Killing Spree by Kevin O'Brien

stashed some letters from his long-lost papa in that bag. He didn’t understand why the brat had gone to such lengths to destroy and hide a stupid magazine. Then he discovered what kind of magazine it was. A few pictures in the magazine had survived the torch job.
    He chuckled.
    He took out his cell phone and made a call. “Hey, yeah, it’s me,” he said after his cohort answered. “You were saying the other day that the kid might know where his dad is. Well, if that’s true, I think I figured out a way we can get to him.”

Chapter 6
     
     
    Two hours later, and twelve hundred miles away, along an on-ramp to Interstate 90 in Rapid City, South Dakota, a black Honda Accord slowed down for a hitchhiker. The driver told the hitchhiker, named Sean, to throw his hiking pack in the backseat and sit up front with him. “Maybe you can find us a decent station on the radio,” he suggested, pulling back onto the highway. “None of this country-western shit.”
    Sean was twenty-eight. He’d been backpacking throughout the country for the last few months, sort of a spiritual journey. He’d worked hard as a graphic designer for this big computer company for seven years. “Then one day, I just said, ‘Screw this, I’m out of here,’” Sean explained. He was very much on his own. He’d broken up with his longtime girlfriend last year, and was estranged from his family, who had become a bunch of Holy Rollers.
    The man behind the wheel said he’d just flown in from Chicago. He was driving the rest of the way to Seattle so he could see the country, “maybe meet a few interesting people along the way.” He was a writer, though so far, every attempt at publishing his work had failed. He was going to see a woman in Seattle. “She’s an author too,” the man explained. “Have you read any Gillian McBride thrillers?”
    Sean wasn’t familiar with her work.
    “She wrote one called Highway Hypnosis . Ever hear of that?”
    Over cheeseburgers at a truck stop, the driver told Sean the plot of Gillian McBride’s Highway Hypnosis . “I guess it’s not something you should talk about while you’re eating,” he joked. He went into detail about the book and how its scheming maniac villain murdered a number of hitchhikers in order to sell their identities and their internal organs.
    Sean chuckled. “Huh, should I be nervous? Are you a maniac?”
    Smiling, the driver nodded. “Oh, I’m certifiable, a regular menace to society.”
    “Well, when you sell my liver, don’t take any less than five grand. It’s in terrific shape. I gave up drinking years ago.”
    They were still laughing and joking under the stars—on their way back to the Accord in the parking lot. Sean volunteered to spell him at the wheel for a while.
    “No, thanks, I got it,” the driver replied. “Besides, you’re going to be tired pretty soon.”
    Sean buckled his seat belt. He squinted at him. “What do you mean, I’ll be tired?”
    The driver started up the engine. “Oh, you know, sometimes a person can get sleepy after a big dinner.”
    Sean stared at him in the glow of the dashboard lights. The guy had the strangest little smile on his face.
    About ten minutes after they pulled onto the Interstate once again, Sean read a sign: SHERIDAN —49 MILES . But it was a little blurred. Maybe he was tired after all. There was nothing wrong with his eyesight. His old girlfriend, who always wore glasses, used to say she wanted to inherit his beautiful blue, twenty-twenty-vision eyes.
    He suddenly thought about that book the driver liked, the one with somebody selling people’s organs.
    Sean reached for the button to lower the car window, and he couldn’t find it in the darkness. Everything seemed fuzzy. “I think I’m a little carsick,” he said, surprised to hear himself slurring his words.
    “That’s just some initial nausea,” the driver said, studying the road ahead. “It’ll pass. You’ll be sleepy soon.”
    Numbly, Sean stared at him.