Lost Highway (6 page)

Odessa

I
n the Lost Highway, a storm
doesn’t begin with a rumble in the distance. Instead, the world is quiet one
moment. Then in the next, Mother Nature attacks.

I am looking out the window at
the quiet afternoon when the first roll of thunder shakes the cabin. Startled,
I back away from the trembling walls. My gaze searches for Quill in the
downpour, but he’s still outside doing whatever he does. I wrap my arms around
my body and wait for the reassurance of his emotionless face to appear at the
door.

A drenched Quill enters the
cabin and walks straight into the back bedroom. I stand in the hallway, waiting
for him. He takes so long to appear that I even wonder if he’s sleeping.

The door opens after what feels
like an eternity. Now in dry clothes, Quill frowns at the sight of me.

“What?”

“I’m scared,” I say, flinching
at the banging thunder and shaking walls.

“What am I supposed to do about
that?”

I can barely hear him over the
thunder, but the meaning behind his words is clear. He thinks I’m a child, and
he won’t baby me.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Quill opens his mouth to speak
but decides whatever he wants to share isn’t worth the effort. He walks past me
and to the kitchen. Following him, I still seek comfort, and he’s my only
option.

“Go sit down,” he orders
without looking at me.

I hesitate at first, wanting to
remain as close to him as possible. The cabin quakes and lightning temporarily
blinds me. I feel beaten down by the heaviness of the storm. Before Quill can
speak again, I do as he instructs.

Sitting on the couch, I crunch
my knees against my chest and rest my head on them. I wrap my arms around my
head in an attempt to hide from the noise. Around me, the house shudders, and
the roof creaks under the storm’s power. The entire world seems ready to break
apart.

The grandfather clock in the
corner tells me hours have passed since I lowered my head, but I don’t trust
it. The clock like everything else in the Lost Highway doesn’t work correctly.
Sometimes, the hands don’t move for the longest time. This place is madness,
and I feel the chaos infecting my thoughts.

Crying, I want to go home. I’d
willingly spend a lifetime in prison if I can escape the Lost Highway. I need
to eat something besides bread. I crave stimuli besides watching Quill watch
me. I ache for a moment when I don’t fear what might be behind me. Most of all,
I dream of quiet darkness. Anything is preferable to the violent storm.

Odessa

U
naffected by the light and fury,
Quill casually walks around the cabin.
How can he remain so calm? Is he even
human?
When he speaks of Tom or Mary, there’s no emotion in his words.

Now he’s oblivious to my
reactions. When I cry from the never-ending storm, Quill only glances in my
direction as if surprised to find me still here.

Needing a reprieve from the
madness, I finally yank him down on the couch. Though his gaze is threatening,
I beg him to stay.

“I’m losing my mind,” I say,
and he relents under the power of my tears. “Tell me about where you came
from?”

“What does it matter?”

“I want to keep my sanity. I
need to know who you are because I already know enough about me.”

Quill remains silent, and I
think he’ll deny me this comfort. After he weighs his options, he gives into my
request.

“I don’t know my parents. I was
told the company found women needing abortions and paid them to give birth. The
adoptions were black market, and no records remain. Even if I could find my
parents, I see no point. What would they want with me when I have no use for
them?”

“Who raised you?” I ask,
inching closer on the couch.

Quill doesn’t like my
proximity, but he doesn’t move immediately. “The company hired nannies when we
were small. Everything was monitored. The food we ate. The music we listened
to. The hours we slept. We were trained alone to prevent us from bonding with
each other. Our instructors and nannies switched off regularly so we would feel
no allegiance to them. We were raised to trust the company and ourselves.”

“And they wanted you to kill.”

“Yes. Unlike soldiers, we were
expected to handle the stress of combat and assassination without suffering
from mental instabilities like PTSD. That was the theory, but in the end, they
overestimated the mind’s capabilities. One of the others snapped and killed
everyone at the estate. Chance came within inches of killing me too. I feigned
an injury, and he moved onto someone else. By then, the company’s offsite
agents arrived and engaged in a firefight with him. I escaped just as they took
him down. With so many dead at the estate, I doubt anyone noticed I was gone.
Well, for a while. Over time, they must have realized, but I was here by then.”

“Did you ever have any fun? Or
have anyone who cared for you?” I ask, reaching for his face.

Quill smacks away my hand. “No.
We weren’t created to feel pleasure. Our bodies are machines designed to kill.”

Having compared himself to a
robot, Quill frowns at me before continuing, “Normal humans are weak and slaves
to pleasure. Fucking, drinking, smoking, they’ll do anything to avoid the harsh
realities of life.”

“Your life makes me sad.”

“I find your pity odd,
considering you chose a mate to beat you and then resented him for doing what
you wanted.”

“I didn’t resent him. I just
couldn’t love him. John didn’t love me either. He loved the power I gave him.
He loved his slave. If I had wanted him to stop, his love wouldn’t have lasted.
John just wasn’t as realistic about our relationship as I was.”

“You wanted pain, and he wanted
to inflict it. Nothing more?”

“I wanted to be controlled.”

“You feel sad about my life,
but we were both controlled. I don’t see how you choosing to be someone’s
property enhanced your life over mine.”

“I never said it did.”

“Does your life make you sad?”

“I deserved to be someone’s
property. I needed to be punished, but you were a baby when you were bought.
You never had any power or choice. That’s why you make me sad.”

Quill doesn’t appreciate my
sympathy, and I feel pathetic under his disapproving gaze.

“Why did you save me?”

“Tell me why you deserve to be
punished.”

“I killed my sister.”

“On purpose?”

“Of course not, but what
difference does intent matter?”

“It matters to people.”

“Not to me.”

“How did you kill her?”

I don’t want to speak about
Athena when I’m already depressed, but I need Quill to remain close. The storm
shows no sign of relenting, and I can’t endure the light and noise for much
longer.

“I was watching her one day by
our house. There was a lot of traffic going by, and I needed to keep her close.
She was only six, and I was ten years older. I was in charge, but I got star
struck by Jamie Helms. He was a senior and started talking to me that day. No,
he was flirting, and I couldn’t believe he noticed me. I was blinded to
everything else. We flirted while Athena held my hand and leaned into the road.
I don’t know what she was doing before the car hit her. She often played games
with imaginary friends or pretended she was a butterfly or bird. Athena had
such a wild imagination, and I loved hearing her stories. That day, though, I
didn’t see her. I was only focused on Jamie until she was gone.”

Quill looks up at the ceiling,
and I admire his strong jaw while he thinks. “You thought of her death a lot,
didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Death was on your mind often.”

“Always.”

“That’s why you’re a Death
Dealer. Not because you killed your man. Because you can’t stop thinking of
death. Mary had the same problem. She wasn’t a killer, but she had a lot of
death in her life. It clung to her until she ended up here.”

Quill is making a good point,
yet my mind latches onto how his jaw clenches when he spits out the words “your
man.”

I want him to be possessive of
me. More than anything, I need him to care about me. Reaching out again, I hope
he’ll let me caress his cheek this time. Quill grabs my wrist and glares at me.

“Stop,” he growls. “Or I’ll
make you stop.”

His rejection hurts more than
the blinding lightning or pounding thunder.
What is the point of surviving
if loneliness is all I have to look forward to in the Lost Highway?

Odessa

T
he storm relents after I’ve
nearly gone insane. By the time the thunder falls silent, a lock of my hair
rests on the couch next to me. I look up from my hands and find the darkness lifting
outside the window. The lightning flickers once or twice more before the storm
is over.

In shock, I stand up and wobble
to the window. The world feels too quiet now, but I can finally take a deep
breath. I think I even smile. Touching the glass, I stare out at the woods and
think they’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Turning around, I spot Quill
and realize the trees are nowhere as beautiful as this man. Through the rest of
the storm, he refused to speak to me. Rather than showing pity at my begging
and tears, he viewed my hysterics as a sign of treachery.

Now with the world quiet, Quill
pretends I don’t exist at all. He walks outside and checks the cabin. When I
follow him, he says nothing. He doesn’t even glance in my direction when I
stumble over bones left behind by one of the woods’ predators.

Long after the storm passes, my
mind swims with voices and memories. I’m unable to think straight. Not about
Quill or the woods beckoning me to walk through them. They promise to soothe my
angst. I don’t fall for their lie, knowing only Quill can comfort me.

Demanding his attention, I step
in front of him. His face reveals no emotion. He simply steps to his side to
move past me, but I again block him. He stares at me with expressionless eyes,
and something snaps inside me.

I want him to acknowledge me.
No, more than recognition, I want him to care for me. I need him to fall apart
when I die like I will if I ever lose him.

Pressing my hand on his chest,
I shove him. Quill is a wall studded to the ground. He doesn’t budge at all.
Frustrated by his lack of reaction, I press my second hand to his chest and
shove with all of my strength.

“What are you attempting to
do?” he asks, unfazed by my aggression.

“I’m trying to push you to the
ground, so I can ravage you.”

Quill takes my right wrist and
raises my arm. “You have no strength in your upper body. You seemed stronger
the day you locked me in the room. Are you ill?”

“Don’t you have any reaction to
my desire to shove you down and rip off your clothes?”

“I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”

“Sex, Quill,” I mock. “Now that
you’re free from your robot factory, don’t you desire sexual relief?”

Sighing full of annoyance, he
shakes his head. “Sex is a distraction.”

“From what? There’s nothing to
do here!”

“I meant from my training.”

“You’re no longer a robot in
the old world where you took orders. You said the rules are different here. Why
can’t you be different too?”

“I don’t want to be touched.”

“You’re letting me touch you
now,” I say, poking him with both hands.

“Your behavior is curious to
me.”

I roll my eyes and walk to the
kitchen. “I think the others went insane from boredom. The only food is the
stale bread in the fridge. There’s nothing to read or watch. There’s nothing to
do period. There’s only you and me, but you won’t talk or fuck or do anything.”

“Do you feel you’re losing your
sanity?”

I flip him off and sit on the
couch. “I want to run away. I think I might take my chances out there. Death is
preferable to dying of boredom.”

“Is torture preferable?” he
asks, walking to the front door.

“Why are you so rational?
Weren’t you ever bored here?”

“I was trained to deal with
long periods of silence.”

Glancing back at him, I imagine
his old life. Silence, waiting for his assignment, no desire, no choices.

“In all seriousness, are you a
robot?”

“I don’t think you’re serious.
I think you’re insulting me in your Odessa-way.”

“How can you not want more?”

“I just don’t.”

I stand up and walk to him.
Quill doesn’t look at me. His gaze is on the woods where nothing moves.

“It’s too quiet,” I say to ease
the tension in my gut.

“Yes.”

“Is someone coming?”

“No. The wind sometimes stops
before the fog rolls through.”

“Are you afraid of the fog?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“What if something came out of
the fog and tore off your arm?” I ask, caressing his muscular bicep. “Would you
be afraid then or would you shrug it off?”

“You need to stop touching me.”

“You didn’t kill me when I
pushed you. Why would you kill me for gently touching you?”

“I have no control over my
instincts. When they kick in, I react,” he says, and his jaw twitches with
agitation.

“Why would they react now but
not when I attacked you?”

Quill finally smiles, and my
entire body reacts to the sight. He’s the most flawless man I’ve ever seen. His
smiling lips beg to be kissed. He needs me to show him how to feel.

“You were attacking me?” he
sneers. “I know you have violence in you, but that attempt was pathetic.”

His words lose their power
while his arm muscles spasm under my fingertips.

“Stop,” he says, glaring at me.

I stare into his eyes as my
nails lightly scratch his bare forearm. “No.”

“Do you want to die?”

“You’d kill me quickly,
wouldn’t you?”

Quill narrows his eyes and
grabs my throat with his free hand. I flinch and begin to struggle. Flashing
back to John’s hand around my throat, I fear the sensation of running out of
air. Except Quill isn’t John, and I’m not in my old life.

Regaining my composure, I reach
forward with both hands and touch his cheeks.

Shoving me to the ground, he
exhales like an angry bull. I’ve enraged him, and his anger makes me smile.

“You do feel something,” I say,
staring up at him.

“Do you want me to hate you?”

“Hate is better than nothing.
If you weren’t a robot, you’d know that, Quill.”

Leaning down, he snatches my arm
and yanks me to my feet. I don’t flinch at his rough touch. I’ve known violence,
and Quill is only trying to scare me.

“I will lock you in your room
again.”

“Okay, but you don’t want to. A
part of you is bored too. Who knows how long I’ll be around to entertain you?
Why throw away an opportunity for a distraction?”

“You overestimate your worth,”
he says, squeezing my arm until the bone threatens to snap. “My only concern is
for myself. You could die tomorrow, and I wouldn’t even bury you. I’d leave
your corpse for the wolves to clean up.”

His words cut deeply. I hear a
truth to them. Quill might hunger for comfort in the way I do, but he will
never give into the desire. He would rather let me rot than relent to any
tenderness inside him.

I step back, and Quill releases
my arm. We stare at each other, thinking very different thoughts. He resents me
for my lack of manners and self-control. I only want him to make the pain go
away.

Deep inside, I feel cold and
empty. The sensation began in my chest when I first arrived, and it’s
spreading. I don’t know how to feel alive again. The voices in the basement
promised me death would ease my pain, but I don’t want to die. Despite his
callousness, Quill needs me around for a while longer.

Moving without thinking, I walk
straight for the basement door and hurry downstairs. The voices chime in with
dozens of thoughts all at once. I can’t think with them screaming. I barely
notice Quill behind me until his angry voice breaks through the noise.

I look at him for only a moment
before swinging the bat. The cracking sound of contact between his head and the
weapon startles me. I recall how minutes earlier he told me I had no strength,
yet somehow I knocked him out with one strike.

Dropping the bat, I know what I
need to do next. If Quill was angry before I hit him, he’ll be absolutely
homicidal when he wakes up and sees what I have in mind for him.