Firefly Rain (12 page)

The car’s headlights cut through the dark as it came up the road toward the house. The rain was so thick that it looked like fog, the beams of the headlights showing up distinctly against the storm. Whoever it was, they were moving fast, and into the teeth of the storm.

The car crested the slight hill that marked the end of Tolliver property and moved into view. For a second I couldn’t see its outline or its shape because of the rain. Then, suddenly, the patter of the drops on the roof slowed and it was almost clear, like God had wiped clean the glass of the world so for a moment all His creatures could see plainly. I squinted out at the road, looking to see if I could make out the car, maybe get a look at the unlucky bastard who was driving.

It was silver; that much I could see. And the shape, well, the shape reminded me of something.

Ten seconds later, as it roared past the driveway on its closest
approach, my brain put two and two together and got an answer it didn’t like.

Unless there was another silver Audi loose in the hinterlands of Cackalacky, that was my car out there, kicking up gouts of water as it charged through the puddles on the road. That was my car doing an ungodly rate of speed down a poor excuse for a dirt road and through a thunderstorm that promised tornadoes or worse.

“Motherfucker!” was the first word out of my mouth, and then my jaw just hung open. I thought for a second about calling the police to tell them, but I could already hear the words coming down the other end of the line. “Well, sir, are you sure it’s your car? Lots of cars look alike in the rain, after all.” And then in the background I’d hear Hanratty’s laugh, like something out of a Disney cartoon, and a click as the line went dead.

Besides, even in a best-case scenario, the car would be long gone by the time anyone from town got here, sirens flashing or no.

Outside, the timbre of the engine’s growl changed. I peeked through the blinds. The car had slowed to a crawl right in front of the house. It was barely moving as it sat there taunting me.

I saw red. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what happened. Everything in my brain above caveman level just locked itself in a box and hid, and all that was left was an angry monkey saying, “Son of a bitch, that thing’s
mine
!”

I grabbed my house key, yanked the door open, and pelted out into the rain. The sound the door made slamming shut behind me was lost in the storm as I pounded down those steps and up the drive.

Whoever was in the car saw me. The car, mud splashed up dark on its silver sides, rolled forward at a slow pace, just faster than a man could walk.

I ran. Got within ten feet of the bumper. Reached out like I was going to fling myself onto the trunk.

The car sped up. With a snort, it jumped forward and put maybe another fifty feet between me and the license plate. Then, it slowed. Sat there. Waited.

I kept coming. The gap closed. Rain came down, and thunder and lightning split time slicing through the clouds.

When I got within fifteen feet this time, the car sped off again.

I stood there. Waited. Looked back at the house to see how far I was getting from it, and thought briefly that maybe someone was using this as a way to bust in while I was gone. I put the thought out of my mind, though. If they wanted in, there were easier ways to do it. Besides, I wanted my damn car.

Slower this time, I started forward. It was an angry man’s pace, deliberate and righteous. Little wisps of smoke puffed out of the tailpipe as I came forward, the engine letting me know it was still alive.

I closed within a dozen feet. Looked back over my shoulder at the house again. It was hiding behind a curtain of rain, barely visible. If I kept going forward, I’d soon be out of sight of it entirely.

I didn’t care. A few more steps brought me closer. Still the car sat there. Little rivers streamed off the back and around the tires.

I kept walking. My car, I said to myself. No doubt about it. This was my car. The Massachusetts tags were plain to see. The brake lights glared at me, angry red eyes through the storm. I didn’t care. I pulled my robe tighter around myself and started forward.

The driver waited until I was maybe five feet behind the bumper and gaining before stepping on the gas. Mud and cold water spun up behind the wheels and caught me full in the chest as the car jumped forward.

I stumbled. A flash of lightning sizzled the air just overhead, searing everything into an image of stark black and white. I could see the shape of the driver up ahead, outlined against the white light. Then the thunder came and knocked me to my knees. The rain hammered into my back like it was trying to push me down into the mud, bury me, and hide any trace of my existence.

I fought it off, stood against the wind and started forward again. My robe was soaked, my legs were covered in cold mud, but I didn’t care. Through the sheets of rain I could see the taillights of the car, but nothing more. Two red lights shining through the storm, taunting me.

Another flash of lightning cut the sky ragged, a little farther away this time. I braced myself for the thunder and started moving forward. One thought filled my mind: I was going to kill the man who was driving it. I was going to reach the car, pull the door open, and wrap my hands around the neck of whoever was inside. This I knew with a calm certainty, the same way a preacher knows that the Lord is up there and watching.

Twenty more steps. The car just sat there in the rain, thunder shaking the air around it. Ten. I could almost see him through the solid sheets of water coming down.

The engine roared to life as that son of a bitch threw the car into reverse and came screaming back up the road at me. I threw myself to the side just in time, landing in the drainage ditch in half a foot of red-brown water. My shoulder took the impact, slamming hard into the mud. Water splashed up as I hit, mixing with the splashback from the car’s passage in a curtain of muddy spray. It hid me from the road for a moment, long enough for the driver to throw the car into first and gun it. I could hear the engine protest and grind, but it obeyed and charged forward. More water spattered down on my back and neck, mixed with
pebbles and clots of mud. I shouted something then—curses I can’t remember—as the car rolled off into the storm. The rain came down double hard, like Heaven wanted to hide the sight from me. After a minute, even the sound of the engine was gone, drowned out by the wind, the thunder, and the rain coming down in a hurry.

A sensible man would have gone back inside then, I think. I never claimed to be sensible, though. Just proud sometimes, and stubborn.

Facedown and on my hands and knees, I waited in that ditch for something to tell me what to do next. Cold water flowed around me, the chill of it getting under my skin. My robe was soaked, clinging wet to my legs and back. I shivered and clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. Even if the damn car was gone, I wasn’t going to give the driver the pleasure of seeing me shake.

Slowly, I stood up. Shook myself to get the worst of the mud off.

The car might have been out of sight. It might have been out of earshot. Hell, it might have been swallowed by the mud or the storm or the sky, for all I knew.

But I had seen it go off into the distance, and for as long as I could, I would follow.

With one last look back at the house and a quick check of my pocket to see if the keys were still there, I climbed back onto the road. My fingers tore gashes out of the mud as I hauled myself up, but eventually they found rocks to cling to that would hold my weight. Red water ran off me in streams as I stood, sliding down my legs and puddling around my feet as I stared off into the distance.

Then, I started running. My slippers slapped against my feet
for maybe a dozen steps before I kicked them off and my bare feet hit the road. Cold mud spread around my toes with each step, but I kept running, water and wet dirt flying up behind me. My face was a mask of reddish dirt and my hands were caked in mud. My footsteps sank into the surface of the road, leaving prints that the rain washed away before I’d gone another twenty feet. Gravel from the roadbed tore at my feet, but if they drew blood I didn’t see it.

I just ran.

Lightning flashed again, and through a sudden lull in the storm, I saw lights up ahead on the road.

Red lights. The taillights on my car, sure as sunset.

I ran faster. Fence posts went past, their outlines blurred by the rain. Trees were distant shadows, fading through shades of gray. I knew I was off my land now, was farther down the road than I wanted to think about. It didn’t matter.

I could see that the lights had stopped moving up ahead. Maybe the thief was waiting for me. I didn’t care. The road felt good under my feet, each footstep splashing in rhythm. The rain didn’t feel cold anymore. My breath steamed up in front of me, then trailed away in thin streaks.

I could hear the car now. The engine’s rasp cut across the noise of the storm. And above it, another sound: the high-pitched whine of tires stuck in mud.

Now I knew why the lights weren’t moving. I could feel my lips curl up in a wolf’s grin.

Stuck. The bastard was stuck. And I was coming for him.

The car got closer. It was pinned at the bottom of a slight rise, a place where trucks had long since spit all the gravel off the road and left ruts in the hard-packed dirt. Now it was deep mud, and the Audi was trapped in it. The engine roar got louder. If the thief
kept that up, he might burn the engine out. Mud spray flew up and coated the taillights, dimming the lights that had drawn me this far.

It didn’t matter. I was close.

Lightning flared again in ragged forks from east to west. If the driver was looking, he would have seen me in the rearview. I was that close. My hands had gone numb and my lips were thick with the cold, but I didn’t care. I’d open the door. I’d pull the thief out. I’d take care of business.

And suddenly, there it was. My car. Right in front of me. The wheels still spinning, digging it in ever deeper. The figure inside turned, looked over its shoulder at me through cold-misted glass, then hunched over the wheel. He was big, whoever he was, too big to be Carl. For a second, I worried that I’d read the man wrong, then I put the thought out of my mind. Carl had a lot of friends, as Hanratty had reminded me. No doubt I was just about to find out who one of them was.

I put my hand on the trunk. It felt warm, like the rain hadn’t touched it. That didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that I’d touched it. I took another step forward and pressed my palm against window glass.

The thief rocked back and forth in his seat, no doubt trying to shake the car loose. I could have told him he was wasting his time. That car wasn’t going anywhere. I was sure of it. The engine howled as he floored the gas pedal.

I put my hand on the driver’s-side door. Wrapped my fingers around the handle. Tugged it up.

Lightning hit a tree at the top of the hill. I pulled my hand away to cover my eyes.

And the car leaped out of the hole it had dug for itself and roared away.

I sank to my knees, watching the taillights fade like the devil’s eyes into the distance. Tired. I was tired. If I’d had anything left in me, I would have cried, but there wasn’t any point to it. The house was somewhere behind me, but I didn’t care. It was too damn long a walk. I didn’t have it in me. Not now. Not after that.

I managed to get to the side of the road before collapsing, sliding and tumbling down into the drainage ditch. Cold water wrapped itself around me, running past like it was in a hurry to be somewhere I wasn’t. It felt good—the chill of it sucking the pain and warmth out of me by degrees. I closed my eyes and waited.
Silly thing to die over, really
, I told myself.
I could have bought another car.
Didn’t even really like that one so much when I thought about it.

The noise of the rain went away, and the thunder with it. All the cold left me, too.
Freezing to death in Carolina rain
, the last waking bit of me said to myself.
Isn’t that funny?

Yes it is
, I agreed, and I went to sleep.

Light.

Strong arms, lifting me.

A voice saying, “You’ve had enough adventure for one day, Mr. Logan. Rest easy now.”

Hands stripping away my robe, something I knew I should find disturbing. A warm blanket, rough to the touch, slipping over me instead.

“Tsk-tsk-tsk” and “My God, look at his feet.”

And Officer Hanratty saying, “How the hell did he get all the way out here?”

These were the only things I remembered.

I woke up the next morning in my own bed, stark naked under blankets I hadn’t used since I was a boy. My head hurt, and so
did my hands and feet, but I felt bruised rather than broken. The smell of scorched coffee was in the air, and I could hear someone whistling in the kitchen.

My brain started coming on line then, and so help me God, for a minute all I could think was,
Sweet Jesus, Carl took my pants off.
Then the rational part of my brain, or at least the part that had other things to worry about besides who’d seen me naked, woke itself up and told me I should probably get out of bed. Wrapping the blankets around myself, I sat up and tried to take its advice.