Insanity Road

by Williams, Brett

  He’d needed to do something, anything to cover up what he’d done. He realized, while busying himself with digging the grave, his mind had been processing a plausible cover-up. So grand in its simplicity. That’s why he’d trudged back to the church on foot: he needed to move David’s truck away from the scene of the crime.

  Had anyone noticed it parked behind the church? From the highway, especially once the fog had rolled it, that seemed unlikely, yet his nerves jangled at the thought. Perhaps someone had taken the road past the vehicle. Hell, someone might have passed both vehicles, Power Wagon and Ranger, although he couldn’t for the life of him recall any such incident.

  No matter, he steeled himself for the inevitable. The need to move David’s pickup truck. After removing shoes and socks and placing them in the truck bed (along with the shovel and pick), he dusted off his pants as best as he could and rolled up the cuffs for good measure. He didn’t want to leave any anything out of the ordinary behind which might attract attention, such as dirt and debris. He’d lifted the ignition key from Sharon’s dead body for this task.

  He picked his way carefully, behind the wheel of the Ford Ranger, through the fog, worried about an auto accident. Sir, can you explain why you’re driving someone else’s vehicle? a police officer might ask. He drove incredibly slow, heart trip-hammering wildly. He steeled nerves, not wishing to trudge through town carrying a shovel, to stop by home to put them in the garage. While very late and still very foggy, he used an alley to avoid attracting attention. It only took a few minutes then he was back on the road again.

  He left the truck parked at the town square, keys, interior, and exterior handles and tailgate wiped clean of fingerprints, and walked casually away, leaving the vehicle unlocked with keys in the ignition. Terror seized him on the long walk home. He knew someone – a police officer or perhaps David searching for Sharon – might spot him. Although he did see a few passing cars, he recognized none of them and suspected they belonged to late-night drivers perhaps tired from being out all night. Some if not all may have been under the influence of something and had better things on their mind like keeping their car out of a ditch.

  In any event, he made it home without incident, including suffering a heart attack at the sheer horror that he’d experienced earlier. The loss he’d suffered hit full-force once he arrived home. He immediately undressed and showered. Bloodied clothing went into a paper bag for disposal. He longed to burn the clothing but feared discovery by his parents. And instead had hidden them in the garage to be disposed of later, he recalled now, as he tamped the final shovelful of dirt over Julia’s body.

  This murder offered little to fear, unlike that of Sharon, and a sense of pride overcame him as he said to the dogs, “Follow me to the house. We’ll have ourselves a treat.”

  Digging graves proved thirsty work which called for a beer or three. As for the dogs, he’d fill their bowl. Give them one less reason to go digging where they had no business digging.

  Chapter 21

  There had been inquiries, of course. Speculation and rumor. But much like her mother and father, not many people truly cared what had become of Sharon. Nobody except for David, of course. But as rumors and speculation go, having found his truck found parked at the Greyhound bus pick-up spot with keys left in the ignition, it seemed fairly obvious what had happened to Sharon, if not apparent exactly where she’d went. The route to St. Louis started with a late-night boarding and speculation went that she’d left small-town life with David for opportunity in the city. David, at least according to family and friends, remained the only person unconvinced by the theory. Everyone else though, at least those inclined to speculate about such matters, bought the story. While Sharon had never mentioned the urge to strike out for the big city, she had, on numerous occasions, voiced resentment over her parents’ divorce, her (until recent) near homelessness, the obsessive and oftentimes controlling nature of David in general and recent arguments (which Sharon had confided in friends) regarding David’s outrage and frustration whenever her ex-boyfriend returned home from school, which, also according to rumor, had prompted Sharon’s disappearance. She’d lived without much and so having nothing offered little challenge for her.

  She’d also been disgruntled at work and had mentioned the ease in which she could get a different job. Retail and fast-food jobs remained plentiful, especially in places such as St. Louis.

  Of course, that had been many years ago. But that’s how he recalled it happening, the way the murder of his ex-girlfriend had taken place. Just thinking about it sent a shiver along his spine. He lusted for that kind of intimacy, the brutally gory erotic sensation which rarely offered itself. Increased blood flow below the belt caught his attention, a stirring in the crotch when he reminisced about Sharon.

  After the secret burial, he’d returned to school as always and finished out the term before returning again. He’d skipped holidays despite complaints from family but he wasn’t ready to return. Not yet. Because he feared a confrontation with David. Not that he feared David, merely the face-to-face confrontation which he was sure would take place upon his return.

  Enough time passed, though, that when he did return the following summer he needn’t have worried. David had found a new “friend” to latch onto. A friend who moved in with him a few months later who he eventually married. Their life, which granted was of little concern to the man, seemed on the surface to be very peaceful and happy. A happiness that infuriated him. If the couple had met each other first…

  He shook the thought from his mind. It served no purpose to speculate on what-ifs after the fact. The couple had enjoyed a pleasant relationship which lasted years, he recalled as he focused on the ribbon of blacktop ahead of him. Wiper blades pushed aside a misting of rain on the windshield as he pulled off the highway and performed a U-turn to park on the shoulder across from the old church. Across from Sharon’s grave.

  He’d brought flowers a time or two over the years, But not tonight, he told Sharon using his internal voice. Tonight, I’m here looking for you.

  Fog filled the ditches edging the road. In an hour or the fog would creep out in attempt to cover the ground. After all these years, only recently had he noticed the correlation between fog and the sightings. Perhaps not perfect, the correlation seemed to increase the chance of spotting Sharon, something tonight he longed to do.

  As he sat there he thought about that night, perhaps five years after the night of Sharon’s burial. The night he followed David on this highway. He couldn’t recall why he’d done it, though he seemed to recall an aching in his heart for Sharon. An ache that, upon seeing David cruising in his truck all alone, spurred an interest in following him. He didn’t drive the Ranger, as he’d traded it for an F-150 a year or two before.

  He’d followed in the Power Wagon, careful to maintain distance, and slowly closed the gap such that David wouldn’t recognize who’d been following him. Just another car on the road, he’d assume. But, just as David had tailed him and Sharon back in the beginning of his intrusion into Sharon and his relationship, he tailed David. He was—

  Something caught his eye. Movement behind the church. An animal prowling the graveyard behind the church? The man, abandoning the long-lost memory, focused on the shadows. Eyelids narrowed as he tried to pinpoint the source of the interruption.

  Then he noticed it. A swirl of fog catching moonlight. No, not moonlight, though the moon shone big and round through a hazy night’s sky. Fog caught the headlights of an approaching vehicle on the highway. The swirl coalesced into a feminine form. Sharon, in tattered clothing, dashing ghostlike in the fog for the highway.

  “Sharon, I’m here,” he announced as the engine, still idling, growled with a forward surge of the Power Wagon. “Come back.”

  But she didn’t hesitate. She ran directly in front of the vehicle, a light-colored late-model sedan. He watched as Sharon’s spectral form hitchhiked a ride in the backseat of the vehicle and he too never hesitated to give
chase to the vehicle. The old truck was angrily charging down the highway before its headlights flared on. The man switched on high beams for good measure.

  “Come back, god damn it,” he cursed. “I want to speak with you.” The pursuit reminded him of the memory he’d abandoned moments ago. The memory of closing the gap on David’s F-150. The memory of tailgating him in such a way that David, wishing to fuck with him, repeatedly jabbed the brake pedal, an aggressive tactic to warn off a driver who followed too closely. Of course he’d never relented. He’d used the Power Wagon, with its oversized steel bumper, to ram the goddamned pickup truck. He’d caused it to lurch forward, caused it to fishtail side-to-side, and ultimately, using what law enforcement called a PIT maneuver, caused it to crash into a ditch. By then, with David attempting to outrun him, he’d been traveling so fast that the impact caused internal injuries. He died of massive internal hemorrhaging before anyone noticed his truck in the ditch.

  Grinning, the man pursued the sedan.

  “I just want to leave this place,” a voice behind him startled him.

  A quick glance over his shoulder alerted him to Sharon’s presence.

  “Sharon, baby, it’s you…”

  “I just want to leave,” she repeated. “But I keep coming back. There’s no escape from this hell.”

  “We could be happy together,” he promised. “I don’t know why you want to leave.”

  “You raped me. You murdered me. Why won’t you let me be?”

  “Because we were meant to be together,” he said, slowing the Power Wagon and allowing the sedan to increase its distance. “Because I love you.”

  “I loved you too. I loved David. I loved my mom and dad but love is a fleeting emotion. All it leaves behind is pain and sorrow.”

  “It doesn’t need to be this way.”

  “Ah,” he saw a deep sadness overtake Sharon’s expression as she said: “But this is the way it is. I’ll always love you. Now goodbye.”

  Her spectral form dissipated like he’d awakened from a dream. He gave pause to the thought that perhaps he’d imagined everything, that he might be going insane, like the last woman, the woman named Julia, had implied.

  But then he saw it, at the furthest reach of his headlights. Sharon sitting in the backseat of the sedan, turned and waving goodbye to him through the back window.

  The hammer dropped – his foot pressing the acceleration pedal to the floor.

  The turbo diesel engine began to scream as thick rubber lugs on the monstrous mud terrain tires hummed their frustration. It took little time, with the road beginning to wind through the hills, to close the distance on the car.

  He rammed it once, twice, three times, as if fucking the goddamn car up the tailpipe with his testosterone-fueled bulk of iron and steel. And when the inevitable became apparent, he eased off the gas and applied brakes. He watched in amusement as the car veered off the road and actually bit into the ditch. It did a partial summersault and ended facing 180 degrees in the opposite direction, its rear bumper crashing into a tree.

  This is it, he thought. This is exactly what I want now.

  The erection binding in his jeans offered proof. It made stopping the truck and climbing from the cab a slow and somewhat peculiar act but when he approached the ticking, steaming wreck, with fog nipping at his ankles, he realized he hadn’t been this happy in ages. He hopped the ditch and approached the vehicle. Its passenger stirred slowly, a mane of chestnut brown hair draped her face in a tangle. He hoped the driver’s door opened, that he didn’t need to return to the truck for a crowbar, as the erection in his pants now ached from excitement.

  “She’s not blond,” Sharon’s voice stated from behind him. “She’s not me.”

  He pressed the latch and tugged open the door.

  “I know,” he said with a grin. “Goodbye, Sharon. It’s time for me to move on.”

  Other books by the author:

  Family Business

  Lucifer’s Children

  Lucifer’s Whore

  Family Business: Live Bait

  Club Nadir

  High Octane Damnation

  Legend of Kill Creek Woods

  A Good Time

  Don’t Judge Me

  Buddy

  From Murky Depths

  Third Eye High

  Sound of Madness

  Thank you in advance for posting a review!