The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(39)
Author: M. Leighton

“Sorry,” I said as sincerely as I could manage, which wasn’t very sincere considering I still wasn’t sure that I really was apologetic.

It seemed like an eternity passed before he spoke. “Why don’t you take it for a drive by yourself,” he suggested flatly.

I opened my mouth to argue, but before any words came out, it occurred to me that his offer sounded very appealing.

“Alright,” I said, maybe a little too brightly. I walked to Derek and held out my hand expectantly.

His eyes bored into mine and, without breaking that contact, he dropped the keys into the center of my palm. Wordlessly, I turned and walked to the garage door. I paused with my hand on the knob, thinking there was probably some polite response or gesture I should make. It eluded me, however, so I turned the knob and stepped out into the garage, closing the door behind me.

I opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. I’d done it at least a hundred times, but never this way.

A sliver of sadness sliced through me. Tears stung my eyes. This wasn’t how I’d pictured my first drive in this car to be. Right now I should be getting a twenty-two point lecture on safe driving and at least one bone-chilling cautionary tale, complements of my father. Then he was supposed to be standing at the edge of the garage watching me back down the driveway, arms crossed over his chest and a proud smile on his face. There wasn’t supposed to be this emptiness inside me, this ache.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I pushed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared quickly to life. I shifted into reverse and backed slowly down the driveway, careful not to look forward at the empty garage.

When I reached the bottom, I turned onto the street and paused for just a second. I closed my eyes. In my head I pictured Dad giving me an approving thumb’s up and in my head I waved to him. Then I opened my eyes and, without a backward glance, I punched the gas and left my troubles behind.

The speed was a very effective, albeit temporary, tension-reliever. I drove for miles and miles, trying to put as much distance as I could between me and… everything. But it turned out I couldn’t escape my life for very long. After all those miles and all those turns, when I could’ve already reached the state line, I ended up at the cemetery instead, parked in the lot, staring at the stone-dotted landscape.

I got out and walked to Dad’s marker. They’d finally gotten it put in about two weeks ago. It was thick and sturdy, just like Dad. I sat down and leaned up against it, hoping I’d feel closer to him if for no other reason than just physical proximity to his body.

I sat like that for a long, long time, though Dad never showed up. I wasn’t even really disappointed. That was my problem: I knew he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

When I noticed how bright the dusk-to-dawn lights were getting, I hopped up and hurried to the car. If there was one thing I knew for sure it was that I didn’t want to get caught in a cemetery after dark.

I felt safer after I got in and closed the car door. I started the engine and leaned my head back against the headrest. I listened to the steady throb of the engine, wishing Dad could’ve driven it just once before he died.

After several minutes, I raised my head. A glimmer of movement drew my eye to the rearview mirror. There was something in the back seat.

I whirled around to look into the dark back seat just as invisible hands wrapped around my throat.

The strongest grip I’ve ever experienced pulled me up over the top of the bench seat and into the back seat. Then I was flat on my back looking up into the face of the badly burned man I’d seen in the garage. Terror gripped my heart even tighter than his hands.

On one half of his face, much of the bone was exposed and charred to a dull black though there were patches of melted flesh that remained, as well as a few tufts of hair on his skull. On the other side there was blood and soot-smudged skin stretched tight over a handsome bone structure and short dark hair that covered his scalp.

He had only one eye and it stared down at me furiously. And then, somewhere in the back of my horrified mind, something struck me about that cool, pale gray eye. It was familiar.

Before I could finish the thought, my lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen. My eyes watered. My head throbbed. I raised my hands to my throat, desperate to loosen the fingers at my neck. I clawed at them frantically, but my nails met with my own skin. There were no other hands there.

I pushed at the dark chest that hovered over me, but there was nothing but cool air beneath my palms. I kicked wildly with my feet, but they met with nothing but the inside of the car.

Tipping my chin back as far as I could, I managed to drag in a gulp of air, which only made me cough and sputter. Then his grip tightened even more.

I continued to flail my limbs, but it was becoming harder and harder to move as my struggling grew weaker and weaker.

I was fading quickly and I knew it. I had to do something. My last clear thought was to somehow get the door open so that the interior light would be triggered. That’s what had saved me in the garage—light.

I tried to formulate a plan, but it was so hard to focus. My brain didn’t want to think. It was sluggish and faint.

And then a car drove slowly by.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Light shone first against the ceiling, illuminating the interior the tiniest bit. The man screamed and his hold on my throat lessened. As the car passed by, brightness swept through the front seat. The grip on my throat faltered, as if something was pulling the man away from me.

Then light rushed into the back seat. As it chased away the shadows (and everything that traveled in them), the pain moved from my throat to my chest. I felt the man’s fingernails tear into my skin, his fingers clutching and clawing at me as if he were being dragged away.

And for a fraction of a second, I could feel him, too.

Where I’d been trying to push at his chest, suddenly there was something substantial beneath my hands. I could feel fabric with muscle and bone beneath. I fisted my fingers and pushed as hard as I could.

Then he was gone.

Adrenaline pumped through my body. I lay for a few seconds, breathing heavily, shaking all over, trying to gather my wits. But when darkness had once more settled all around me, I leapt into action. I climbed quickly back into the front seat and hit the switch to turn on the interior light. Then, without wasting another second, I slammed the shifter into reverse and pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

After I’d driven several miles and put a safe amount of distance between me and the cemetery, I became aware of something biting into my palm. I held my hand up and saw that a necklace was wrapped around my fingers. And there, pressed between my palm and the steering wheel, was a charm. I stuffed the necklace into my pocket and tried to put it out of my mind.