Truck Stop (3 page)

He had struggled for a while, afraid to say anything to anyone, but he had finally broken down and confided in a free-spirited friend of his older sister’s. She didn’t bat an eye; she was the first person to tell him that it was a gift.

Roger was relieved at first, and it even got him laid for the first time with her, but when the affair died out, it all backfired. The free spirit told Roger’s sister all about his encounters.

There were psychologists. Then psychiatrists. There were concerned counselors from his school, and even an ex-priest friend of the family who weighed in.

Then, finally, there was the diagnosis. Schizophrenia. He went on a few years of heavy medication and, unfortunately, it helped him. It was unfortunate because the drugs also dulled him so much he couldn’t play his music.

Roger started taking himself off his meds without anyone knowing it and replaced them with more socially acceptable medications. Acceptable, at least, in the rock and roll world.

First, it was just grass. Then grass and liquor. Then Valium. By the time he reached heroin, he was a working musician, so people looked the other way. In the end, he had a near-fatal overdose, so he pulled back.

Now that he was older, he had a perspective on his “gift” and had learned to live with it. He tried to avoid places where the divide between our world and theirs was the thinnest. When he couldn’t avoid places like that, he ignored his “curse” the best he could and got by with a little grass and an occasional drink. It had been a roller-coaster life so far, and it had taken its toll on him emotionally and physically.

Roger felt the cold rain soaking completely through his hoodie, and he realized he had been standing outside for longer than he had thought. He stepped back inside the hall and closed the door.

This might be a place where the divide between the worlds was thin, but he would ignore this. Pretend it didn’t happen. He was going to get back in the car and keep going to Salt Lake City.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lucinda was gone, and Kat was busy busing her dishes when Roger came back into the diner. Kat glanced over and registered his distracted mood. He picked up his soup at the counter and painted on a smile for her.

“Hey, thanks,” he said.

Kat came over, wiping her hands. “Sure,” she said. She tossed the rag under the counter and shot a look back at him. “You okay?”

Roger nodded. “Yeah. Tired, but okay.”

“We got sleeping rooms here if you need one,” she offered.

“Nah, I gotta be in Salt Lake in the morning.” He backed toward the front door.

“Well, drive careful.”

“Yeah, thanks again.” He pushed out the door.

Kat watched after him for a moment; there was definitely something going on with him.

Outside, Roger paused under the awning and zipped up his hoodie. He had to get back to Lilly, but he needed to do something else first; try as he might to ignore his experience in the hallway, it had unnerved him. He looked around and spotted an alcove nearby that had a clear view of his car but was hidden from the diner. He pulled his hood on and ducked out into the rain.

Kat watched Roger hurry toward the alcove and duck out of sight. What the hell was he up to? She strolled up to the window and craned to the side, trying to see where he had gone. It was no use. She couldn’t see the alcove from inside. She looked back at the dining room. It was just the family in the corner booth now, their raincoats still dripping, hung over the booth next to them, and Bart was in the kitchen doing prep work. Kat looked at her watch, then crossed back around behind the counter.

Outside, Roger faded back into the alcove. He looked over at his car, parked and locked safely just a few feet away, and dug into his pocket. He took out a joint, fired it up, and took a deep hit.

This was what he needed now. It was the only way to block the shit out. He exhaled slowly as he scanned the parking lot around him. Not much had changed. He saw several long-haul rigs and the family’s minivan, then his eyes locked on a muddy old tanker truck, several yards away.

Seated behind the dark, dirty windshield was a gaunt truck driver with haunted, hollow eyes. Steam rose up in front of him as he poured himself a cup of something hot, probably coffee from a Thermos. Before Roger could look away again, the trucker looked up and stared right back at Roger.

Roger was startled, but he didn’t look away. The moment became odd and a bit creepy. Then, the driver snapped off his dome light and disappeared into the darkness of the cab.

Roger took another hit off his joint. The faint sounds of sex drifted to him over the drumming rain. He looked the other direction and saw a double trailer-truck. Through the partially open shade, Roger could see Lucinda grinding away on top of some unseen trucker. She arched her back and thrust out her perky, pale breasts; the man’s hands slid up from below and grabbed them firmly. Rough, old hands. Black dried oil under the nails. They squeezed hard, but Lucinda didn’t react; she just kept riding away with a distant look in her eyes and her best “fuck me hard” expression frozen on her face.

Roger couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in Lucinda’s head. Was she counting her fee? Or was she counting time until he came? The dirty hands gripped harder; Roger half expected them to leave oily marks on her milky white tits. God, this place was weird.

“I hear she’s cheap, but her blow jobs really suck.”

Roger looked over, startled. Kat was standing right behind him in the alcove.

“And I don’t mean that in a good way,” she added with a smile, and reached over for the joint.

Roger hesitated, passed the joint to her. “Bad, huh? Then you can definitely count me out,” he smiled back.

Kat took a deep hit, exhaling long and slow. She studied him for a moment in silence, then said, “You know, you looked a little freaked when you came back from the bathroom. Cockroaches a little much for you?”

“No, didn’t see any roaches,” he said, before taking another hit.

“Too bad. They’re actually kinda like family. I’ve got names for most of them.”

Roger chuckled, passed the joint back to her. She started to take another hit, then hesitated. “So, what then? You run into one of our local freakazoids back there?”

Roger shook his head. “No.”

Kat pressed on. “Well, you don’t strike me as a dude who gets put off his game if someone doesn’t courtesy flush. What was it?”

Roger assessed his new friend for a moment; she wasn’t going to let this go. He’d been in this conversation a million times before, and it always went one way or the other. He had learned to inch his way into the topic and gauge how people were responding. If the explanation went south, he’d have to laugh it off and pretend he was bullshitting them, or, if they were open to the idea, things would be fairly cool. Most of the time he could tell how the person would react; sometimes he was surprised. It seemed like a pretty good bet Kat would be cool, so he shrugged. “I…I had an encounter,” he said.

Kat looked at him, puzzled. “An encounter. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Doesn’t sound good, but at least we’re getting somewhere.”

Roger studied her a little longer, then decided to just drop it out there cold. “I’m a sensitive.”

Kat held on to this a moment in her head, trying to digest exactly what he was saying. “A…sensitive,” she repeated.

“I can see things a lot of people can’t. Ghosts. Spirits. Apparitions.”

Kat brightened. “Residual energy stuff?”

Roger had read her right. She was just new age enough to buy into it. Either that, or her parents were new agers, and she had grown up around it. “Sure. Residual energy stuff. That works too.”

Kat gazed up at him. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Roger said firmly.

There was a long beat, and a smile spread across Kat’s face. “Y’know, this is, like, cool. Very cool.”

“Cool? No. Not like cool. Not like cool at all. Not when you’ve been living with it as long as I have. It fucking sucks.” He held up the joint, displaying it for her. “So, you do what you have to do to numb it out.”

Kat grew genuinely interested. “Weed stops you from seeing things?”

“No, not completely, but it helps. Stronger shit works way better, but hey. I went down the heroin highway, and it wasn’t leading me anywhere except rehab. So, yeah. Now all I’ve got is the weed and a prescription for anxiety.”

Kat took a moment to absorb all this before speaking. “Dude, I always thought this place was haunted.”

Roger smiled; her limited understanding of his hell was so innocently charming he couldn’t help himself. “It’s not just here. It’s everywhere. Usually there’s a reason behind it.”

Kat jumped in eagerly. “Right. Like when someone left something unfinished, or they died unexpectedly. Or they were really happy someplace, or really sad.”

Roger took a moment to just look at her; she was a bit deeper into this than he thought, but still naïve. “I’m guessing someone’s been watching
Ghost Hunters
on The Travel Channel.”

Kat smiled proudly. “Just, like, every chance I can.”

Of course.
Ghost Hunters
. Those idiotic jerks with their night vision cameras who locked themselves inside haunted houses at night. It was like saying you felt like you’d been to Switzerland after riding the Matterhorn at Disneyland.

Roger shook his head. “Yeah, well that’s all bullshit. They think they got it down, but they don’t. Half the time it’s someone farting, and they think they’ve recorded a spectral voice.” He held up the joint for her again. “You want?”

Kat shook her head. “I wish. But I gotta go back to work. Believe it or not, my job can be a real bitch if I’m too faded. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Roger stubbed out the roach, pocketed it. “Yeah, I gotta keep going too.”

And there they were again, in the middle of another of their lingering, awkward moments. But this time, things took a quick turn. Kat leaned up and kissed him impulsively.

Roger was taken by surprise. He was about to back off, but then it became effortless, and comfortable, and filled with energy all at the same time. He pulled her closer. The kiss grew deep and slow, and they were both lost in it.

Kat pulled away after several moments, whispered breathlessly, “Fuck.”

Roger’s entire body lit up with a surge that overpowered anything he was feeling from the weed.

Kat brushed her hair out of her eyes and nervously dug into her apron. They were both wrestling with what had just happened, and the moment became more awkward than all of the others they had shared combined.

She took out a napkin with her phone number already written on it and held it out, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “Here,” she said. “I was only planning to humiliate myself a little bit.”

Roger looked down at the napkin and smiled. “No, no. This is great. I’ll call you.”

“Sure, right. Or I’ll see you in Vegas. Whatever.” Kat was feeling so uncool that she just wanted to get out of there as fast as she could. “I gotta go.”

She turned to leave, but Roger caught her arm. “Hey,” he said softly. Kat turned back and met his gaze. There was warmth and reassurance in his eyes. “I’ll be driving back through here Monday. See you then.”

Kat felt her awkwardness melt away; she smiled involuntarily. “Cool.”

Roger let her go. She gave him a final look, then hurried off into the rain.

Roger watched her disappear into the diner door. Yes, this place was definitely not ordinary, Roger decided. He pulled up his hood and ducked out of the alcove. He thought belatedly of Lilly. While he had been absorbed with Kat in the alcove, neither of them had been looking directly at the car. But what could happen? It had been a matter of a minute or two, and they were so close to the car, they would have noticed any disturbance. The car doors were locked, in any case.

The rain had decided not to let up. Not even a little. Roger hurried over to his car, fumbled with his keys as he wiped the water from his eyes. Of course the car was still locked. He managed to get the key in the lock and twist it.

He slid in behind the wheel and closed the door. He took a deep breath, pulled the hood off his head. He carefully set the soggy bag with his soup on the seat next to him and pulled out the napkin.

He smiled when he looked at Kat’s number, then carefully folded the napkin and tucked it into his pocket. “All right, Lilly,” Roger whispered, so he would not wake his daughter. “No more stops. Straight on through to Salt Lake City.”

He started the car and adjusted the wiper speed, again cursing the bulky wipers. He slipped the car into reverse, looked over his shoulder to back up, and stopped cold. The back seat was empty, except for the blanket.

Lilly was gone.