Intimate Passenger, chapter 2 |
by Angel Leigh McCoy |
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COPYRIGHT WARNING: The following was written by Angel Leigh McCoy. You may not reproduce the document for distribution and/or for commercial purposes without Angel's express permission, given in writing in advance. Thank you for your consideration.
Marlie headed west in her Honda. In the first hour, she smoked six cigarettes. In the second, she smoked five. As the miles passed beneath her tires, she gradually relaxed. An internal monologue carried her through the events of the previous weeks and helped her work through potential futures. Marlie wondered if they knew it was arson. She wondered if they knew she was the one who started the fire.
Eventually, she came to the temporary conclusion that it didn't matter one way or the other.
The day bloomed brighter. Yesterday fell behind, left in the dust, and the sun kissed down into Marlie's lap. She spread her legs and pulled her skirt higher. Golden warmth seeped into her thighs. The wind played in her hair. It threw the long strands back to flap around the seat-back behind her head. Marlie felt an insane sort of happiness flush her cheeks. She had never felt quite so free in all her life.
She pulled off I-74 in Champaign, Illinois. Champaign is one of those towns that clusters all its industry just off the highway to trick you into believing it's a city. Go deeper, and you find a sleepy parasite sucking its nourishment from a corn-centric university. Marlie figured it would serve her purposes. She had to pee. The gas station had four pumps, all self-serve. Marlie claimed one for herself and went in search of the toilets.
The face that looked back at her from the bathroom mirror barely bore any resemblance to the Marlie she had once known. Her short, mousy curls had no order. Her skin had ruddy splotches of irritation from too much sun. Though always petite, she had lost weight over the previous week. It showed in the hollows of her cheeks and the sharpness of her jaw. Mousy Marlie, they'd called her throughout school because of her small stature, her fine hair and her large, gray eyes. But Marlie hadn't turned out to be so mousy after all.
Marlie offered herself a little smile, dried her hands and picked up her purse. She had just turned to leave when she smelled smoke. Smoke! The aroma sent tingles of terror running up the back of her neck. She glanced around the small bathroom with its old, porcelain toilet and facility sink. She sniffed. She listened.
A small tendril of smoke escaped at the edge of the flap on the garbage can. Marlie muttered, "Ah shit," and rushed to it. She put her hand toward the flap, but a sudden, overwhelming fear made her pull it back again. She couldn't have explained it then, nor could she explain it later, but in that brief moment, she was irrationally terrified.
Read the next installment of "Intimate Passenger."
chapter 2: 06/01
