The Highway

Charlie’s glasses fogged over the coffee he was pouring. He stifled a yawn as he filled the Styrofoam cup and checked the time: 4:47am. The gas station he was standing in was empty, except for himself and the cashier ignoring him. It was a dim establishment, but it was close to his house and had therefore weaseled its way into his morning routine: a coffee (which was always terrible), a lotto ticket (he was unsure if he purchased them out of hope or habit), and a stale donut (if he was feeling particularly bad about himself).

Charlie placed the ticket and the coffee on the counter and then, to avoid interacting with the cashier, he feigned interest in an email on his phone. Suddenly, his heart jumped to his throat. Lights and sirens had started going off in front of him. Startled, he looked up and saw the source of the ruckus—the lotto signs. The cashier stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Dude… You won.”

Charlie gazed back, stunned. “What do you mean ‘won?’ How much?”

The cashier checked his screen. “Looks like twenty-thousand.”

Charlie blanched as the cashier handed back the ticket. “Can’t cash it here, bud,” he said, leaning on the counter. “You’ll have to go to the gaming commission in the city."

Charlie nodded dumbly, turned on his heels and strode out of the gas station, clutching the ticket in front of him. Twenty-thousand, he thought, flabbergasted as he walked to his car. He fought to open the driver’s door against the force of the icy wind and slumped into his seat.

“Jesus!” Charlie yelled, thumping his fists against the steering wheel. “Wow…I gotta text my boss.” He fumbled out a message then threw his phone onto the seat. “To the city, I guess!” Charlie laughed as he pulled his car out and headed for the highway, his excitement distracting him from his exhaustion. Charlie sped through the sleepy town, his mind buzzing with possibilities.

I could find a place in the city! Twenty-thousand is more than enough to cover a few months’ rent, he thought, elated; his back tires skidding across each turn.

Charlie rounded another corner and was blinded by headlights. Horn blaring, a semi barreled down on him from beyond the curve.

Charlie yelled and cranked the wheel. The semi screamed past. A cold, white blur filled his windscreen. All Charlie could hear was the roar of the horn and his heart pounding in his ears. He saw nothing but white. He could not even tell if he was still moving. Helplessly, he clenched the steering wheel and hoped like hell nothing hit him.

And just like that, it was calm again. Charlie’s eyes darted around wildly. He was still moving, his car cruising gently down the now-quiet highway. His heart had stopped pounding and he relaxed his grip. He was outside of town now, on the lick of black highway that stretched through the forest. He sighed, relieved, and was about to ease himself into the drive when something ahead caught his attention. It was a man, standing on the side of the road. Charlie glanced at the radio: 5:03 am.

Charlie frowned warily. As he approached, Charlie noticed that the man was formally dressed in a tailcoat suit, without any winter garb. And he was utterly motionless. Unnerved, Charlie flashed his lights, illuminating the figure, and saw that the man was looking directly at him. Charlie quickly checked to make sure his car doors were locked. He was almost upon the man now. In an instant, the man suddenly whisked his arm up, in what appeared to be a familial wave.

He must be trying to hitch-hike, Charlie thought and fought the urge to speed up as he continued past.

Within moments, he felt a twinge in the back of his head. Inexorably, he slowed his car until he was at a dead stop on the highway. He sat there for a moment, staring at the still man in his rearview mirror. Abruptly, Charlie reversed straight back to where the man was standing and stopped. The man’s torso filled the window frame. Without thinking, Charlie leaned over, pulled the door handle, and swung the door open. At once, this statue of a man came to life and slid gracefully into the car.

Charlie blinked. Why did I do that? he wondered, mystified, as the man shut the passenger door.

“I thought you weren’t going to stop,” the man said slyly. His demeanor was light, but his tone was questioning. Truthfully, Charlie had had no intention of stopping, but he did not care to admit that.

“Well…you didn’t have a coat.” Charlie said, finally.

“I see.” The man sounded amused.

Charlie gave the stranger a sideways glance and noticed that he was writing in a small, black book that had materialized on his lap.

“What’s that?” Charlie asked, nodding towards the book.

“Oh, it’s simply a record I keep of all the people I meet,” the man said lightly, “Call it a journal if you will.”.”

Charlie frowned. This man had a strange air to him. He did not seem bothered by the cold, nor uncomfortable riding in a car with a stranger; he seemed perfectly content.

“Where are you going?” Charlie asked, hoping that he would not have to be in the car with him for long.

“That’s a funny question. You are the one driving, aren’t you?”

If this was a joke, it went unappreciated.

“A better question,” the man continued, tapping his pen on his book, “is where are you trying to go?”

Charlie decided right then and there to talk to this man as little as possible, so he ignored the question. The two men rode along in silence; the sheer blackness of the night amplified the quiet. Everything felt still, airless. Charlie felt his chest becoming heavier. There was panic rising in his throat, though he had no idea why.

“I’m going into the city,” Charlie blurted out, and he felt his panic ease. The man nodded, scratching away in his book.

“Which city?” The man asked.

Charlie looked at him, dumbfounded. This road only went to the one city. The man stared back at him with grey, unblinking eyes. Charlie held his gaze, and it suddenly dawned on him that he could not conjure the name.

“I…I can’t remember,” he stammered, looking away and raising his hand to the back of his head, where he had felt that twinge earlier. Had he hit his head during that incident? Was he in shock?

“It doesn’t matter,” he heard the man say calmly. “If we keep driving, we’ll get to where we need to go.”

Charlie shot the man a puzzled look and put his hand back on the wheel. The man was tapping his pen again.

“Why are you going to the city?” he asked.

Charlie had no intention of telling this stranger about the twenty-thousand dollar lotto ticket in his pocket. He had no intention of telling this stranger anything, but as the silence stretched on, Charlie felt the panic starting again.

“To visit friends,” Charlie said simply. Again: the scratch of the pen. What does he keep writing? Charlie thought, his agitation rising.

“Is that it?”

Charlie could feel the man watching him intently but said nothing. It had surely only been an hour since stopping for this stranger, but the drive was starting to feel like an eternity.

The man ignored Charlie’s silence and carried on. “Did you leave anyone behind when you moved on?”

Charlie had had enough. He scowled at the man, whose ever-steady expression was somehow clear as day in the dark. “That’s none of your business,” he said, sternly.

“It is beneficial to talk about the ones we love,” said the man, his voice flowing now like warm water. Instead of answering, Charlie slowed the car until they were at a complete stop. It was dead silent. No sound of the wind, or of cars in the distance; just an endless nothing and a blackness that threatened to swallow them whole.

“I want you out,” Charlie said quietly. The man did not move. “Did you hear me? I want you OUT!” Charlie yelled and went to open his door to drag the man out himself, only to find it stuck. Charlie wrenched on the handle and threw himself against the door again and again to no avail. The stranger sat in the passenger seat, watching.

Charlie yelled in frustration. Must have been clipped by the truck or something, he thought, rationalizing. The man just looked on calmly. Charlie started to feel a bit frantic and began searching for his phone.

“Where is my phone? Did you take it!?” Charlie shouted but still the man did not move.

As Charlie lashed his arm out for the glovebox his elbow hit the radio. Static crashed into the car like a wave, shattering the quiet. He struck the radio with his fist to shut it off, but another dead station came blaring in. It was too much. Charlie started flipping through stations with increasing ferocity. Nothing. Wild eyed, he looked at the radio: 5:03am. He froze.

Impossible. Charlie blinked hard and looked again—5:03. He turned to the man, confusion and fear gripping him. The man was inanimate, watching.

“What do you want from me!?” Charlie cried over the static, his voice shaking tremendously.

“Nothing,” the man replied and suddenly everything went quiet…

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, meekly.

The man seemed taller now. “Tell me as much or as little as you like, but I must always ask,” he said.

Charlie peered out the windshield and into the dark. He could see the silhouettes of trees but not a single twig moving in the wind. He looked up at the sky and into nothing, no moon, no stars, no clouds. Everything seemed familiar but nothing was right. He turned back to the man.

“Shall we go on?” the man encouraged.

Resigned, Charlie put the car into drive and slouched into his seat. The two men rode through the motionless black landscape, the car guiding itself smoothly through the abyss. Before long, a light appeared ahead of them. They should have been approaching the flickering mass of city lights, but this light seemed singular - dim, and as they approached it Charlie’s shoulders dropped. It was the gas station.

“This isn’t possible,” Charlie said dreamily. The highway out of town was a straight line and they had not made a single turn. And where was the town? Charlie looked around as his car rolled ever forward. This gas station should have been flanked by buildings, yet there it stood: A lone structure in the dark, featureless night.

Charlie peered in; there was not a soul inside the gas station. The only movement he noticed was steam rising from a Styrofoam coffee cup that had been abandoned on the counter. Charlie looked down at the empty cupholders in his car. “I forgot my coffee,” he mumbled to himself. He glanced at the radio and was disquieted: 4:51am. The car rolled on and the gas station faded out of sight behind them.

Gently, the car stopped. Charlie gazed out the windshield and did not move for a long time. He could see a car. His car. It was smashed almost beyond recognition. The front end of a semi-truck pulverized the driver’s side of his now-crumbled wreck, the cold white metal of the truck’s cab slicing through his windshield like a penitente. Charlie looked back at the radio: 5:03am.

The man stirred. “You lied to me a few times,” he said, casually flipping through the pages of the book.

Charlie was still gawping out at the wreck and absently reached his hand into his pocket. He looked down and opened his hand to reveal his winning lotto ticket.

“You can bring that with you, if you like,” said the man as he opened the door and stepped out.