"Do it! There's someone coming up, just run them over," she said. "Don't make me say it again."
It was a cool November night; barely 6 in the evening but you wouldn't be able to tell because it was pitch black. Nights like this feel like they'll never end, like the week will never end. Like the month is slowing to a crawl.
I hated driving at night. The headlights shine in my eyes and I can't see. For a few moments I feel disoriented and blind. But without the lights I can't see a thing.
It's a funny thing, driving at night for me. I feel like I can't see, like at any moment I'm about to hit something...or someone. But you know what? I always speed up. I guess I just want to get home faster. I want to be safe. I want others to be safe. Most importantly I don't want to get caught.
She leans a bit closer to my ear so I can feel her breath on me. I've got the heat on but my whole body shivers from her cold. Quietly, very quietly, she whispers, "Do it...or I will".
This will be my third time. I try to say no, I try to make her go away. She's too strong though, too forceful. There's no way to stop her because she always gets what she wants because I always give it to her.
There's someone on the side of the road. I can barely make him out but he's there all right. He looks young, unkempt, like he hasn't slept in days. His green jacket looks light, too light to be keeping him warm.
There are no sidewalks on this road but he tries to keep as far away from the edge as possible, hoping people see him and he doesn't get hit. How nice of him to do that, I'm sure I would really appreciate that if it weren't for her.
I couldn't tell you how old he was or the color of his skin. I can only tell you that he was minding his own business and I doubted anyone would miss him. In another time, another universe, he wouldn't be walking down this road, at this time, minding his own business. Wrong place. Wrong time.
It's nearly 6 o'clock but it's desolate. No one ever drives down here, that is, except for me. I take the same route home everyday. A left out of work, a right at the stop, down RT157 for 3 miles, then I turn down a side street and turn again on to a dirt road. It's not paved and there are no houses around here. You can barely hear the cars just a ways away.
He was getting closer to me. I was slowing down. I exhaled one more time because I needed to do this. She gets what she wants. Whatever she wants. So she gets this.
As air filtered out of my open mouth and my chest depressed I pressed my foot on the accelerator as hard as I could. I put my whole body weight into it, it felt like I did too, and I veered right. Right. To the right side of the road. Right off of the road. Right into him.
I couldn't hear a damn thing. Not over my scream, and I couldn't even hear that. With my eyes shut I drove right onto his body. There was a bump. I'm sure it made a sound but I could only feel it. I couldn't see it, I couldn't hear it, I could only feel the life jolt out of him as my car jolted into him. And then I put my foot on the brake; I stopped screaming, opened my eyes and looked in my rearview mirror.
I don't know what I expected to see. Her smiling at me baring her broken, jagged teeth? A single tear rolling down her face and onto my shoulder from joy? I looked into my rearview mirror and I saw no one. My backseat was empty and the night was still. So I backed my car up and turned off the ignition.
When I got out, I looked at his mangled bloody body. He was face up in the dirt, his jacket torn on the sleeve. I bent down and touched his cheek, wet from blood, and he looked so peaceful, like he would finally get some sleep. So I kissed him on the lips and dragged him to my trunk. Threw him in like a raggedy Anne doll, right next to the others. Before I got back in I looked at him one more time. Looked at all of them.
When I got behind the wheel again, I paused, took a breath, closed my eyes, and wiped my lips. I turned the key and drove away. As I looked back at my rearview mirror, I saw him. He looked wilder than before, glistening from all the blood, trying to catch his breath and holding his dented chest. At first he didn't say anything, just nodded his head at the window.
"Do it, you know you want to. Don't you?" He asked me.
I turned to my head just slightly to see what he was talking about. A quarter of a mile down that road, someone was running. I couldn't tell you how old they were, or the color of their skin, just that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and no one would miss him.
