Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I was a believer.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine…
I believed. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe… maybe the ones who don’t believe have it better? Because if you don’t believe in good, then the evil doesn’t care about you.
A knock on the glass startles me and I look over to find the father of the kids peering though the layer of steam that has coated my window.
I buzz the window down and stare at him. We’re about eye to eye and I notice his are blue, like ice. Like Paul’s.
“Hey.” He smiles as he stares at me, and it’s genuine. “My wife noticed you were alone and we just wanted to make sure you were…” His smile falls. “Uh… just… to see if you were… OK.” I squint at him and he takes a step back, putting up a hand. “Didn’t mean to bother you.” He takes another step back. “We’re… we’re leaving now.”
Then he turns and I watch in the rearview mirror as he ushers his family back into the RV, giving my truck one last glance before he disappears inside. A few moments later, they pull away, leaving me alone.
When I focus my eyes on myself in the mirror, I see what he saw.
A monster.
My face is still the same, but my eyes are red. Not bloodshot, but red.
I just gave that man a glimpse of evil and he, unlike me, was wise enough to get the fuck out of here while he still could.
I suddenly want to leave. But I don’t pull out after the RV and get behind them. I don’t want to freak the guy out. I don’t want him to think I’m hunting him. And he will. Because out here there aren’t many people travelling, especially in the middle of winter. I’ve traveled hundreds of miles along a Montana highway with the same cars on many occasions. One stops to get gas. One stops for food. I keep going. Fifty miles later, I stop for gas and watch from the pumps as they pass by me. It’s like a little game of tag out here on these roads.
I don’t want to travel Montana with the family I lost.
I want to throw myself over that cliff, actually.
I want to die and I have wanted this for decades.
But just like Paul said, And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.
I shall not find it because I am in ‘those days.’
And it’s only been sixty-five years.
But there is a way to die. Paul said as much. He said I was dying and I have to drink Syrsee to live.
Well. I chuckle as I close my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. I won’t be doing that. I will not drink her again. I will just… stay right here. Let the storm come. Let it wash over me. Let it kill me. Let it…
My world changes as I slip into the purple. It’s a bright, sunny day in the middle of summer, but the air all around me has been tinted to the color of a fresh bruise.
I’m standing outside a garage pumping gas for a man in a gorgeous coral sand Ford Skyliner. He’s talking excitedly about his weekend and even though I can’t hear him, I find myself interested and smiling as I nod.
Because this is me, and this was my life, and whoever this guy is, sitting in this work-of-art car in nineteen fifty-seven, he is my friend. Probably someone I hung out with. Drank with, went on vacation with, and spent holidays with.
Then I hear someone calling… calling for…
The guy in the car nods his head, indicating I should look behind me.
And there is a voice there, a sweet, sweet voice. A woman’s voice.
It’s in this moment that I realize my wait is over. Because this voice belongs to her.
My wife.
My Jane.
And all I have to do is turn my head and…
I can’t. I can’t do it. If I see her, I will want to die. And I won’t. I’ll be stuck here, as this man called Ryet—who is not Ryet—and I will be in Hell forever.
“Riah!” She’s calling me. “Zechariah! Your lunch is getting cold!”
Turn, Ryet. Turn and look at her. See her! That’s what you’ve wanted! That’s what you’ve been begging for all these years!
But I can’t. I just… wake up.
A blanket of white has covered my windshield, inches thick. My truck is still running, but I didn’t have the heat on, and it’s freezing. My body is so hot that when I press a palm up to the windshield, the snow melts around it and in a few seconds, I can see the road and the mountains through the murky haze of late afternoon snow.