All The Pretty Dead Girls. John Manning
she clicked on the cruise control and removed her foot from the gas pedal with a sigh of relief. Her right hip was getting sore, and she shifted a little in her seat. Cars and trucks flew past her in the left lane, throwing up streams of water onto her windshield. No matter how tempting it was to speed up, she resisted the urge and kept relying on the cruise control. She couldn’t risk being pulled over.
It was just paranoia, she knew. Surely, there was no rural Southern sheriff watching for her. In all likelihood, there wasn’t anyone at all on the road looking for her. But better safe than sorry.
I just don’t know, Sue reminded herself, and until I do know, it’s better not to take any risks—and not to trust anyone. If I try to tell anyone—they’ll just think I’m crazy, and they’ll turn me over to Gran and Granpa. I can’t risk that.
A sob rose in her throat, but Sue fought it down. Don’t cry again, that’s a waste of energy. I have to focus. I have to keep my mind clear and not give in to emotion. I’m almost there. It’s only a few more hours at most, and then I can take a break, get some rest, and maybe find some hope…
But for how long could she afford to rest? Sooner or later, she knew, they’d come for her. They wouldn’t just let her get away.
She still had over five hundred dollars in cash in her purse, but there was no telling how long that would last. She was afraid to use her credit cards and her debit card. She’d paid cash at that horrible cheap motel just outside of Richmond, Virginia, where she’d grabbed a few hours of desperately needed sleep before hitting the road again. She couldn’t leave any electronic traces behind—that would make it too easy for them to find her. She’d left her cell phone back at her dorm room in upstate New York, buying a cheap disposable pay-as-you-go one at a Wal-Mart somewhere in northern Pennsylvania as she headed south. She’d worried about her license plates, wondering if there was a bulletin sent out with a description of her and her car—but if it came down to it, there was the gun in the compartment between the seats. She wasn’t sure if she would actually have the nerve to use it, but it was there in case she needed it.
I hope I don’t have to use it, she thought, glancing down at the armrest where it was hidden. But she would if she had to.
The highway was wet and the rhythmic sound of the water being thrown up by the wheels against the car made her even sleepier. She was exhausted. It had been almost sixteen hours since she checked out of that miserable motel and hit the road. Outside of stopping for gas and a quick run to the bathroom, she’d been driving—and her legs and back were stiff. She could feel knots of tension in her back, and her left elbow was sore from resting on the car door. Her eyes burned with fatigue, her throat was dry, her lips chapped. She’d kept the window cracked, hoping the rush of cold air from outside would keep her awake. She glanced at her watch. It was almost two.
It can’t be much further, she reasoned. On the map Hammond looks like it’s almost in Mississippi. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and grimaced. Worse than how she looked, she could smell herself and it wasn’t pleasant—she smelled like sour socks. Her feet were sweating in her shoes. And now her stomach was growling. She hadn’t eaten since seven in the morning, when she’d stopped at a Hardee’s somewhere in north Alabama. She’d managed to choke down some sort of fried egg on a dry biscuit, washing it down with numerous cups of coffee. All she’d wanted to do was just put her head down on the table and go to sleep right there. But she’d forced herself to get a refill to go, and kept driving.
Got to keep going, Sue told herself, repeating the litany like a catechism. Don’t know when they might come after me, don’t know how much time I have, got to get there before they figure out where I’ve gone, got to get there while it’s still safe—if it ever was safe there in the first place.
She allowed herself to smile when she saw the big sign with the fleur-de-lis in the center, reading WELCOME TO LOUISIANA and BIENVENUE EN LOUISIANE underneath. She thought about stopping at the welcome area, but there were too many cars and trucks parked all around, and a quick glance down at her gas gauge, inching ever closer to the red, convinced her to keep going. She decided to take the next exit with a gas station, fill up the tank, use the restroom, and get something to snack on, maybe another cup of coffee. Her stomach rebelled at the thought of more coffee—especially gas station coffee. Maybe a soda, she thought. I’m almost there, it can’t be more than another hour, maybe I can make myself stay awake till I get there without more coffee.
After crossing the state line, she took the next exit, pulling into a deserted Texaco station. It was a typical roadside gas station, two islands with numbered pumps, a little food store for snacks, and restrooms. Through the rain she could discern Christmas lights strung along the outside of the building, blinking red and green and yellow. Signs all over the glass front announced sales on beer, soda, and the availability of Louisiana lottery tickets. The jackpot for the next drawing was fifty-three million dollars.
A lot of good that would do me, Sue thought.
She noticed off to the side of the station a battered-looking Toyota was parked, with bumper stickers plastered all over the trunk and rear bumper: YOUR MOTHER WAS PRO-LIFE. GOD CREATED ADAM AND EVE NOT ADAM AND STEVE. JESUS DIED FOR YOUR SINS. SUPPORT THE TROOPS. A metal fish symbol was affixed to the lower trunk close to the bumper and next to the license plate, just below a huge yellow ribbon.
She felt an inexplicable surge of panic.
Get out of here, get back on the highway, stop at the next station, there’s got to be a better place than this, raced through her head before she got a hold of herself again. I need gas, and I have to go to the bathroom.
Just be goddamned careful, that’s all.
Sue pulled to a stop at the pump closest to the store entrance and stepped out of the car, shivering against the chill in the air. The rain was letting up. She stretched—she hadn’t been out of the car in over four hours since stopping at a rest area—and her knees and back popped in places. It felt good to stand up. She bent over to stretch her back a little more, and twisted at the waist a bit.
She walked over to the door and pushed it open, greeted by the high-pitched wail of a Christmas carol—Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, have a hap-pee holiday—and a blast of hot air. Sue smiled at the girl behind the counter and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, she locked the door. The bathroom smelled vaguely like pine. It was relatively clean—she’d used worse on this trip—but she wiped down the seat anyway before dropping her jeans. She let her head rest on her hands. Almost there, she reminded herself as her eyes began to droop.
Washing her hands, she ran the sink water until it was hot, then splashed it into her face. She grabbed her brush out of her purse and ran it through her blond hair. What a mess, she thought, grimacing at her reflection. Whatever happened to that pretty college freshman?
She never really existed, Sue thought with a terrible sensation in her chest.
When her hair was in some sort of order, she dropped the brush back into her purse and looked again at herself in the mirror. That’s better. Not pretty, but at least presentable. Her hair needed to be washed—a shower would be heaven—but she dried her face and walked out of the bathroom.
At the counter, a fresh pot of coffee was almost finished brewing. The coffee in the other pots looked like mud, scorched by hours on their burners. Her stomach growled again. A glass case full of doughnuts next to the coffee stand enticed her. She opened the case and picked up two glazed doughnuts, slipping one into a bag and taking a bite out of the other as she waited for the pot to stop brewing. She finished the rest of the doughnut, dropping a third into the bag, and poured herself a large cup of the fresh coffee. After adding creamer and sweetener, she took a sip. Not bad for gas station coffee, she thought.
The girl working behind the counter was about Sue’s age. She was short and carrying an extra thirty pounds, give or take. A home perm had frizzed her mousy brown hair around her head. She looked as if she’d received an intense electrical shock. Her cheeks were thick, narrowing her brown eyes until they were almost invisible. Acne scars pitted both cheeks. Her lips were thin and painted orange. Her plump arms were freckled where they extended