like a river falling from heaven. In truth, it didn’t do the job quite so much. The gravel would just sink into the mud or get itself spit up by tires, and the end result was thatthe rain turned the road into a rutted swamp in no time flat. A downpour like this was liable to turn the road into quicksand, and I’d seen more than one truck bogged down in what its driver swore had been solid roadbed a minute before.
Smart people stayed home when it rained in Maryfield, at least those of us who lived out past where the pavement ended. Smart people sure as hell didn’t drive out this way when the rain was coming down in black sheets and the wind was howling like even it wanted to come inside and hide. Even the bravest usually gave up after a while, pulling over and waiting for the storm to blow itself out. Not this fool, though, or so it seemed.
I lifted up the shade and peered out into the morning. It was dark, so dark a man could be forgiven for thinking the sun hadn’t properly come up yet. I wanted to see who was foolish enough to be out on a morning like this; who was unfortunate enough to need to be on the road while I was safe and snug inside.
The car’s headlights cut through the dark as it came up the road toward the house. The rain was so thick that it looked like fog, the beams of the headlights showing up distinctly against the storm. Whoever it was, they were moving fast, and into the teeth of the storm.
The car crested the slight hill that marked the end of Tolliver property and moved into view. For a second I couldn’t see its outline or its shape because of the rain. Then, suddenly, the patter of the drops on the roof slowed and it was almost clear, like God had wiped clean the glass of the world so for a moment all His creatures could see plainly. I squinted out at the road, looking to see if I could make out the car, maybe get a look at the unlucky bastard who was driving.
It was silver; that much I could see. And the shape, well, the shape reminded me of something.
Ten seconds later, as it roared past the driveway on its closestapproach, my brain put two and two together and got an answer it didn’t like.
Unless there was another silver Audi loose in the hinterlands of Cackalacky, that was my car out there, kicking up gouts of water as it charged through the puddles on the road. That was my car doing an ungodly rate of speed down a poor excuse for a dirt road and through a thunderstorm that promised tornadoes or worse.
“Motherfucker!” was the first word out of my mouth, and then my jaw just hung open. I thought for a second about calling the police to tell them, but I could already hear the words coming down the other end of the line. “Well, sir, are you sure it’s your car? Lots of cars look alike in the rain, after all.” And then in the background I’d hear Hanratty’s laugh, like something out of a Disney cartoon, and a click as the line went dead.
Besides, even in a best-case scenario, the car would be long gone by the time anyone from town got here, sirens flashing or no.
Outside, the timbre of the engine’s growl changed. I peeked through the blinds. The car had slowed to a crawl right in front of the house. It was barely moving as it sat there taunting me.
I saw red. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what happened. Everything in my brain above caveman level just locked itself in a box and hid, and all that was left was an angry monkey saying, “Son of a bitch, that thing’s
mine
!”
I grabbed my house key, yanked the door open, and pelted out into the rain. The sound the door made slamming shut behind me was lost in the storm as I pounded down those steps and up the drive.
Whoever was in the car saw me. The car, mud splashed up dark on its silver sides, rolled forward at a slow pace, just faster than a man could walk.
I ran. Got within ten feet of the bumper. Reached out like I was going to fling myself onto the trunk.
The car sped up. With a snort, it jumped forward
Smart people stayed home when it rained in Maryfield, at least those of us who lived out past where the pavement ended. Smart people sure as hell didn’t drive out this way when the rain was coming down in black sheets and the wind was howling like even it wanted to come inside and hide. Even the bravest usually gave up after a while, pulling over and waiting for the storm to blow itself out. Not this fool, though, or so it seemed.
I lifted up the shade and peered out into the morning. It was dark, so dark a man could be forgiven for thinking the sun hadn’t properly come up yet. I wanted to see who was foolish enough to be out on a morning like this; who was unfortunate enough to need to be on the road while I was safe and snug inside.
The car’s headlights cut through the dark as it came up the road toward the house. The rain was so thick that it looked like fog, the beams of the headlights showing up distinctly against the storm. Whoever it was, they were moving fast, and into the teeth of the storm.
The car crested the slight hill that marked the end of Tolliver property and moved into view. For a second I couldn’t see its outline or its shape because of the rain. Then, suddenly, the patter of the drops on the roof slowed and it was almost clear, like God had wiped clean the glass of the world so for a moment all His creatures could see plainly. I squinted out at the road, looking to see if I could make out the car, maybe get a look at the unlucky bastard who was driving.
It was silver; that much I could see. And the shape, well, the shape reminded me of something.
Ten seconds later, as it roared past the driveway on its closestapproach, my brain put two and two together and got an answer it didn’t like.
Unless there was another silver Audi loose in the hinterlands of Cackalacky, that was my car out there, kicking up gouts of water as it charged through the puddles on the road. That was my car doing an ungodly rate of speed down a poor excuse for a dirt road and through a thunderstorm that promised tornadoes or worse.
“Motherfucker!” was the first word out of my mouth, and then my jaw just hung open. I thought for a second about calling the police to tell them, but I could already hear the words coming down the other end of the line. “Well, sir, are you sure it’s your car? Lots of cars look alike in the rain, after all.” And then in the background I’d hear Hanratty’s laugh, like something out of a Disney cartoon, and a click as the line went dead.
Besides, even in a best-case scenario, the car would be long gone by the time anyone from town got here, sirens flashing or no.
Outside, the timbre of the engine’s growl changed. I peeked through the blinds. The car had slowed to a crawl right in front of the house. It was barely moving as it sat there taunting me.
I saw red. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what happened. Everything in my brain above caveman level just locked itself in a box and hid, and all that was left was an angry monkey saying, “Son of a bitch, that thing’s
mine
!”
I grabbed my house key, yanked the door open, and pelted out into the rain. The sound the door made slamming shut behind me was lost in the storm as I pounded down those steps and up the drive.
Whoever was in the car saw me. The car, mud splashed up dark on its silver sides, rolled forward at a slow pace, just faster than a man could walk.
I ran. Got within ten feet of the bumper. Reached out like I was going to fling myself onto the trunk.
The car sped up. With a snort, it jumped forward
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