Destinations Unknown Page 12

  “So the accident I saw earlier tonight—”

  “—the occurrence, Driver, the occurrence. There are no accidents.”

  “Fine—the occurrence I saw earlier, all of those people were predetermined to be in that place at that time since the moment of their birth?”

  “Yes.”

  Something clicked in my head at that moment. It wasn’t any kind of epiphany, not even close. I once read a line in novel that went something like, “There comes a time when the human mind can no longer deal with the amount of horror being heaped upon it, and so it all starts to become kind of funny.” That’s what happened to me at that moment: some small part of the rational area of my mind clicked off and all of this became oddly surreal. I went with, and continued eating throughout the rest of our conversation, eventually finishing every bite of Nova’s delicious dinner.

  “So if someone’s number is put back into the order, what happens if it turns out that number has already come and gone?”

  Daddy Bliss grinned. “They are sacrificed immediately. If we are well past the point in the order where that number should have fallen, the very next time they climb into an automobile, they will not emerge from it alive. It causes a little extra bookkeeping for us, but it’s a small price to pay for keeping the Road satisfied.”

  I gobbled down the second half of the roll. “So how is it that the Road came to dictate all of this?”

  He stared at me for a moment. “You’re really a much more perceptive fellow than you give yourself credit for, Driver. You’ve asked a surprising amount of insightful questions this evening. One would not expect that from a person who holds your station in life.”

  “I’m guessing that was meant to be a compliment?”

  “It was.”

  “Then thank you. Now would you mind answering my most recent insightful question?”

  “Ah, yes…the ‘how’ of it all.

  “Even in the midst of death, dear boy, life resonates. It seethes, trapped, waiting to be given release, to be given form. You’ve been in jail, Driver, you must have some idea to what I’m referring. You’ve been in a cell where the massed feelings of hatred, deprivation, claustrophobia, and brutalization have seeped into the very stones. One can feel it. The emotions resonate. It is the same when someone dies on the Road. That energy spills from their mangled bodies and is absorbed by the Road. And when a place or thing absorbs the resonating sentience of enough life, it’s only a matter of time before it achieves sentience itself. That’s why one can sense the despair emanating from the walls of a jail cell, or why you felt the death seeping from every corner of the Leonard house all those years ago. It’s not so much an unnatural phenomenon as it is what a physicist might deem an ‘unconscious confluence’ of resonating energies. That is how the Road came into full being.”

  I nodded my head. “Okay.”

  “That’s all? ‘Okay’? Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  He blinked. “How utterly intriguing.” He looked once more at the clock. “Have you anything further you’d like to discuss with me?”

  I finished with the first pork chop and began carving up the second one, my mouth watering. “Do I have a number?”

  “No, you do not. You were not deemed an acceptable sacrifice. You were, however, of interest to the Road, and so you were watched.” He moved his chair closer to me. “I will tell you that your friend Barbara Greer does have a number, as do several of the employees on your crew. And your ex-wife.”

  I almost couldn’t swallow the food, but managed to force it down. “Why tell me this?”

  “Because if the Road decides about you as I think it will, you might find this information to be helpful.”

  “Helpful how?”

  He shook his head. “Cart before the horse, and all that. We’ll see if I am correct, and then proceed from there.”

  There was a knock on the door, and a moment later Ciera entered, carrying a phone. “It’s time, Daddy. The Highway People are gathering.”

  I looked at him. “So the jury’s coming in, is that it?”

  “Indeed.” He maneuvered the chair around and started toward the opened door. “You and I may not have any further time alone after this, Driver, so allow me to say that it has been a genuine pleasure getting to know you. The Road has chosen wisely with you.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “You’re welcome, perhaps.” And with that, he rolled out the door and was gone.

  “Did you two have a nice talk?” asked Ciera as she plugged the phone into the jack on the wall.

  “It was very…informative.”

  “Cool.” She set down the phone next to me and began to leave.

  “Wait a second.”

  She turned back. “You need a refill on the root beer? We’ve got plenty.” She giggled. “I had some earlier, though I wasn’t supposed to—we got it just for you. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. What I do mind is this.” I held up the phone and turned it toward her.

  It had no number keys.

  “What about it?” she asked.

  “How am I supposed to make a call when I can’t punch in or dial the number?”

  She smiled. “Operators are standing by.” Then she laughed. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to say that in real life but never got the chance. Just pick up the receiver when you’re ready and your call will be put through. You’ve got about fifteen or twenty minutes now. I’ll be back for you soon.” She blew me a kiss and began closing the door behind her, then stopped and said, “Listen, it’d be a good idea if you didn’t try to leave this room until I come back. When the Highway People call for a gathering like this, things become a bit…well, for you, anyway…things would be kind of confusing.”

  “In what way?”

  She thought about this for a minute, and as she did, I caught a glimpse of the young girl she’d once been, one who was now searching for a way to express in words something for which her previous life-experience had given her no point of reference. She looked almost…innocent. If I’d been a couple of decades younger, the look on her face would have really turned me on; now it just made me feel sad and old.

  Finally she said: “You ever wake up from a dream in the middle of the night and for a couple of seconds you’re, like, not sure whether you’re awake in your own bed or still in the dream? Some parts of the dream are so fresh in your memory that you can still see them, and for a couple of seconds it’s like the dream and the real world are the same thing, only you can’t tell which is which? Like you’re looking at a double-exposed photograph. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Sure does.”

  “Well, if you leave this room on your own, that’s what everything’s going to seem like to you. You won’t be able to tell what’s real and what isn’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because part of what holds this all together is everyone being here and doing their jobs, living their lives. But when the Highway People call for a gathering and everyone leaves their posts, there’s, like, no glue, right? Things start to…come apart, change, whatever. But when we come back, it all snaps back into place. That’s because we know what it’s all supposed to be like. You don’t, so everything would look real screwed-up to you, and you’d get lost in a hurry, and I don’t think we could find you again.”

  I looked around the holding room. “Is that why this room is so bare? So it would be easy for me to remember what it looked like?”

  “Yeah. We move around a lot—the town, I mean—and we move pretty fast. Fast like”—she snapped her fingers—”that. So it’s important that you stay here in this room you know so you don’t get lost in the empty places.” She gave me a sweet, slightly melancholy look, blew me another kiss, and left.

  I expected her to lock the door behind her to make sure I’d stay right where I was supposed to, but she didn’t. She trusted me. Not that it mattered; I couldn’t have found my way out of town on my own. I could ma
ybe get myself as far as the gas station, but that’d be about it.

  So I finished Nova’s superb dinner, sat back in my chair, and stared at the phone, wondering who I knew who wouldn’t hang up on me for calling at this hour. Maybe Brennert, but what could I tell him? Barbara Greer might not get too upset, but if she were being watched, a call from me would only draw more attention to her.

  I sat forward and picked up the receiver to see if there was an operator waiting at the other end. I listened to the ringing, still having no idea who I was going to call if and when the operator answered. In the middle of the third ring the call was answered, but instead of an operator I got a moment of hiss, followed by a recorded voice-mail introduction:

  “Hi, this is Dianne. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave a message…oh, you know the rest. You’ll have three minutes after the beep, so don’t feel like you have to talk really fast. I hate that, don’t you? Okay, thanks for calling.”

  This was the first time in five years that I’d heard her voice, and it almost broke me in half; clear and musical, with a subtle South Carolina accent that caused her to end every sentence on a smoothly descending note of embarrassed laughter that snuggled down in the back of her throat and wrapped itself up in something like a purr…I could almost feel her voice with my fingertips. In those few seconds it took to listen to her message, all those parts of her that I’d purposefully chipped away bit by bit in an effort to make her just another memory came together again, and there she was: her smile, her laugh, her eyes, the smell of her in the morning, the scent of her shampoo lingering on the pillow long after she’d lifted her head, the ghost of her touch against the back of my hand, and before I could even release the breath I didn’t know I was holding, the empty space in my life that had once been filled by her hummed so intensely with her absence that the last half-decade of my existence suddenly seemed inane and empty, a prolonged delusion, a vaudeville of what a life was supposed to be.

  God, how I’d missed her.

  Then came the beep and I began talking.

  “Hi, Dianne, it’s, uh…it’s me.”

  And then it hit me: I had less than three minutes. What the hell do you say to someone under these circumstances when you’ve only got three minutes, and it might very well be the last time you ever have the chance to say anything to them? For a second I flashed upon a high school drama club production of Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology that I’d been in; the director had explained to us that we needed to approach each of the monologues as that character’s only chance to come back from the grave and say all the things they wished they’d said to everyone while they were still alive. “Their only shot at finally making things right,” she’d told us.

  So, I thought, just pretend you’re a dead man back for a few moments from the grave. Got it? Good. Places…

  “Please don’t skip over or erase this. I don’t have a lot of time. Listen to my voice. I’m not drunk, okay? What I am is in a lot of trouble, and I don’t know if I’m going to be…ah, hell, Dianne. I never stopped loving you, and I’ve never stopped missing you. I was a jerk—no, wait, that’s not quite right, is it? I was cruel and selfish and cold, and I’ve never forgiven myself for it. Don’t worry, I’m not about to ask for your forgiveness, though I’d bet you would forgive me if I asked. You were always so compassionate, and thoughtful, everything any man who had the brains God gave an ice cube would want or hope for. But me? I blew it. And I want you to know how sorry I am. I hope that whoever you’re with now treats you with all the respect and affection you should have gotten from me.

  “You told me after the divorce hearing that you figured I’d go on and live my life like you’d never been a part of it. I tried. And it worked for about a week. Then one morning I got up and started making my lunch for the day and realized halfway through that I was packing yours, as well, like I used to some days, remember? I’m standing there in the middle of kitchen looking at a tuna fish sandwich and wondering if I used enough mayo—you still like lots of mayo on your tuna fish?—anyway, I’m standing there with this goddamn sandwich and realize that you’re not going to be eating it, and I started…well, I kinda lost it, and I hugged the sandwich to my chest and squashed it all the hell over my shirt…it was one of those mawkish moments that always used to make you laugh when you saw them in a movie. It was really pitiful.” I looked at the clock; I had less than a minute.

  “I want you to know something, Dianne. You were the love of my life—you are the love of my life, and whatever happens tonight, even if I never see or hear from you again, my soul was blessed because you were once a part of my life, and even though I didn’t treasure it at the time like I should have, I treasure it now, and wish to God I’d have the chance to treasure it—to treasure you—again. But I don’t think that’s going to happen. Just know that everything you did, all you tried to give to me, all of it mattered, all of it. And whatever happens after I hang up, if this is it, I want you to know that my last thought will be of you and how you made my world rich, even if I was too much of an idiot to appreciate it at the time.

  “I love you. I always will. I just…I just wanted to thank you for all you gave to me when we were together.

  “And it just occurred to me that all of this must sound melodramatic as hell, and I’m sorry. It’s been an…odd couple of days. But it’s almost over now. I love you. Be happy, and never let yourself think that any part of what happened was because of you. You were wonderful—shit, you were perfect. I was an asshole. I didn’t deserve you. This isn’t self-pity, hon, it’s just plain old regret. Six of one, half-dozen of the other, I know.

  “Good-bye, Dianne. I love you. Think about using a little less mayo in the tuna fish, okay? I hear it’s not good for the cholesterol. You may quote me.”

  The beep sounded again, I hung up, covered my eyes with my hands, and wept quietly for a minute or two.

  The lights flickered and I looked up just as Ciera opened the door. “It’s time.” She stared at me. “Are you okay?”

  Wiping my eyes, I shook my head, then said, “Just ducky, thanks.”

  “Nobody wants you to get hurt, Driver.”

  “So I keep hearing.” I wiped my eyes once again, let out a breath, and rose.

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  “So?” I asked. “I take three giant steps, or what?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be so mean to me.”

  “I didn’t think I was.”

  She glanced down at the floor for a second, then back up at me. There was some genuine hurt in that gaze. “I keep trying to be nice, but you act like you don’t like me very much.”

  “Like you? I don’t even know you. Until a few hours ago, I had no idea you or anyone else in this place even existed! All I knew was that I was supposed to deliver a body so the family could bury it, that’s all. Now, suddenly, I’m right smack in the middle of something pretty seriously goddamn scary, I might be dead before the sun rises, and you’re getting defensive about my bad manners?”

  Her eyes began tearing up. “Please don’t yell at me.”

  “What the fuck would you do if you were in my position?”

  “Please stop yelling.”

  I opened my mouth to really let her have it, then her words—Please stop yelling—echoed back, only this time it was Dianne’s voice I heard speaking them, as it had so many time during the course of our marriage whenever I had been made aware of my shortcomings and was looking for someone to blame, usually her.

  Please stop yelling. Oh, hon….

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Ciera, stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…mad.”

  “Okay,” she said, not meeting my gaze.

  “Hey?”

  She looked up at me.

  “What’s your name—your real name?”

  A single tear slipped from her eye and slid a slow path down her cheek. “I don’t remember.”


  “Really?”

  “Really. Only Road Mama and Daddy Bliss remember their real names. The rest of us, we kinda…don’t bring them with us when we come back.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I would have been twenty-one on my birthday.”

  “Christ…I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault. I really like you, Driver. It’s been a long time since…well, since a new guy’s been here who’s still got all of his face and stuff.” She shrugged. “I get lonely sometimes.”

  I touched her face, using my thumb to wipe away the tear. “How bad is it, being trapped here?”

  She stared at me for a moment, blinked, then gave her head the slightest shake. “I’m not trapped here. None of us are.”

  “You stay here by choice?”

  “Yes. Everyone here is given that choice. The Highway People bring them back, and if you choose to stay, then your Repairs begin.”

  I really couldn’t get my head wrapped around this one. “But…for God’s sake, why would you choose to stay here and take part in all of this?”

  “The people we leave behind. If we choose to stay, they are protected. I mean, it’s not like it can be all the people we leave behind, but our immediate family and closest friends, they’re okay.”

  “Their numbers are withdrawn from the order?”

  “If they have a number, yes. If, like, my sister didn’t have a number—and she didn’t—then I got to pick an extra friend.”

  “How long do you have to stay here?”