The Passenger

The black countryside split open at speed as the stolen car and its passengers fled through the night like a knife through steam. On both sides, close, spindly hedgerows clawed at the vehicle as it curved, dipped and glided along the narrow back roads, its tawny headlamps lighting up the way ahead a few brief metres at a time. Every so often a lonely farm house would loom up out of the darkness, only to shrink back as quickly and silently as it had appeared, its slumbering inhabitants oblivious to the travellers as they zoomed past wordlessly.

Inside, Michael let his body fall into sync with the journey; a wilful slave to the road’s demands. Stretched out like a cat in the passenger seat next to him, Keira lay with her head leaning back on the headrest, stargazing. Occasionally, the orange beams of the headlights would land on some night-thing - a pair of shining eyes staring back through the blackness - but mostly they were alone.

Hypnotised by the road, it took a while for Michael to register the dull thump thump thump coming from the rear of the vehicle.

“What’s that noise?” he breathed to Keira.

Kiera cocked her ear and listened.

Thump thump thump.

“I’m sure it’s nothing – a car sound.” She replied, her face relaxing back into its regular, complacent shape.

Michael grimaced and tried to believe her, his attention turning once again to the road ahead. Just then another irregular thump reverberated through the vehicle, finding an easy home in the hollow of his chest.

“That’s no car sound!” he fretted nervously, the steering wheel starting to stick as his hands turned clammy and warm. “That came from the trunk!”

He cut the engine and glided the car to a standstill, opened his door and put one foot on the black tarmac. “Let’s go” he whispered urgently. Kiera caught his arm.

“No” she said softly but firmly, “This is our car now.”

She released his arm and without waiting for a response, opened her own door and marched to the back of the car defiantly. Michael followed suit. He slowly withdrew a large pointed screwdriver from his boot, holding it at a level position between himself and the car, while Keira leaned forward and undid the catch just below the rear window. They watched breathlessly as the trunk crept open.

Michael didn’t see anything at first, just a bunch of clothes and junk casually thrown in the back as you might find in any five door saloon. As his eyes adjusted to the dark however, he began to become aware of something not quite right about the fabric and texture of some of the garments. In places they seemed too silvery, too reflective to be clothes. His apprehension temporarily deserting him, Michael ran his hand along the black fabric and let it fall on a black shoe that protruded from the folds. Tentatively he closed his grip around it and gave it a slight tug. It didn’t budge. Searching for the source of the entanglement, he plunged his hand deeper into the folds, closing it on something warm and soft. Instantly he pulled back in horror and swung round to face Keira. Her face was a deathly shade of white and her eyes wide open, fixed on something in the far corner of the trunk. Deep among the folds and shadows, half hidden in the darkness a stretched ivory circle shone at the two friends, then blinked.

Michael’s heart seemed to plunge through his chest, leaving him gasping for breath and groping for the lid of the boot. His screwdriver fell to the ground redundantly, a freezing paralysis spreading out from the tips of his toes, making its way up his legs then spider webbing out through his back and arms. Keira slammed shut the lid of the trunk, dragging Michael round with her to the front of the car.

“Shit” she hissed, “Where did you get this car from?”

Michael tried to recover his breath but couldn’t. She repeated the question, this time a little louder.

“Keep your voice down” he implored, finally finding the words. Then stammering, continued in a hushed voice, “I - I picked it up at a garage on the edge of town. Two guys went into the shop - I noticed they hadn’t locked the door – I saw my chance and took it - who do you think it is back there?

“I don’t know,” Keira replied, “But if you ask me they’re on their way to one place and one place only.” She tapped the tarmac below with her foot and looked down at the ground then up at Michael, her eyes shining

Michael walked back to the rear of the vehicle, picked up the screwdriver, and examined it nervously.

“What do we do now?” he asked Keira distractedly.

“I don’t know but one thing’s for sure,” she replied, “We need to get off this road.”

They got back into the car, leaving the darkness to once again reclaim the lonely roadside.

Back on the road Michael gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car trundled on through the countryside. Jangled and on edge, the rhythm of his earlier drive was gone and instead of sinking into the seat, he sat bolt upright. The car itself felt sluggish and unresponsive, no longer connected with the road and in particular, heavier in the back. He frequently checked the rear mirrors for any signs of them being followed, and every so often glanced over at Kiera, who sat silently chewing her lip, apparently deep in thought. The thump, thump, thump continued as Michael scanned the road ahead for a suitable place.

After five minutes or so driving, a promising dark spot loomed forth against the burgeoning horizon. A large box-like structure set back from the road, it seemed too crudely designed for people and too isolated for animals. Something in the way the building appeared to be leaning in on itself suggested that it was long since abandoned, a suspicion that was confirmed as the car and its passengers rattled up the overgrown lane towards it.

He brought the car to a stop in front of the entrance to the dilapidated building and the two got out. Beneath their feet, the paved ground was slowly losing the fight against nature. Thick, vinous weeds had established themselves in between the cracks in the paving stones and were presently working their iron-like root systems underneath and between the slabs, fragmenting and displacing the formerly ordered arrangement. The building itself faired little better, its rusty hues and rotten wood bearing testament to a long since abandoned fight against the inevitable.

With the help of his screwdriver, Michael easily prised loose the rusty padlock holding the heavy doors together and with the help of Keira was able to swing back the heavy wooden doors, allowing him to drive the car and its cargo into the building where it would be concealed. As they swung the doors shut again, Michael noticed that the stars were beginning to give way as the first wave of light began to push up against the night sky.

Inside the building was dark, the auburn headlights providing only a few feet of illumination before succumbing to the encroaching dusty blackness. Excepting a few panicked flutters that heralded their arrival, a terminal silence prevailed throughout the building and its surrounds, amplifying every movement and breath.

“Let’s leave the car here,” Michael suggested half heartedly, “They won’t find this place and we’ll be in the clear.”

Keira narrowed her eyes at him. Her tongue flicked briefly across the sharp edges of her canines as she repressed a wry smile.

“Let’s find out who is in the trunk first,” she replied, her voice level and steady. Michael found himself following her to the rear of the vehicle screwdriver in hand and awaiting her instructions. She leaned forward and undid the catch just before the rear window.

The inside of the trunk was much as it had been before, a bunch of loosely arranged clothes seamed together with lighter areas, no longer silvery in the moonlight but pale and smooth and more skin-like. Keira took the screwdriver from Michael’s hands and after a few moments sifting through the folds and poking and prying at the denser areas, she exposed two thin stick-like wrists bound together tightly by thick twine, their spindly fingers flowering out behind like the branches of a gnarled bonsai tree. She put her hands easily around the bound wrists and motioned Michael to do the same where the pointed black shoe betrayed the ankles. Together they lifted the surprisingly light bundle from the car and set it in facing the car, Michael taking pains to avoid looking at the face as the body’s small head lolled about on its neck listlessly.

Using the glare of the headlights as a protective curtain, Michael took the opportunity to survey the body in full for the first time: The black bunches and folds so loosely arranged in the trunk had taken on a thin body shape, their elegant quality and cut done no justice by the thin frame that clung together within. The small head that had seemed lifeless just moments ago now managed to support itself on it’s pencil thin stem. Almost devoid of distinguishing features, the head’s face seemed like it had been stretched across its skull and was being held in place at the back of the neck with pins. Michael was still surveying the coat hanger when its thin lips cracked open and said in a weak voice:

“Don’t kill me.”

Keira, who had been stalking up and down in front of the body replied quickly.

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t done anything wrong,” reasoned the body.

“Doubtful,” replied Kiera sharply, “though that’s really of little relevance.”

The body started to shake violently, culminating in a thick rasping noise emanating from its dry, crusty mouth - a laugh of sorts.

“True,” it pronounced at last, then, looking towards Michael continued “I am at your mercy.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably under the body’s gaze.

“Who are you?” he enquired, mindful of his wavering voice.

The body sputtered another mucus-laden laugh and replied gravely:

“I’m a dead man – am I not?”

Michael kneeled down to the body’s level. As he did so he noticed a few shards of light beginning to form through the cracks in the rotten timber under the doorway and realised it wouldn’t be long until daybreak.

“We’re not the ones who took you” he said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the withered face.

Michael felt Keira’s hand squeeze his shoulder tightly and stood up obligingly

“We’re not the ones who took you,” she continued for him, “but we’re guessing that they will not take lightly to their property being taken from them.

The body grunted acquiescence, Keira continued:

“The easiest thing – the sensible thing – I’m sure you would agree, would be for us to cut our losses and leave this building with this car and this body in it.”

“Where there is no body there is no crime,” opined the body sarcastically

“Exactly” rejoined its tormentor, “But fortune favours the brave.”

The body groaned.

“What do you want?” it asked “Money? I can write you a cheque if you wish -” At this it waggled its fingers suggestively.

The light was nearly at Michaels feet, the dawn creeping imperceptibly across the floor like a luminescent tide. Something made him feel compelled to intervene in the scene but unable to summon the strength.

“Everything” replied Keira, “There can’t be too high a price for what we are giving you.”

The light swimming around Michael’s ankles mingled with the glare of the headlights. Soon they would be obsolete.

“On the contrary,” replied the body, “I believe in a fair price for a fair days work. You already have the car, I am but a mere bonus, albeit a hefty one. Release me and I will make it worth your while but I’m afraid “everything” is out of the question.”

The light was beginning to shine hard through chinks and cracks in the building’s structure, throwing shadows and making spotlights in the gloom. Michael could feel the morning warming his bones, clearing way the night’s doubts and ambiguities like a rebirth, making him strong. If Keira was feeling the same way, she wasn’t showing it.

“We are offering you a second chance” she insisted through grinding teeth.“The opportunity to change your fate.”

“So you’re my guardian angels?” inquired the body mockingly, “There are no second chances. You can’t hide from yourself.

Keira called to Micheal for help. But he wasn’t listening.

Instead he saw himself take the screwdriver from Kiera’s hand and drive it hard into the body’s withered chest. The hilt of the tool hit the ribcage with a dull thump followed by a sharp crack, then a wet sound and a scraping noise as he pulled it out. He inspected the blood on the screwdriver and then drove it into the body’s chest again with another thump.

Then again:

Thump, Thump,

And again.

Thump, thump, thump.