INSANITY ROAD
By
Brett Williams
INSANITY ROAD
by
Brett Williams
Zoe Books
April, 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Brett Williams
Images Copyright © 2017 by DepositPhotos.com
BrettWilliamsFiction.com
[email protected]
Published by Zoe Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The gall of him, she thought, chatting with that other woman. The hussy. That two-bit, no-account tramp.
The slut’s annoying giggle still rang in the mind, just as an image of her squeezed into that god-awful dress had been seared on the retinas.
She should return to the ranch where she grew up, and take that twangy Southern accent of hers with her. Doesn’t she realize a Texas drawl clashes horribly with an up-scale party dress this far north? She makes it look like a satin potato sack.
A satin potato sack with enormous, well-formed potatoes in all the right places. And Chad had saw a need to talk to her.
Right in front of me.
Where are you from? he’d asked. Oh really? I’d never have guessed. My father, who served in the military, used to say only steers and queers come from Texas.
I’ll say, sugar, ain’t nothin’ queer ‘bout me. I’m a red-blooded Texas woman. Though steers aren’t the only horny things from Texas.
They had laughed together at the comment, with her, Chad’s girlfriend, standing in shock as the horrible conversation played out before her eyes. The tail end of the conversation, that is, as she returned from the powder room.
Men are all the same. Can’t leave them alone two minutes without them looking for a skirt to lift. Why, I ought to—
A twangy country tune began to grate from the car speakers, so Julia glanced from road to dashboard to switch stations. Using the seek option, she returned her attention to the lonely ribbon of asphalt illuminated before her. The road rose and fell, meandered around a bend, passed countless farms as she found a suitable radio station...
To think she’d driven all this way after work, nearly two hours each direction, simply to support Chad’s hobby as an amateur artist.
Your chance at the big leagues, Julia thought, are nothing but a pipe dream, buddy. Even big leaguers never make it big. Not truly. Not, at least, until after they die. Hence the term “starving artist.” But we both know that’s not why you do it. You do it to get your ego stroked, which the big boobed bimbo was willing to do. Well, enjoy the ego stroking. The cock stroking too, if that’s what you want. Because you won’t be getting anything from me once you get home.
Her eyes grew glassy and, as she veered around a blind curve to an open expanse of road, eased up on the accelerator pedal to wipe away a tear. She was exhausted and simply wanted to be home, pop a Xanax, and call it a day. Hell, call it a week. This hadn’t been the plan. Not at all. Chad, of course, had taken a day off from work, his day job as a low-level corporate paper pusher to ready the art gallery in St. Louis for the night’s exhibit, of which a few of his art pieces were displayed in a remote corner. He’d schmoozed his way in by chumming up to the gallery owner and befriending a few of the local artists, just enough to get a toe-hold in the amateur St. Louis art scene. Oil and canvas. Works with Midwestern appeal.
Barns and silos, broken-down pickup trucks, cattle and crops. Stuff with appeal to well-heeled shit kickers who grew up in the sticks. People like Miss Texas Ta-tas.
Julia was livid. It infuriated her to think of what had happened. How she’d driven straight from work to meet Chad at the gallery. How he’d been too busy basking in the glory of his underpowered limelight to do anything more than acknowledge she had come.
I’m so glad you could make it, Jules. Kiss-kiss on both cheeks, just like he did with all the yuppie women he knew who claimed to like his work. As if they might want to purchase a Chad Ellington original to hang on a living room wall. A grazing cow to hang over a contemporary black leather sofa. It means the world to me that you could make it.
That I could make it, Julia’s mind repeated in her own voice. That was a dig and you damn well know it. You wanted me to use a day of accumulated vacation time to, what, help you kiss ass with other art scene wannabes? You know I was saving that off-time for our trip to New Orleans next month.
Tears streamed from her eyes and, though she had the road to herself and desperately wished to be home, slowed the vehicle considerably. She could creep along till the sobbing subsided. Otherwise she might be forced to pull over.
Damn you, Chad, she thought. We were supposed to be celebrating together, tonight, in the hotel suite you reserved. Instead you’re probably sticking it to Miss Texas now. God, I hate you. Why did you do this? Why ruin everything?
Wiping away more tears, the notification light on her cell phone caught Julia’s attention. The message was probably from Chad, probably asking what had happened and where she’d gone. As if a forced smile and “Enjoy your little shindig, I’ll see you at home” hadn’t been a clear enough Fuck you, I’m leaving.
“Shit…” She needed to find a place to stop the car, get herself composed, and read the text message. There. She noticed, with high beams on, a place where she could stop the car. A turn off. She slowed the vehicle, made the turn, and stopped the car on the shoulder beside a broken-down church. She sniffled as she read the messages.
Chad had sent the first message nearly an hour ago asking where she’d gone. Fifteen minutes later he’d expressed concern at her lack of reply. By now he surely knew he was in hot water with her and so, in true Chad Ellington fashion, planned to make the most of his screw-up.
How could I have been so stupid? Julia wondered. I practically forced him into bed with that slut.
She sobbed as she tapped out a message telling him that she hoped he enjoyed himself, that her pussy was hotter and tighter than that big boobed bitch, that she’d never have done such a thing to him, that he was a selfish, egotistical asshole who only cared about himself, that she was sick of him acting a fool and now the New Orleans trip had been ruined.
“Fuck you,” Julia said. “I hate you. I hate hate hate you for ruining it all.” Neither had ever visited New Orleans. They had planned it as their first trip as a couple. A vacation to celebrate moving in together.
The first trip since Chad had started trying to promote himself seriously in the St. Louis art scene.
“Get a grip,” Julia told herself. “You can freak out once you’re home.”
Her phone, which she realized had only a weak, single-bar of reception, chirped an alert of an incoming text message at low volume. That explained how she’d missed the messages earlier.
Chad simply said that she was overreacting and that she’d missed all the excitement at the gallery and that he was heading to the after party and was sorry that she’d miss that too.
“Miss me,” Julia spoke aloud as she typed out a final message. “Fuck you.”
When the phone audibly alerted her to another incoming message, Julia was already accelerating to highway speed on the winding road toward home. She’d have another forty-five minutes to drive, half an hour if she could keep the tears to a minimum and speed. She needn’t worry about speed traps at this time of night on such a desolate stretch of rural highway. It had been a while since she’d passed a
nother car, though now she recalled a vehicle pass, going the opposite direction, while stopped to message Chad. It had barely registered at the moment but for some reason seemed significant now. Perhaps because she noticed something she hadn’t seen in a while. Twin headlight beams in the rearview mirror.
The distant vehicle didn’t concern her. If anything it was nice to know the rest of rural America wasn’t asleep or dead. It helped Julia to feel not quite so alone. Also, on the off-chance that the headlights belonged to a local law enforcement vehicle, Julia opted to stick relatively close to the posted speed limit.
Another twangy country song started to play and Julia thought, Damn it, even pop stations play country shit around here as she switched off the radio completely.
When she glanced at the rearview mirror again, out of habit, her heart skipped a beat.
A person’s face—
The right half—
There and gone again—
“Goddamn it, Julia,” she told herself, “don’t freak out. Do not freak out because Chad is a shit. You’re losing it, girl.”
However, as distraught as she was, she didn’t feel like she was freaking out. In fact, her little flurry of text messages had helped to blow off steam. But now she forced herself, gripping the steering wheel more tightly, to look up at the mirror again.
She saw nothing out of the ordinary in the backseat. Although she did notice that the pursuing vehicle had gained on her but still maintained a healthy distance.
Pursuing vehicle? Julia thought. I’m growing paranoid as I age.
Not that she was old, though she’d felt a new stage begin in her life had begun since turning 30 two years ago. Life was getting away from her, it seemed. She’d wanted to be married by 30, perhaps be entertaining the thought of children by 32, yet here she sat, alone in a car in the middle of nowhere, while her live-in boyfriend schmoozed art schmucks and screwed floozies.
Damn it, eyes had grown glassy again and she took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly to prevent an impending meltdown. There. That helped. Julia noticed she’d slowed nearly ten miles an hour, so she nudged the car back toward the speed limit. When she looked to gage the distance between her and the vehicle behind her, she screamed.
Holy shit! There is someone in the backseat.
No, that couldn’t be right.
She was tired, damned exhausted from all the hours she’d put in at the office that week, and being pissed at Chad, well, her mind was playing tricks on her. A trick of light, perhaps. An odd reflection. Some of the farm houses had large outdoor lights mounted over parking areas or the front of farm implement sheds. The moon was full and stars shined brightly. It could have been anything, not…
Not a person in the backseat, sitting directly behind me.
Except that’s exactly how it had looked for a split second. A vague shape in the mirror, at the very edge – Julia could see the vehicle behind her had closed the distance between them – and somehow she got the distinct impression that the person sitting behind her – No, that can’t be right. I must be going crazy – was female. But when or how could a person, male or female, have slipped into the backseat without her knowing? She’d been driving for over an hour already, she’d have noticed long ago. Could someone have slipped into the back while she stopped to send text messages to Chad? No way, no how. The dome light would have come on, for Christ sakes.
A sudden urge to urinate became apparent. She’d drank a glass of champagne at the gallery but that wasn’t enough to impair judgment. And she’d visited the powder room before catching Chad with the bimbo.
As the road which had been sweeping gently right straightened, a swath of light filled the interior of the car. The vehicle behind her had closed the distance and now followed closely. She felt relieved to have someone following so closely behind her. Its presence lent her the courage to look into the mirror again. She found nothing but bright headlight beams behind her. Julia, forced to squint, adjusted the mirror to both keep the light out of her eyes and also to see clearly the vacant seat behind her.
Julia sighed with relief and muttered, “Thank god.” She didn’t know what she’d have done if someone had been sitting behind her. Stop the car and hope the person in the truck – she recognized the vehicle as a truck now – stopped to help and didn’t simply blow right past?
Still, Julia felt a need to glance over her shoulder to survey the backseat as best she could. She saw nothing, no one there, and unless the person had crouched down in the floorboard, which seemed highly unlikely because she’d have felt the shifting of weight behind the driver seat, she would know. Also, there was plenty of light to see by; she hadn’t needed to switch on the overhead light due to the fact the truck, with its blinding headlights, provided plenty of light.
“Switch off your high beams, asshole, or pass already.”
But the guy, probably some drunk country boy in a lifted pickup truck, seemed content to tailgate her. With plenty of open road ahead of them and no oncoming traffic, it made no sense to Julia. Perhaps if she slowed down, made it easier for him to pass.
Instead of passing, though, another set of headlamps flared to life. She could hear the faint sound of the truck’s presence behind her which, after such a shitty day, infuriated her. She slowed the car further, down to 35 miles an hour, and gestured for the vehicle to pass. The driver couldn’t miss the action with so much light filling the car.
“It’s about time, buddy,” Julia said. She had half a mind to flip him a finger as he passed but had been shaken up enough for one day. She didn’t want any more trouble.
The truck, now in the other lane of the two-lane highway, began to pull alongside Julia’s Nissan. She could hear the roar of its engine and hum of tires as it moved. She’d gained speed herself, but not much. The Nissan, speedometer needle hovering around 45, allowed the truck which rode on massive tires and sported a heavy front bumper a chance to pull ahead. The truck appeared to be some sort of old work truck, perhaps something the military might have used at one time. While she didn’t know anything about cars and trucks except where to insert the ignition key and how to fill up the fuel tank, she assumed the truck might have rolled off an assembly line sometime in the 1950s. Or 1940s, perhaps.
But the vehicle’s vintage isn’t what concerned her. The fact that it was pacing alongside her instead of passing concerned her.
“What’s your damage, asshole? Pass already.”
When it didn’t pass – maybe that old hunk, as loud as its angry engine sounded, couldn’t go much faster – Julia slowed her vehicle yet again, down to 30. The truck pulled ahead by half a car length before braking too.
“Goddamn it, asshole,” Julia ranted, fear coursing through her veins, “I’m not in the mood for this shit.”
Now frightened, Julia saw only one option. She gunned the engine. The little Nissan lurched forward, its own engine now making itself audibly known.
But the truck, some sort of crew cab 4x4 which in the dark seemed an ominous shadow, perhaps a shade of gunmetal gray or military green or olive, refused to relent. Its engine screamed like a banshee to keep up. Thick tire lugs hummed the war chant of bloodthirsty savages.
What’s your problem? What do you want?
Tears streamed from Julia’s eyes and her knuckles ached as she gripped the steering wheel. Miles of farmland passed on her right, pasture on the left, no help in sight. In fact, a sign indicated a winding road ahead.
Damn you, Chad. Now look what’s happened. This is all your fault. Your goddamn fault and I’ll never let you live this one down.
The Nissan was doing about 85 now, with the truck, still in the opposite lane, right on her bumper. Julia found herself forced to ease off the accelerator and apply pressure to the brakes which unfortunately allowed the truck to pull alongside her again. When it did, the silhouette of the driver moved and a split second later a light flared.
The action terrified Julia since her mind couldn’t process the action.
A muzzle flash of a handgun? But no. The driver flooded her car with light. This time with a flashlight.
Julia slowed the Nissan further as she approached the first of presumably a series of curves. The flashlight went out, perhaps so the driver could focus on the road and the truck’s tires sighed as it too slowed, more aggressively than did the Nissan. It dropped back and for an instant Julia thought, This is my chance. The truck can’t handle the curves like my car. Eat my dust, fucker!
She spurred the car forward but the truck didn’t stop. Somehow it possessed the power and tenacity to not simply keep pace but to outpace the Nissan.
A scream blasted from Julia’s mouth at the force of the first impact, the truck’s massive bumper colliding with the rear of her car. Then a string of expletives burst past Julia’s lips. She’d pissed herself and it felt like her ass was suctioned onto the leather seat.
She drove as hard and fast as she dared but she couldn’t shake the truck. It rammed the Nissan again and again, causing it to lurch and weave all over the road. Its horn blasted like a forlorn foghorn in the night, a sad and dementedly lonely sound.
“I’m not pulling over, asshole.” Why hadn’t she invested in a handgun, or at least packed a can of pepper spray in her purse like her mother had suggested? Because she was a strong, independent woman and she didn’t need such things. What she needed was a real man for a boyfriend, one who didn’t send her packing when he caught wind of another woman.
Then it happened. It seemed to happen too quickly to comprehend. A dream. A nightmare. The Nissan was traveling too fast, the approaching curve too tight, the impact from the truck too hard. The car veered right and Julia overcompensated with a jerk of the steering wheel. She lost control of the car. A sound of screeching tires and crunching metal filled the ears. She lost all sense of direction. Then there was an explosion and a punch in the face, followed by the tinkling sound of shattering glass.
Insanity Road Page 1