on the road again...
I made some Weird, USA graphics. Felt the need to pair them with snippets of fiction (all of this is from the story thus far, nothing new). So here ya go:
It was a half hour later, and they were pulling into the large, dimly lit parking lot of the motel. Charlie’s impatient, staccato drumbeat against the handle stopped abruptly. She wrenched the door open and practically threw herself out of the Impala, stumbling slightly as she slammed the door shut behind her.
“Charlie,” Robbie called, slamming his own door. “Wait!”
“I don’t want to talk any more, Robbie,” she said firmly, scrambling for the room key she’d shoved into the pocket of her jeans.
“Please, listen, I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, reaching for her arm. “I know I ballsed it up; I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” she retorted quickly.
“Then why are you running away from me? Why are you shaking?” he demanded.
“You confuse me!” she shouted. “You confuse the ever loving fuck out of me, and I don’t like to be confused!”
“Why am I confusing?” Robbie asked, bewildered. “I’m not that confusing, Charlie!”
“How do you know me?” she demanded, face twisted with emotion, eyes glazed with panic. “How? Why do I feel like I know you? What is this, this, this thing between us? Magic? Devilry? I feel like I’m caught on a line and you’re pulling me in, and I don’t know if I want it or if I’ll die from the fear of it and I hate being confused. I want to stand on my own feet and know I’m standing on real ground and stop looking at me like that!”
She gasped frantically for breath, feeling far too lightheaded for only two beers, and Robbie just stood there before her, silent, staring at her as if transfixed.
“God damn it, Robbie, say something,” she managed to say weakly.
But he didn’t. A long moment passed, the two staring at one another as if the howling wind had stolen their voices. Charlie took another deep, shuddering breath and turned back to her door, fitting the key in the lock and twisting it sharply. She pulled at the door, only to find Robbie’s hand pressed against it, stopping her.
“If it’s any consolation,” he said softly. “It scares the hell out of me, too.”
“What does?”
“This thing between us. I only met you three days ago, but I’ve known you for months. It makes me feel like I’ve crossed some line I shouldn’t have, knowing you the way I do. Like I’ve stolen into your thoughts when I wasn’t invited. I feel like a thief, Charlie. You never realized I was there, but I took something with me anyway. And I’m sorry, and I’d undo it if I could, because it seems wrong and unfair but-God help me, there have been nights when the thought of you got me through them.”
Charlie stared up at him. “If I keep pulling away, it’ll only get worse, won’t it?” The tension in the car, hot and oppressive, had been almost more than she could bear.
“Probably.”
“Oh, hell.”
She grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him closer. As if they’d planned it, as if rehearsed, Robbie’s arms were around her, steadying her as their lips came together. Charlie had just enough thought left to wonder if Robbie had paid attention to her answers during their Q&A game, because he sure did know how to use his tongue…
“Did you have fun herb hunting?” Ben asked.
Olivia shook her head slightly and picked at the paint peeling along the railing. “Annie’s a very restless girl,” she said quietly, worried her voice would carry through the open window. “I’m concerned that she might run away soon.”
“I wonder if Joseph and Jane suspect?”
“I think we should warn them, just in case,” Olivia suggested hesitantly. “I can remember those days. When you feel stifled like that, and all you want to do is escape.”
“You do?” Ben stood and stepped over to lean against the railing beside her.
“Things used to be pretty bad, when my dad was home,” Olivia said simply. “Plus, I was a sixteen-year-old girl. You know when great male athletes pull off some incredible feat, like climbing Everest or swimming across the English Channel? Well, I’d just like to see them tackle being a teenage girl; I suspect most of them would throw the towel in after a couple days.”
Ben reached over to take her hand-still fiddling with the paint chips-and laced his fingers through hers. He said nothing, and she was glad of it, and simply smiled as he rubbed his thumb against hers.
“Why?” Charlie demanded. “Why are you so determined to help us? Is this some sort of… heroic obligation you feel? Or is it the only way you’ll get rid of your nightmares? Just explain your motivations to me, Robbie. Are you being altruistic or self-serving?”
“A bit of both, I suppose,” Robbie sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d expected resistance and bullheadedness from Charlie, but girding your loins for an argumentative personality and actually facing it head on were two different things entirely.
“Charlie… I feel like I’ve lived through everything with you. With you and Olivia and Ben. All of the near-misses and close calls, the nights full of adrenaline and fear, seeing all of the beauty and the darkness beneath the surface of the normal world… It’s like I stood beside you through all of that. I remember how the bayou smelt in Louisiana, and how the heat of Centralia felt when Olivia fell down that hole. And after experiencing all of that I… I feel like I know you all. I know that Ben prefers Coronas and that Olivia’s favorite artist is Vincent Van Gogh and that you’re happiest when you’re covered in engine grease.”
He wanted to say more: that she, Charlie, was the one he’d seen the clearest and most vividly. That she’d been in his dreams more than Olivia or Ben, that there had been times when he’d almost felt her skin beneath his hand and her heartbeat thundering against his chest, and that he’d memorized every line of her face over a month ago. He wanted to say he felt himself being pulled to her the way metal shavings are pulled to a magnet, and that he felt a kinship with her that he’d only ever felt with Danny. But he closed his mouth on the words and met her eyes without the slightest hint of the chaotic emotions roiling inside of his heart.
A sharp, very close bang made him jump. The TV snapped into static, hissing loudly, as he struggled up from the mattress he’d sunk down into. “God, Robbie,” he muttered. “Don’t literally bang the girl’s brains out-”
Another bang, and as Danny turned quickly he saw the nightstand wobble. The drawer had just been slammed shut-that had been the second bang. Something was in this room with him, and the fear that abruptly seized him would have robbed him of breath if his lungs still worked.
“Oi! Who’s there?” Danny demanded, eyes wide and staring.
There was a very unpleasant rustling inside the nightstand, a sort of dry clicking and scratching, and Danny knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did not want to see whatever was inside. He backed away hastily, pressing himself close to the furthest wall. There was something oppressive and cold emanating from that nightstand, a clammy sense of wrongness. Shadows, liquid and solid, began to seep from the wood, spilling to the floor, stretching up across the walls like long, skeletal fingers. The flickering lamp atop the nightstand rocked back and forth, toppling over with a crash of shattering glass, and the room went dark instantly. The only light came from the TV, still hissing with static.
“Go away, whatever the fuck you are!” he shouted shrilly. “There’s only room for one supernatural asshole in here!”
The sound stopped. There was a watchfulness to the darkness that Danny disliked almost as much as the terrible sound. Just when it seemed he couldn’t be more afraid; just when it felt as though the tension must snap, that the drawer must shoot open and something worse than his most terrible dreams would unfold from it, Danny heard the voice.