzzled. “An encounter. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Doesn’t sound good, but at least we’re getting somewhere.”

  Roger studied her a little longer, then decided to just drop it out there cold. “I’m a sensitive.”

  Kat held on to this a moment in her head, trying to digest exactly what he was saying. “A…sensitive,” she repeated.

  “I can see things a lot of people can’t. Ghosts. Spirits. Apparitions.”

  Kat brightened. “Residual energy stuff?”

  Roger had read her right. She was just new age enough to buy into it. Either that, or her parents were new agers, and she had grown up around it. “Sure. Residual energy stuff. That works too.”

  Kat gazed up at him. “No shit?”

  “No shit,” Roger said firmly.

  There was a long beat, and a smile spread across Kat’s face. “Y’know, this is, like, cool. Very cool.”

  “Cool? No. Not like cool. Not like cool at all. Not when you’ve been living with it as long as I have. It fucking sucks.” He held up the joint, displaying it for her. “So, you do what you have to do to numb it out.”

  Kat grew genuinely interested. “Weed stops you from seeing things?”

  “No, not completely, but it helps. Stronger shit works way better, but hey. I went down the heroin highway, and it wasn’t leading me anywhere except rehab. So, yeah. Now all I’ve got is the weed and a prescription for anxiety.”

  Kat took a moment to absorb all this before speaking. “Dude, I always thought this place was haunted.”

  Roger smiled; her limited understanding of his hell was so innocently charming he couldn’t help himself. “It’s not just here. It’s everywhere. Usually there’s a reason behind it.”

  Kat jumped in eagerly. “Right. Like when someone left something unfinished, or they died unexpectedly. Or they were really happy someplace, or really sad.”

  Roger took a moment to just look at her; she was a bit deeper into this than he thought, but still naïve. “I’m guessing someone’s been watching Ghost Hunters on The Travel Channel.”

  Kat smiled proudly. “Just, like, every chance I can.”

  Of course. Ghost Hunters. Those idiotic jerks with their night vision cameras who locked themselves inside haunted houses at night. It was like saying you felt like you’d been to Switzerland after riding the Matterhorn at Disneyland.

  Roger shook his head. “Yeah, well that’s all bullshit. They think they got it down, but they don’t. Half the time it’s someone farting, and they think they’ve recorded a spectral voice.” He held up the joint for her again. “You want?”

  Kat shook her head. “I wish. But I gotta go back to work. Believe it or not, my job can be a real bitch if I’m too faded. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

  Roger stubbed out the roach, pocketed it. “Yeah, I gotta keep going too.”

  And there they were again, in the middle of another of their lingering, awkward moments. But this time, things took a quick turn. Kat leaned up and kissed him impulsively.

  Roger was taken by surprise. He was about to back off, but then it became effortless, and comfortable, and filled with energy all at the same time. He pulled her closer. The kiss grew deep and slow, and they were both lost in it.

  Kat pulled away after several moments, whispered breathlessly, “Fuck.”

  Roger’s entire body lit up with a surge that overpowered anything he was feeling from the weed.

  Kat brushed her hair out of her eyes and nervously dug into her apron. They were both wrestling with what had just happened, and the moment became more awkward than all of the others they had shared combined.

  She took out a napkin with her phone number already written on it and held it out, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “Here,” she said. “I was only planning to humiliate myself a little bit.”

  Roger looked down at the napkin and smiled. “No, no. This is great. I’ll call you.”

  “Sure, right. Or I’ll see you in Vegas. Whatever.” Kat was feeling so uncool that she just wanted to get out of there as fast as she could. “I gotta go.”

  She turned to leave, but Roger caught her arm. “Hey,” he said softly. Kat turned back and met his gaze. There was warmth and reassurance in his eyes. “I’ll be driving back through here Monday. See you then.”

  Kat felt her awkwardness melt away; she smiled involuntarily. “Cool.”

  Roger let her go. She gave him a final look, then hurried off into the rain.

  Roger watched her disappear into the diner door. Yes, this place was definitely not ordinary, Roger decided. He pulled up his hood and ducked out of the alcove. He thought belatedly of Lilly. While he had been absorbed with Kat in the alcove, neither of them had been looking directly at the car. But what could happen? It had been a matter of a minute or two, and they were so close to the car, they would have noticed any disturbance. The car doors were locked, in any case.

  The rain had decided not to let up. Not even a little. Roger hurried over to his car, fumbled with his keys as he wiped the water from his eyes. Of course the car was still locked. He managed to get the key in the lock and twist it.

  He slid in behind the wheel and closed the door. He took a deep breath, pulled the hood off his head. He carefully set the soggy bag with his soup on the seat next to him and pulled out the napkin.

  He smiled when he looked at Kat’s number, then carefully folded the napkin and tucked it into his pocket. “All right, Lilly,” Roger whispered, so he would
not wake his daughter. “No more stops. Straight on through to Salt Lake City.”

  He started the car and adjusted the wiper speed, again cursing the bulky wipers. He slipped the car into reverse, looked over his shoulder to back up, and stopped cold. The back seat was empty, except for the blanket.

  Lilly was gone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Roger slammed on the brakes and leaped out of the car. He shoved the seat forward, tossed the blanket aside, and looked around the back seat. This couldn’t be happening. She had to be hiding. He looked on the floor of both the back seat and the front passenger seat, but there was no Lilly, no pink rabbit.

  Roger spun back, scanned the parking lot. “Lilly?” he yelled.

  No response.

  He spotted a middle-aged man over at the gas pump. “Hey!”

  It was futile; the man couldn’t hear him over the wash of rain. Roger slammed the car door and ran over to him.

  The man looked up, startled, as Roger approached. “Excuse me! Hey, did you see a little girl get out of my car over there?”

  The man looked over at Roger’s Mustang and shook his head. “Not since I’ve been here,” he said.

  Roger spun around, squinted out into the wet darkness. Nothing seemed out of place—just the trucks coming and going. His stomach tightened as his panic rose. He yelled desperately, “Lilly!”

  Inside the diner, Kat was pouring coffee for the adults at the family’s table when she looked out and saw Roger running away from the gas pump and back toward his car. She could tell there was something wrong. She dropped the coffeepot off at the busing station and hurried to the front door.

  Roger was running past as Kat stepped outside. “Roger!” she yelled. Roger saw her and cut over to the awning, out of breath. “What’s the—?” Kat started.

  “You watched my car the whole time, didn’t you?” he panted.

  “Yeah, of course. What’s wrong?”

  “Lilly. My daughter. She’s missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Yes. She’s gone. I went back to the car and she wasn’t there.”

  “But I—“

  “You didn’t see anyone go near the car, did you?”

  Kat shook her head “No. No one. And I didn’t see her get out, either.”

  Bart yelled from the diner behind Kat, “Order’s up!”

  Kat shot an annoyed look back at Bart. “Hold on a….” She looked back at Roger, but he was already running toward his car.

  “Kat, come on!” Bart yelled insistently.

  Kat sighed, frustrated, and reluctantly went back inside.

  Roger raced up to his car and looked around again. Kat had been watching her while he had been in the hallway and the men’s room, and they hadn’t been in the alcove more than five minutes. Even if she had noticed the adults’ inattention and purposely slipped out the far door of the car in the rain, which was unlikely, Lilly couldn’t have gotten far in five minutes. He looked over at the trucks parked closest to his car. Someone had to have seen something, he decided, and raced over to the nearest one.

  It was a glossy maroon-colored rig with the lights on in the cab. He pounded on the door. “Hello?”

  The door popped open and a woman appeared. She wasn’t at all what Roger expected to find in a trucker. She was in her early 60s, with short salt-and-pepper hair and kind, matronly eyes—the picture-perfect, favorite-aunt type. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for my daughter. She’s seven, brunette, in pink pajamas and a blue sweatshirt. She was in my car over there.” Roger waved his hand at his Mustang.

  The woman squinted out into the rainy darkness, then looked back at Roger. “I’ve been here about an hour, but I haven’t seen any little ones out in this rain,” she said.

  Roger sighed anxiously, looked around at the other nearby trucks. “Shit.”

  “Oh, dear. You don’t know where she is?

  “No. No, someone was watching the car, but my daughter managed to get out anyway,” Roger explained, trying to contain his frustration.

  “Oh, no.” the woman said with honest worry in her voice. “I’m sorry, honey, I haven’t seen her, but I will—“ Roger was gone before she could finish. She watched him dart over to the pearly cream-colored rig next door with its large sleeper cab.

  Roger pounded on the door. Waited. After a moment, he could hear the faint muffled voice of a man inside. “Momma… someone’s at the door.”

  The door opened a crack, and another woman peered out. She was in her late 40s, muscular, with spiked white hair and gold-capped teeth. “Yeah?” she asked warily.

  “Hi,” Roger said. “My daughter’s missing. She’s seven, brown hair—“

  A man’s voice called out from behind the middle-aged woman. “Who is it, Momma?”

  The woman barked back, “I got it, Daniel!”

  Daniel, a soft-spoken eighteen-year-old, peered out from behind his mother. He had a thin, delicate nose, full lips and large, doe-like eyes. He would have been a beautiful woman if he hadn’t been a man.

  “Someone’s lost?” he asked.

  “I told you, I got it,” his mother snapped, annoyed. Daniel retreated out of sight. The woman looked back at Roger. “We ain’t seen no one.”

  Roger peered anxiously into the cab behind her, trying for a better look, but he couldn’t see much. This woman trucker didn’t have the warm tone in her voice that the other woman had. “Are you sure? She was in my car over there, and—“

  “We been watchin’ TV. Ain’t seen anything. Sorry.” She cut him off, then added with a forced smile, “But we’ll keep a look out.” She snapped the door closed.

  Roger spun around desperately. There was one more nearby truck, a beat-up old Mack with Georgia plates.

  Roger raced over, pounded on the door. A heavyset man in his late 40s shoved the door open. He had deep creases in his slightly bloated face, one eye that looked slightly off to the left, and he wheezed with every effort. “What’s up?” he growled.

  “Hi. I wanted to know if you saw a little girl, my daughter. She’s brunette, seven.”

  “You lost your kid?” the man interrupted sharply.

  “Yes. I mean, she was in my car, right there,” Roger pointed.

  The man’s watery eyes glanced at the car, then back at Roger. “She was by herself?”

  “No. Someone was watching her, but she somehow got out of my car.”

  “Jesus Lord,” the big man wheezed, irritated. He was doing everything he could to hide his obvious frustration with Roger, or with any parent who would let this happen.

  “Look, I’m just trying to find out if you saw her,” Roger offered defensively.

  “You look inside the truck stop?”

  But Roger’s attention was diverted to the sleeper cab behind the man. There were a couple of Confederate flags strung up, and a gun rack with several rifles. Roger looked back at the big, asthmatic man, a little rattled by what he was seeing behind him. “Huh?”

  “The truck stop. The diner. Gift shop,” the driver snapped insistently. He had given up trying to temper his irritation.

  “No, I was in there when she—“ Roger started to explain but stopped. Why the fuck should he care what this fat old asshole thought? He turned away. “Fuck it."

  The big man shook his head and closed the door. Roger steadied himself on the running board. His whole world was spinning out of control. A complete disaster was unfolding, and with no sign that it was going to let up.

  He looked from the front of the diner to the repair garage and truck wash in the distance behind it, then back over to the diner. His eyes strayed to the dark highway.

  Nausea swept up his throat; his heart skipped. The highway. Dear God, please no.

  Roger ran flat out across the parking lot. The cold rain stung his red face like needles, and his lungs ached by the time he reached the edge of the road.

  A truck sailed past, blasting its horn. A shock of cold, muddy water spl
ashed over Roger. He recoiled, shielded himself, shouted, “Fuck!”

  He staggered back, wiping the water from his eyes. He spit several times, trying to expel the grit from his teeth. “Motherfu….”

  Roger managed to clear his eyes and squinted out across the dark road. That’s when he saw it, a pale body lying in the ditch on the other side.

  Roger screamed, horrified. “Lilly!”

  He bolted out into the highway. A car blasted its horn and swerved to miss him. Roger raced blindly through the swirling rain in the car’s wake. He reached the other side as passing headlights from another truck swung by. The pale body was a dead deer. Maggots swarmed the wet innards that spilled out onto the soaking asphalt.

  Roger reeled from the sickening sight. He coughed and gagged, nearly vomiting. This was hell, no doubt about it. An unending nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from. And the end was nowhere in sight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kat was serving the family their dinner when Roger bolted back inside the diner. He was flushed and out of breath. He made a cursory check of the diner, then charged off toward the adjoining gift shop.

  Kat set down the last plate of food on the family’s table and called after him. “Roger!” He ignored her.

  Roger made a loop through the shadowy gift shop, past the dusty shelves of travel aids and crappy cheap toys. If Lilly were here, she would be sitting in one of the aisles playing with some little plastic dog. The animals were always her favorites. If they ever got separated in a toy store, he would always find her lost in some make-believe game of talking animals. She created long, intricate scenarios that played out the story lines from her favorite DVDs, usually The Lion King or Balto. Roger would then begin a protracted negotiation on how many of the little animals she could buy, and which ones. But not this time. Lilly was nowhere to be seen. The gift shop was empty.

  Roger darted out of the shop, crossed over to the hallway door, and threw it open. The long, eerie hallway was deserted. Roger gave a look in both directions. “Lilly!” His voice echoed in the emptiness.

  No response. Just the buzzing of the fluorescents and the dripping of the rainwater into the buckets. Roger took off down the hall, rattling the knobs and pounding on the shower and sleeping room doors as he went. “Lilly! Are you in here?”