A Dead Issue by John Evans

Author:John Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub

CHAPTER 34

I sat watching her for a moment as she stood unmoving in the glare of my headlights. The fact that she showed no fear, uncertainty, or relief was unsettling. It was nearly midnight. She was alone on a dark country road standing outside her car. Things prowled in the night and a car had pulled up behind her, yet she appeared unconcerned by either approaching danger or salvation. She stared into and beyond my headlights and seemed to be making eye contact with me.

I opened my door and stepped out. The car sloped toward the side of the road, and the door fell closed when I released it.

“Sheesh! It’s about time!” Her voice was impatient like I was late for an appointment. She stood erect. Her hands unclasped and fell to her side. Her long black hair framed a creamy white face, oval and marked by eyes I would later learn were violet. A large crucifix glowed against a dark sweater that blended into her hair and slacks. Even with the backwash of her headlights, she was a face floating in the night above a golden cross.

“You were expecting me?” I asked half in jest.

“Well, I was expecting somebody to come along. I just didn’t think it would take like an hour.”

“Car trouble?” I asked as I stepped into the light, and for the first time she seemed to take an interest in the stranger who had stopped to help her on a dark, lonely road. She tilted her head and studied my face before answering.

“Yeah. Transmission. I felt it slipping a few miles back. That last little hill killed it. I got nothing.”

That explained the headlights creeping and struggling through the night.

“You have any kind of roadside assistance? Triple A? Anything?”

“Yeah, Triple A, and some kind of roadside service with my cell phone—and I think one of my credit cards has something. Trouble is, they’re not psychic.”

She smiled showing even white teeth, and the bridge of her perky nose wrinkled.

“You’ve called?”

“Phone’s dead, no charger—this just isn’t my freakin’ night.” And then she stopped. The wrinkles disappeared as her smile faded and concern came into her eyes. “You’ve been . . . hurt,” she said and her brow furrowed as her violet eyes searched mine.

I raised my hand to my nose and brushed my fingertips under my eyes where the skin had faded from purple to an unattractive yellow. Her hand came up and rested on my hand.

“Not there,” she said gently and pulled my hand away from my face. “Here,” she said, guiding my hand to my heart.

For a long while we stood in that pose, which was at the same time awkward and wonderful.

“How do you know?” I asked as memories of heartfelt injuries rushed through me—Jonah’s death, my parents’ divorce, my father . . .

“Because I felt it . . . here.” She took my hand, turned the palm toward her, and, with eyes still boring into me, she gently placed my hand on her heart where the curve of my fingers fit the swell of her breast.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.