approaching at full gallop along the nearby beach.
Martie pulled back her hood. She fished in one coat pocket and then in the other until she found her keys.
In the passenger seat, Susan remained hooded, head bowed, hands fisted against her cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, and face pinched, as if the Saturn were in one of those hydraulic car crushers, about to be squashed into a three-foot cube.
Martie’s attention fixed on the car key, which was the same one she had always used, yet suddenly the point seemed wickedly sharp, as never before. The serrations resembled those on a bread knife, which then reminded her of the mezzaluna in Susan’s kitchen.
This simple key was a potential weapon. Crazily, Martie’s mind clotted with images of the bloody damage a car key could inflict.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked, though she had not opened her eyes.
Thrusting the key into the ignition, struggling to conceal her inner turmoil, Martie said, “Couldn’t find my key. It’s okay. I’ve got it now.”
The engine caught, roared. When Martie locked herself into her safety harness, her hands were shaking so badly that the hard plastic clasp and the metal tongue on the belt chattered together like a pair of windup, novelty-store teeth before she finally engaged the latch.
“What if something happens to me out here and I can’t get home again?” Susan worried.
“I’ll take care of you,” Martie promised, although in light of her own peculiar state of mind, the promise might prove empty.
“But what if something happens to
you?”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Martie vowed as she switched on the windshield wipers.
“Something can happen to anybody. Look at what happened to me.”
Martie pulled away from the curb, drove to the end of the short street, and turned left onto Balboa Boulevard. “Hold tight. You’ll be in the doctor’s office soon.”
“Not if we’re in an accident,” Susan fretted.
“I’m a good driver.”
“The car might break down.”
“The car’s fine.”
“It’s raining hard. If the streets flood—”
“Or maybe we’ll be abducted by big slimy Martians,” Martie said. “Be taken up to the mother ship, forced to breed with hideous squidlike creatures.”
“The streets
do
flood here on the peninsula,” Susan said defensively.
“This time of year, Big Foot hides out around the pier, bites the heads off the unwary. We better hope we don’t have a breakdown in that area.”
“You’re vicious,” Susan complained.
“I’m mean as hell,” Martie confirmed.
“Cruel. You are. I mean it.”
“I’m loathsome.”
“Take me home.”
“No.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you anyway,” Martie said.
“Oh, shit,” Susan said miserably. “I love you, too.”
“Hang in there.”
“This is so hard.”
“I know, honey.”
“What if we run out of fuel?”
“The tank’s full.”
“I can’t breathe out here. I can’t
breathe.”
“Sooz, you’re breathing.”
“But the air’s like a…sludge. And I’m having chest pains. My heart.”
“What
I’ve
got is a pain in the ass,” Martie said. “Guess its name.”
“You’re a mean bitch.”
“That’s old news.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you,” Martie said patiently.
Susan began to cry. She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t go on like this.”
“It’s not much farther.”
“I hate myself.”
Martie frowned. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever.”
“I hate what I’ve become. This frightened, quivering
thing
I’ve become.”
Martie’s eyes clouded with tears of pity. She blinked furiously to clear her vision.
From off the cold Pacific, waves of black clouds washed across the sky, as though the tide of night were turning and would drown this bleak new day. Virtually all the oncoming traffic, northbound on Pacific Coast Highway, approached behind headlights that silvered the wet blacktop.
Martie’s perception of unnatural menace had passed. The rainy day no longer
Martie pulled back her hood. She fished in one coat pocket and then in the other until she found her keys.
In the passenger seat, Susan remained hooded, head bowed, hands fisted against her cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, and face pinched, as if the Saturn were in one of those hydraulic car crushers, about to be squashed into a three-foot cube.
Martie’s attention fixed on the car key, which was the same one she had always used, yet suddenly the point seemed wickedly sharp, as never before. The serrations resembled those on a bread knife, which then reminded her of the mezzaluna in Susan’s kitchen.
This simple key was a potential weapon. Crazily, Martie’s mind clotted with images of the bloody damage a car key could inflict.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked, though she had not opened her eyes.
Thrusting the key into the ignition, struggling to conceal her inner turmoil, Martie said, “Couldn’t find my key. It’s okay. I’ve got it now.”
The engine caught, roared. When Martie locked herself into her safety harness, her hands were shaking so badly that the hard plastic clasp and the metal tongue on the belt chattered together like a pair of windup, novelty-store teeth before she finally engaged the latch.
“What if something happens to me out here and I can’t get home again?” Susan worried.
“I’ll take care of you,” Martie promised, although in light of her own peculiar state of mind, the promise might prove empty.
“But what if something happens to
you?”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Martie vowed as she switched on the windshield wipers.
“Something can happen to anybody. Look at what happened to me.”
Martie pulled away from the curb, drove to the end of the short street, and turned left onto Balboa Boulevard. “Hold tight. You’ll be in the doctor’s office soon.”
“Not if we’re in an accident,” Susan fretted.
“I’m a good driver.”
“The car might break down.”
“The car’s fine.”
“It’s raining hard. If the streets flood—”
“Or maybe we’ll be abducted by big slimy Martians,” Martie said. “Be taken up to the mother ship, forced to breed with hideous squidlike creatures.”
“The streets
do
flood here on the peninsula,” Susan said defensively.
“This time of year, Big Foot hides out around the pier, bites the heads off the unwary. We better hope we don’t have a breakdown in that area.”
“You’re vicious,” Susan complained.
“I’m mean as hell,” Martie confirmed.
“Cruel. You are. I mean it.”
“I’m loathsome.”
“Take me home.”
“No.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you anyway,” Martie said.
“Oh, shit,” Susan said miserably. “I love you, too.”
“Hang in there.”
“This is so hard.”
“I know, honey.”
“What if we run out of fuel?”
“The tank’s full.”
“I can’t breathe out here. I can’t
breathe.”
“Sooz, you’re breathing.”
“But the air’s like a…sludge. And I’m having chest pains. My heart.”
“What
I’ve
got is a pain in the ass,” Martie said. “Guess its name.”
“You’re a mean bitch.”
“That’s old news.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you,” Martie said patiently.
Susan began to cry. She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t go on like this.”
“It’s not much farther.”
“I hate myself.”
Martie frowned. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever.”
“I hate what I’ve become. This frightened, quivering
thing
I’ve become.”
Martie’s eyes clouded with tears of pity. She blinked furiously to clear her vision.
From off the cold Pacific, waves of black clouds washed across the sky, as though the tide of night were turning and would drown this bleak new day. Virtually all the oncoming traffic, northbound on Pacific Coast Highway, approached behind headlights that silvered the wet blacktop.
Martie’s perception of unnatural menace had passed. The rainy day no longer
Similar Books
