“Oh. Of course.” Carly dug in the glove box and pulled out a
wad of paper napkins from a fast-food restaurant. Carly stole a moment to
survey him as he wiped his hand. She guessed he was not much older than she.
His clean-shaven face had a soft, friendly quality—the dimples, she guessed—and
in fact, he was the kind of guy she would hit on. Suddenly the car accident
felt like serendipity.
He said, “I can’t believe anyone besides me is stupid enough
to travel alone out here—at night, especially—with the murders and all.”
Carly giggled. “You sound like my parents. They told me to
fly home from school and then fly back.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I
told them I have a better chance of dying in a plane crash than by a serial murderer.”
He nodded his head. “I suppose so.” He paused, then, “Oh,
by the way, my name is Peter.”
Carly removed a hand from the steering wheel and pointed to
herself with her thumb, “Carly.” She extended her hand to Peter. “I’m not sure
if I should say ‘Nice to meet you.’” They both laughed.
“I was on my way back to Chicago for school when I got a
flat tire,” Peter said.
“Oh, really. Where to?”
“University of Illinois—Chicago.”
“I go to the Art Institute,” she enthused. “So, what’s your
major?”
“I’m getting my master’s in geography,” he smiled, “I know,
very exciting.”
“You’re a master memorizer of state capitals?”
Peter sighed as if he’d heard that one before. “I’m getting
my master’s in transportation geography. There’s more to geography than
memorizing—”
“Okay. Okay. I was kidding. What can I say? I’m an art major.”
She lulled her head to the side and rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself. “Hey,
can you help me look for emergency phones. I mean, we need to call the police.
I bet that jerk was drunk.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Peter rubbed his chin as he
stared out the window. “The next rest stop should have a phone,” he offered.
“We should head north on the next main road so we can cut over to a larger
route.”
She braked slightly as she turned another bend. She studied
the long, dark road. “Are you sure?” She had intended to stay on her current
route.
“Maybe it would be quicker to go back the other way,” Peter
suggested. “Then again...”
“That’s the way that creep went.”
“Exactly.” He lifted his eyebrows.
“So where should I turn?”
“Just the next right, so we head north.” He cleared his
throat. “I do want to thank you—for stopping. Some people would’ve just left
me.”
Carly smiled, “It’s no trouble. Anyway, I’m happy for the
company. I was getting tired.”
Peter laughed. “That’s not good.”
“Besides,” Carly added with a timid smile, “It’s creepy out
here. Especially with that psycho running around.”
“Tell me about it. I was shitting myself trying to get my
tire fixed.” Peter’s face puckered in curiosity. “Why are you out here and not
on the Interstate like a normal person?”
“I don’t like semis.”
“Just keep your hands at two and ten, and the semis won’t
blow you off the road,” he mocked.
Carly cast her eyes over to him, and when she spoke, her
voice was strained. “A few years ago, my best friend and I were stopped in
traffic on the Interstate. We were the end of the line, right behind a semi.
Well, I got out, because I wanted a smoke, and I couldn’t smoke in her car. I
was standing beside the car when another semi slammed into the back of her car.
It killed her instantly. I just, I just don’t like semis and there are less of
them out here.”
“Real smooth, Pete,” he muttered to himself, looking out the
window. Peter turned to face her, his face stricken with regret. “I’m sorry.”
Carly tried to lighten the mood. “Smoking saved my life.”
Peter smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I hear it does that.” He
shifted in the seat. “So you
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