Zip your mouth, check your brakes - and enjoy...
BLOODY TRUCE by Erin Cole
Anger, the snag in the nylon of our marriage. Car rides were only a catalyst, and tonight, we fought like the monsters we were dressed up as.
“You never told me about this party. I always find out at the last minute.”
“I told you last Monday,” he said. “Before you left for work.”
A made-up line. “Liar.”
“God, you’re a bitch.”
“And you’re an asshole.”
The thread unraveled further, despite our efforts to get along. We loved each other … didn’t w—PERSON IN THE ROAD!
“Nick! Watch out!”
Her face flew at me. Eyes wide. Mouth agape. Palms extended to stop what she couldn’t. Her body smacked the windshield. Glass splintered outward in a circle. Her face split open. Thunder clattered above us—bones breaking.
The car stopped. The night ruined and still unfinished.
“Oh my god!” My insides squirmed like earthworms.
“Fuck!” His hands beat at the steering wheel. “Great! We are going to prison.” Vehement eyes turned on me. “This is ALL your fault. You distracted me from the road.”
“You’re the one that started the fight. And you were the one driving!”
He stepped out, slammed the door. Reluctantly, I followed. The air smelled like an upturned, river rock.
Nick opened the trunk and grabbed a flashlight. He walked behind the car into a thick, black night. His pirate costume scratched with each step, a sound that out in the middle of nowhere, tapped dark thoughts.
The flashlight waved cold-blue light across the road. Nothing, yet.
I looked for a broken form in the ditch. Blood pressure=145/111. I had to pee.
Nick’s head was a pendulum. “Where is she?”
“Maybe in the ditch?”
“She was wearing white. She shouldn’t be that hard to spot.”
We walked to where we turned onto the road. Nick shined the light back at me. “She’s gone.”
“She couldn’t be.” The window was a web of broken glass, her face smashed. “Are you sure she didn’t get … thrown further?”
Nick passed by me and found the tire marks in the road. “I don't get it. She’s not—”
Nick jerked around. The woman in white stood in front of us. Blood stained her face and neckline. Her hands were bent and broken. Her mouth crusted and dirty.
She grabbed Nick, moving with unnatural speed.
Teeth like a shark’s ripped into his jugular. Blood spurted.
“Oh, god!” I turned and ran. Down a deserted road. His screams sickened me, made my bones akin to rubber sticks. Awful sounds … cracking, gurgling, slapping.
I'm so sorry, Nick. You’re not an asshole.
I kept running. Arms pumping like a train piston. Fairy wings flapping. Pulse=heart attack range.
That woman … what was she? What did she do to Nick?
I was getting tired. Fire in my lungs. Fairy slippers slipping. Then light poured behind me.
Nick's voice. I stopped and turned around.
“Nick?” It was him. Limping, but still alive.
“Nick! Are you okay?”
“Emma, I’m all right.”
“But I saw…”
“Where’s that woman?”
“I took care of her.”
“Took … care of?” What do you mean?”
He shined the light so I could see his face. Bloody. Dirty mouth. Teeth like a shark’s. And he was wearing his eye patch.
“Emma, you’re not a bitch either.”
BIO: Erin Cole writes dark fiction from Portland, Oregon. She blogs about it here: www.erincolelive.blogspot.com