Black Rainbow

by Scott Savino

  “Can you last until breakfast?”

  “I guess. Maybe I’m more bored than hungry. Can’t get a signal out here. Nothing to listen to.”

  Josh pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose to settle in the crease there. He couldn’t remember the last meal he’d eaten. He couldn’t remember what state they were in.

  He remembered driving.

  Only driving.

  Behind him was Tennessee. Behind him was a family that had spit his own words back to him as if the syllables had been poison. Peppered in the conversation were words of hate and references to books of the Bible.

  He couldn’t make them understand.

  His father had paced, his hands clasped to keep from doing anything else with them. Josh remembered him nodding his head and leaving the room without making eye contact with his son. His mother had cried. Begged them to stay.

  And then there was the drive. A rainbow somewhere in Colorado. They had taken it as a sign and chased the setting sun.

  They must have eaten somewhere along the way. He just couldn’t remember it.

  “Do you smell that?” Zac asked.

  “What?”

  “Something cooking.”He sat up in his seat, nose near the air vent.

  “Look,” Josh said, nodding toward the horizon.

  How had either of them missed it? There was nothing else in front of them, just the desert and a brilliant spot of light illuminating a diner. A sign glowed over the entrance: Last Chance Diner

  “Was there a sign for it before?” Zac asked.

  “I didn’t see one.”

  Josh moved his foot from the gas to the brake and flipped the turn signal on.

  The restaurant could have been built in the nineteen fifties. It had that forced retro-futuristic appearance, all rounded angles and chrome. The parking lot was about half-filled. Josh found a spot large enough to accommodate their vehicle and parked.

  “We going in?” Josh asked.

  Zac shrugged, already climbing out of the SUV. “Maybe just get dessert?”

  Josh shook his head with a smile and followed behind, shrugging a little deeper into his hoodie to keep the dessert chill at bay.

  A bell chimed to announce their arrival. The lights in the restaurant were bright, brighter than they needed to be. Josh shielded his eyes as they adjusted, but it still felt too bright. A dozen heads turned to view the new arrivals, mostly people sitting alone and a family of four. The décor inside the restaurant was predictably kitschy: posters of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe on the walls, and the tiles were black and white. Deep teals dominated everything else.

  They passed a sign requesting they seat themselves and obeyed its directive, sliding into the nearest unoccupied booth. There was music playing, but the signal faded in and out, alternating between an oldies station that matched the vibe of the restaurant, and a religious program featuring a raspy-voiced preacher. The only clear word Josh could make out through bursts of static was sin.

  A waitress approached, smiling, red lipstick peeling from her lips. The clusters of tight lines above her mouth indicated she was a smoker, or had been at one time. Her hair was a box job, a red that might have matched her lipstick the first few weeks after application. It was more of an auburn then, with the roots stark white.

  “What can I get you boys to drink?”

  Zac looked up from his menu and placed a hand to his heart. He inspected her face, squinting over the frame of his glasses.

  “I’ll have a water with lemon,” Josh said, not taking his eyes off the menu.

  The waitress held a yellow pencil above her notepad as the silence persisted.

  “And you, sugar?”

  Zac cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You just remind me of someone. My grandma. She’s been gone for a few years now. Spitting image though, just wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Oh, I look like lots of people’s grandmas I imagine,” she said, touching his shoulder with a good-natured wink.

  Zac shook his head as if to clear it. “Just a water for now. No lemon, thank you.”

  She didn’t bother writing it down, but nodded her head with a smile. “Be right back.”

  Josh studied the laminated menu, but looked up when Zac tapped his hand.

  “She looks just like her. Just. I mean. She looks like her twin.”

  Josh considered how much interest he should show, attempting to select the right combination of words that would satisfy Zac without prompting further conversation on the matter.

  He settled on, “That’s weird.”

  “Super weird! I might try to sneak a picture of her before we leave.”

  Josh nodded, waiting to see if that was the end of the discussion.

  “Why are you squinting like that?”

  “Am I?” Josh removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a knuckle. “It’s the light in here. It’s so bright. Feels like I’m staring at the sun.”

  “Think so?”

  Josh blinked a few times. “Probably just tired. We should switch after we’re done here. I’ll nap a bit.”

  For a minute neither of them spoke. Despite the myriad options, and his apparent honest assessment of them, Josh decided on his usual order: a cheeseburger and fries. Zac settled on pie but wanted the waitress’s opinion about which was best.

  She returned with the water a short while later. Zac fumbled with his phone to sneak a picture, but felt it would be too obvious to try in that moment. Perhaps if he applied his charm he could simply request one.

  “You boys ready?”

  “I’ll have the cheeseburger and fries,” Josh said.

  “All toppings?”

  “Yes, please.”Josh handed her the menu.

  “I’m thinking I want pie,” Zac said when she looked to him. “If you had to pick, which would you choose?”

  The waitress nibbled on the pencil’s eraser before answering. “I’m partial to pecan pie, myself. But apple’s our biggest seller. They serve it with a slice of cheddar on the side, like they do up north.”

  “Oh, I’ve never had it like that. I’ll do apple.”

  She took his menu and moved to pivot away, but stopped herself, turning instead to place a hand on Zac’s arm.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said, and turned to Josh. “You too, young man.”

  When she was out of earshot, Zac whispered, “That was weird. I mean, it was sweet, but weird.”

  Josh shrugged. “Maybe hoping for a good tip.”

  Most of the customers were elderly. They were lost within their own worlds, stirring soup long after it had stopped steaming. There was one other couple and a family at the opposite end of the restaurant. Tips were probably thin way out in the desert. Being extra friendly was probably the only way the poor woman survived.

  “Do you hear that,” Josh asked, taking his glasses off again and placing a hand over his eyes to block the overhead light.

  Zac cocked his head.

  “The radio? It’s between two stations I think.”

  Josh shook his head. “Something else. Like a drone. I can hear the music and the preacher, but there’s another sound beneath that.”

  After half a minute of listening Zac shook his head.

  Josh looked around. No one else appeared disturbed by the noise, either. “Does this place feel off to you?”

  Zac faced the entrance to the restaurant and was only able to see a few of the customers. He stretched, glancing behind as he did. None of the customers were huddled over cell phones, not that they would have gotten a signal out there, and there were none of the expected sounds from the kitchen: clanking of spatulas, sizzling of meat.

  When he looked back to Josh he shrugged again. “That’s just diners, isn’t it?”

  “What about that?” Josh nodded toward the bar area while rubbing his temples. There was a long painting above it, a serene, stylized rendition of the interior of the restaurant.

  Zac looked. “What about it?”

  It did not sho
w a bustling establishment with svelte waitresses balancing loaded trays. No attractive couples on double dates laughing over a plate of appetizers. Instead there were unoccupied chairs and empty booths. Just a few elderly people seated alone. And …

  “Josh, look at the booth nearest the exit,” Zac said, gripping Josh’s forearm.

  There were two men in the booth seated across from each other. One wore a black hoodie and the other a checkered, short-sleeved shirt.

  “Is that …” Josh began.

  “It looks like it,” Zac said.

  Josh surveyed the restaurant, comparing it to the scene captured in the painting. An old man wearing a fishing hat two booths over sat with a bowl of chili. A middle-aged woman with a cup of coffee. A family of four near the bathrooms. They all matched the painting.

  “What is that smell? It doesn’t smell like food,” Zac said.

  It was the same smell as in the Tahoe.

  Josh flexed his jaw, trying to pop his ears. “You sure you don’t hear it?”

  Zac shook his head. He joined Josh on the opposite side of the booth to get a better view of the restaurant and its occupants.

  The waitress crossed the tile floor, a plate of bacon and eggs in her hand, a bowl of grits balanced on her forearm. She placed the items in front of an elderly black man wearing an oil-stained mechanic’s work shirt. He was startled by her appearance, but smiled as she engaged in conversation, placing a hand on his shoulder. When she left, he watched her go with a lingering smile as if he’d seen a long lost friend.

  “Zac, look at the painting,” Josh said, still massaging his temples. The drone in his head competed in volume with the intermittent music. The lights were still far too bright.

  Though the table had been empty save for a napkin dispenser and a cup of coffee a minute ago, the man in the painting now gazed at a plate of eggs and bacon with a bowl of grits sitting off to the side.

  And the man in the checkered shirt now sat next to the man in the hoodie.

  “It can’t be …” he said, staring in disbelief. “What does this mean?”

  Josh had no answers. He was no longer hungry. He wanted to be on the road. He wanted to be driving again, putting distance between himself and everything else.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t really think right now. I’m tired. My eyes hurt. That noise is so loud I can barely hear you.”

  Zac laced his fingers within Josh’s, watching him with concern.

  The waitress returned.

  She held an old-fashioned rotary phone: red, like her lipstick. “Josh is it?”

  “Yes?” he answered, cautiously squinting up to her.

  “Phone for you, dear.”

  There were no cords leading to it. It was just the phone.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Phone for you,” she said, smiling and nodding as she held it out to him.

  Josh took the phone and placed it to his ear.

  “H—hello?”

  There was a sigh from the other end. “I wish I could tell you I’m sorry, son.”The connection fizzled and popped, growing fuzzy before fading back in. Josh struggled to hear over the incessant droning.

  “Dad?”

  The voice was ragged, a throaty whisper, like his dad had been crying. Something Josh had never seen him do. It sounded like his dad was saying something else, but it was buried in the static.

  “I love you. Always. I always loved you. I—I just wasn’t raised right, I guess,” he said.

  “Dad, it’s okay. What’s going on? How did you reach me here?” Josh felt like he was shouting to be heard. Zac looked away from him for a moment, drawing Josh’s eye up to the painting.

  The man in the painting, the one in the black hoodie, held a red phone to his ear.

  Another rush of crackling static.

  “I’m sorry, son. I’m just so damn sorry.”

  “Dad? Dad!”

  With a loud pop, the crackling ended and the line went dead. The waitress appeared shortly after, hands extended to retrieve the phone.

  “What was that? How did your dad know we were here? What did he want?”

  Josh scrubbed a hand through his hair.

  “I don’t know. He just—just said he was sorry. Said he was sorry, and that he loved me.”

  They were silent for a while before Zac spoke again.

  “What is this place?”

  Josh sat up straight and cleared his throat. The room was so bright he had to keep his eyes shut. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Before this? Colorado, I think. There was the rainbow in the spray of the waterfall. I think I remember the sign for Utah. Probably dozed after that …”

  It was so bright and the drone was so loud. Loud as the horn of an eighteen-wheeler.

  “That’s about the last thing I remember, too. Then I started to get sleepy. Turned the radio on. Couldn’t find a station. Just some oldies and a religious show,” Josh said, turning to face Zac.

  “What are you saying?”

  The waitress returned and slid Josh’s plate across the table. She placed the pie in front of Zac and retreated a step.

  “Get you boys anything else?”

  Neither of them were hungry. It didn’t really smell like food. It smelled like burning rubber and motor oil.

  “Where are we?” Josh asked her, nudging his plate away a few inches.

  The waitress offered the front of her notepad, which presumably bore the restaurant’s name. Josh couldn’t see it clearly, though. He only saw the light.

  “Where are we, really,” Zac asked.

  “Sugar, you’re just passin’ through.”

  She left with a wink, disappearing through the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “Look,” Zac said elbowing Josh.

  “I can’t. What is it?”

  “The painting. There are people missing.” He twisted beside Josh before settling again. “They’re not in the restaurant either.”

  “They’re gone?”

  “The man with the hat. The family. They’re all gone.”

  With a final flare, the bright light faded and the roar in his ears subsided. Josh blinked and glanced around the room as it came back into focus.

  “Are we…”

  “I think so,” Zac said.

  Their hands met again, holding fast.

  Josh nibbled on a French fry. The burger, however artfully crafted, was not so appealing.