Truck Stop (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Roger’s Mustang sped down the dark desert freeway, heading east. Fat raindrops began to splat on the windshield. Roger twisted the knob, and the old wipers groaned as they scraped across the dusty glass, smearing the distant pinpoints of light on the horizon. He shot a glance back at Lilly, who was cuddled up in the back seat with her stuffed rabbit and the blanket. She looked tiny there, her long brown hair slightly mussed and falling over the pink toy, looking tired. Roger remembered her yawn and wondered whether she was getting enough sleep.

She looked up and saw that he was looking at her. “Where’s Sea Salt City?” she asked.

“Salt Lake City,” he corrected. “And it’s in Utah. We won’t be there until morning.”

“How long are we staying there?”

“Daddy’s playing tomorrow night and the night after. Then we come home again.”

“Where do I sleep?”

“At your Aunt Cathy’s. Remember her?”

Lilly nodded, then dropped her head onto her rabbit and yawned.

Roger smiled. “You’ll like it there. They have a nice house. They even have a pool.”

The raindrops started coming faster and harder. Roger turned up the wipers, which caused an unnerving grinding sound. The blades were worn almost to the metal.

Roger cursed under his breath. “Shit.” The blurry mess began to clear.

They traveled along for a moment in silence, then he said, “Honey, after this weekend, I’m going to start playing in a bar at home in Las Vegas. I’ll only be gone for a few hours a night.”

Lilly’s little blue eyes looked up at him from her resting position. “With the band?”

Roger took a moment before answering “No, they…they’re still going to tour without me.”

“What about our record deal?”

It had always been “our” record deal. Roger had made sure of that. He figured if Lilly looked at his career as if it belonged to both of them, she’d understand when he had to go away for so long at a time. It was a self-serving move, of course, and Roger had grown to see it as embarrassing, but the terms of the deal had stuck with Lilly. And now it was going to all backfire if she was that invested in “their” record deal.

“Well, that…that didn’t work out,” Roger proceeded carefully. Sure enough, a disappointed look started to cloud his daughter’s face. Roger added quickly, “But you never know. I might be able to get a deal myself.”

Roger’s feint didn’t do much to change Lilly’s reaction. He sighed and decided to take a chance and deal with it head on. “Look, my deal is going to be much better. I won’t have to leave you with your mother again. Won’t that be good?”

Lilly nodded, yawned again. Her eyes were growing heavy.

Roger watched her for a moment and continued, “Lilly, I’m sorry about tonight. I should have talked to you on the phone myself to tell you I wasn’t coming yesterday, but I promise it’s not going to happen again. From now on, we’re going to be together all the time.”

Lilly nodded again. A faint smile crossed her face as she pulled the blanket around her and drifted off to sleep, her head resting on the pink rabbit.

The rain was coming down heavily by the time Roger pulled his Mustang off the highway and into the Cedar Mountain Truck Stop. It was getting close to two a.m., and they had been on the road for hours. He squinted through the windshield as the tattered blades ground back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the onslaught of water.

He carefully steered toward the metal canopy that covered the aging gas pumps in front of the diner. His car rolled to a stop underneath, and he shut down the engine. He sighed—finally, a break from the rain.

He glanced into the back seat where Lilly was fast asleep under her blanket. “Just gotta get some gas, honey,” he said. He knew she probably couldn’t hear him, but it seemed important to tell her. He yanked open the car door.

The gas pump island was a good twenty-five yards in front of the main building. A muscular, bald, mid-40s truck stop mechanic was busy trying to prop up a broken panel in the leaky canopy over the pumps with a mop handle.

Roger gave him a cursory nod as he crossed to the pump and slid his card into the slot. He wiped away the heavy mist over the digital display, leaned down close, and tried to decipher the instructions. Given the age of the rest of the place, he was surprised to see that he could use his card and didn’t have to pay the attendant first.

“Fuck cats and dogs, this is raining goddamn buffalos,” the mechanic said, smiling sardonically.

Roger glanced over at the man, who was looking over at him now.

“Raining all the way from Nevada?” the mechanic continued.

Roger shrugged. “Not all the way.” He jammed the nozzle into his tank and cranked the handle over. Fuel began rushing into his tank. Roger stretched his neck, looked over at his tattered wipers. He considered them for a moment, then crossed to his trunk and popped it open. He shoved aside his guitar case, pushed some dirty clothes out of the way, and found the roll of duct tape he was looking for. He pulled out an old shirt, ripped it in half, and crossed back to the windshield.

The bald man paused again and looked over at Roger as he started wrapping a piece of his old shirt around the wiper arm. “I got plenty of blades in the shop.”

Roger tore off a piece of tape and started securing the cloth to the arm. “Thanks, but I’m a little short of funds tonight.”

“I take all kinda plastic,” the mechanic pressed.

“That’s okay. Thanks, anyway.” Roger finished securing the pieces of cloth to the wiper arms, then crossed back to the pump.

The man smiled to himself. “Suit yourself, but that ain’t gonna hold. Not in weather like this.”

Roger ignored the warning, finished at the pump, and opened his car door.

The mechanic shook his head and watched as Roger started up the old Mustang and slowly cruised across the parking lot toward the diner at the front of the main building.

The odd mechanic was right. The soggy, shirt-wrapped wipers flung themselves back and forth across the windshield in a blurry attempt to stem the pouring rain. They worked, but barely. Certainly not good enough if it was going to come down like this all the way to Salt Lake City.

Roger pulled to a stop right outside the large diner window and shut off the engine. He clicked off the headlights and sat for a moment in the car. The sound of rain drummed loudly on the roof.

“Shit.” He rubbed his tired eyes, exhausted, then peered out at the aging truck stop complex. The expansive parking lot was fairly quiet, with just the occasional truck coming and going. A young couple had pulled up to the gas pumps. A family—husband, wife, and two kids, sheltered by raincoats held over their heads, were hurrying into the diner from their minivan. The rain was coming down in sheets.

Roger deliberated. He had to be in Salt Lake the next day for the gig, but he was too tired to keep going without coffee or a Red Bull. He hated to wake Lilly, though. He looked back at her, sound asleep, then looked over at the large diner window only a few steps away. If he went inside for a moment to get some coffee, he wouldn’t even have to take his eyes off the car.

Roger grabbed his sweatshirt and slipped it on. He pulled the hood over his head and opened the car door. He hopped out, closed the door quietly behind him, carefully locked the doors, and ran into the diner.

CHAPTER FOUR

Kajagoogoo’s “Too Shy” played on the ratty ceiling speakers in the timeworn diner. A real blast from the past, Roger thought as he yanked off his hood and brushed the water off his shoulder.

Lucinda, a sad, sexy-looking twenty-year-old with “affordable hooker” written all over her, looked up from the far end of the counter as Roger approached the register. He avoided her desperate smile and looked back out the big window to his car, which was in plain view just a few yards away.

The night-shift waitress dropped off a patty melt to a heavyset trucker at the counter, then met Roger at the register. She was a rocker in her early 20s with a purple streak in her jet-black hair, a small gold ring piercing her lower lip, and, of course, the requisite black nail polish. “Hey,” she said.

Roger glanced at her before looking out the window at the car again. “Hey. How’s it going”?

She smiled and nodded at the dingy diner around her. “Really?”

Roger looked back at her, and this time he saw her for the first time. She was cute. He smiled back. “That bad, huh?”

She folded her order pad over to a new page and hesitated. A slow look of recognition crossed her face. “Fuck me,” she said. “You’re rhythm guitar for Cutt, right?”

Roger was surprised, and a bit flattered. “I am, yeah.”

“You guys rocked The Palms last year when you opened for Evanescence.”

Roger’s smile broadened involuntarily. “Thanks. Thanks a lot. I’m Roger—“

“Dalton. Right, I know.” She was beaming now as she finished his words.

“Cool,” was all Roger could come up with as he admired the way her smile wrinkled her nose in an adorable way.

She wiped her hand on her apron and thrust it out to him confidently. “Kat. I’m Kat Williams.”

Roger took her hand and shook it. They both stood there for a moment without saying anything. It was like two members of the same tribe meeting on foreign shores. Kindred rocker spirits.

Kat snapped out of it first. “So, what can I get you?”

“Just, uh, coffee. Oh no, wait. One of those Five Hour Energy drinks.” He pointed to the display by the register.

“Anything else?”

Roger thought a moment. “Yeah. Soup, maybe, to go.”

“Yeah? Well we got minestrone and, well, minestrone. The mushroom sucks.”

“Done deal.”

Roger watched as Kat jotted down the order on her ticket, then turned and jammed it onto the wheel in the pass-through. Cute legs. Rocking body. And that hair. She was more than cute. She was hot.

Kat spun back with a big smile on her face. “So, what are you doing out here?”

Roger’s eyes snapped back to her face. “Going to Salt Lake for a gig.”

“No shit. I didn’t know you guys were going to be playing Salt Lake.”

Roger hesitated; he had blurted out where he was going so she wouldn’t notice he had been checking her out. But now he had to explain more than he wanted to. “Yeah, well. It’s probably my last time with Cutt.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m going to start playing in Vegas full time by myself.”

“Oh, nice. Where?”

Shit. No way out of this now, Roger thought. He had only met her five minutes ago, and he was already going to have to let her know what a loser he was. He could probably try to spin it, but in the end, he couldn’t hide from it. She would eventually find out, along with the rest of the world. After all, the casino wasn’t going to keep the gig a secret. He decided to just offer up the truth and get it over with. “At, uh, Circus Circus. The lounge there in the amusement part.”

“You mean where they have that roller coaster?”

Could this have gone worse? The cool rocker dude was going to be playing at a bar in a carnival. Roger could only smile and fess up. “Yeah.”

There was a moment that seemed like an eternity to Roger, then Kat nodded and smiled. “I am so there.”

What did she say? Roger could barely hide his surprise. “Yeah?”

“Definitely.” And he could tell she totally meant it. Another moment lingered between them, then the bell dinged behind her.

The middle-aged cook and night manager pushed the Styrofoam container across the reach-through. “Order up,” he grunted, then went back to his grill.

Kat said, “Thanks, Bart,” grabbed the soup, and handed it to Roger. He dug out his wallet, pulled out some cash.

“Three fifty. Oh, and one of these Five Hour little guys here.” She handed him one of the small drinks. “These little suckers are two-fifty. Six total.”

Roger handed her a ten. She smiled and shook her head as she rang him up. “Roger fucking Dalton. Too cool.”

She turned back to him with his change. Roger waved her off. “Yours.”

Kat dropped the change in her apron. “Thanks.” She laughed. There was another of their now-familiar awkward moments.

Roger jumped in. “So, I’m starting next month. At Circus Circus. I’ll look for you.”

“You’ll see me,” she assured him.

“Cool.” He grabbed his soup. “Cool,” he repeated. He started to turn, then hesitated. He looked out the big front window at his nearby car, then back to Kat, “Hey, uh, y’know, I’ve got my daughter in my car right there. Any chance you could keep an eye on it? I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Right there? The Mustang?”

“Yeah.”

She looked back at him, still smiling. “Sure, sure. Of course. No problem.”

“Really? Thanks. It’s just that it’s pouring, and she’s asleep. I didn’t want to drag her out in this shit, you know.”

“I got it,” she reassured him.

Roger sighed, relieved. “That’s great. Thanks, really. I’ll be quick.”

“I’ll be here.”

Roger turned and scanned the diner with a puzzled look on his face.

Kat had seen that look a million times before. “Out that back door,” she explained, “past the gift shop, all the way at the end of the hall. Last door on the right.”

“Thanks.” Roger smiled and started out across the diner; he was careful to avoid Lucinda’s hopeful, sad smile as he passed her by.

The thin, scratchy ‘80s Muzak took on an eerie quality in the long, dark hallway to the bathroom. Drops of water splashed from several leaks in the stained ceiling into metal pots set on the ancient orange carpet. Roger started toward the bathroom doors in the shadowy distance. On the way, he passed several doors to the showers and several more that were sleeping rooms.

Then he approached it: the old bulletin board, filled with the years of yellowing missing-persons notices, and he couldn’t help but stop.

Just as Cindy had.

Roger unscrewed his Five Hour Energy drink and took a sip as he looked over the clutter. There was something about the collage of faces that would not be ignored. It was almost hypnotic. The yellowing fliers rattled slightly as a slight cold breeze rippled past them. An uneasy feeling began to creep up on Roger.

But Roger ignored the feeling. He downed the rest of his little drink, pried his eyes away, and continued to the men’s room. He pushed open the creaking door.

It was dingy in here too, with rust stains in the cracked sinks. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered and buzzed. Roger tossed his empty energy drink bottle away, stepped up to the urinal, unzipped, and exhaled slowly.

He stood for a long moment, relieving himself. He could hear the wind and the wash of rain outside. There was the dim rumble of an occasional truck approaching and another departing, then there was something else. It was a distant scratching sound.

Roger clamped off in midstream. He remained at the urinal for a moment, waiting. Then it happened again. A scraping sound, like human fingernails on hollow wood. This time, it was followed by a low thump.

Then silence.

Roger closed his eyes and concentrated, and after a moment, he was able to resume his business. He zipped up, crossed back to the sink. He splashed water on his hands and looked around for a towel, but none was to be found. He patted his hands dry on his pants and crossed back to the door.

Roger stepped back out into hallway and paused. He looked down the long, dark corridor. At the far end was a door with a small, high windowpane leading outside. Rain drummed against the glass.

Roger remained there, waiting. A minute passed, and another. Roger took a deep, cleansing breath and started down the hall.

He had gotten only a few steps when lightning flashed outside the glass pane in the door. For a brief second the flickering light silhouetted the figure of a woman standing just inside the door.

Roger stopped cold. Shit. Did he just see that?

He waited for another moment. Thunder rattled the old building. There was no one in front of the door.

Roger pushed himself on down the hall. As he passed the old bulletin board, the eerie Muzak buzzed and distorted. Then, faintly, the vague sound of what seemed like a woman sobbing blended with the song. Roger hesitated, listened more carefully. But it was just the distorted Muzak again. Roger continued.

He reached the exit door with the small window and stopped. Maybe he had seen a shadow from something outside.

He straightened up as far as he could and peered out the small, high window into the rainy darkness. He couldn’t see much. It was dark and blurry. He squinted, reached up, and wiped the condensation off the inside.

It didn’t make things much better. Smeared glass must be his destiny tonight. First his windshield wipers and now this.

He sighed and was just about to turn away when there was a loud slap at the window. He spun back, startled. A bloody hand was clawing at the glass, its fingers clutching at the top of the small frame as though to pull itself up.

Roger recoiled, horrified. The hand slowly streaked down the glass, leaving a bloody trail behind.

Roger snapped out of his stunned paralysis. He shoved the door hard, and it banged all the way open.

There was no one there.

Roger leaned outside and scanned the darkness. He saw the junkyard a few yards away. Off to the right was the repair garage, and off to the left was the truck wash. But there was no sign of the woman, or of anyone.

Roger stood for a moment in silence.

Shit. It had happened again. He thought he had tuned it out, but he hadn’t.

He had spent his life struggling with this. His encounters. It didn’t matter that some people told him it was a blessing. It wasn’t. It was a curse. Plain and simple.

Roger couldn’t have known anything about Cindy, let alone that she had walked that same corridor that same night. He couldn’t have known that they were both sensitives. But Roger was a much stronger sensitive than Cindy. He had seen the other side before. Heard it. Even interacted with it.

Roger’s encounters had started when he turned thirteen. Puberty. That awkward phase when his body was in complete turmoil. At first, he tried to pretend they didn’t happen, but they only got stronger. Whatever physiological changes his body had undergone at that point in his life turned him on like a human antenna. The changes allowed him to tune into things that others couldn’t see or hear.