35

12. The Overpass

   "Wanda, I'll be home soon. I'm sorry I'm running late today. My buddies and I got hungover last night. Took me till noon to get out of bed. We got a little carried away, okay? Please pick up. I love you baby. I'll be home shortly."

   The phone beeped and was set down onto the cubby hole just underneath the dashboard of his Impala. A message was left for his loving wife, who hadn't been picking up the phone for one reason or another. Him talking on the phone was a clear distraction to his driving, but at that moment, he had no ounce of energy left in his body to care. His adrenaline from the conversation this morning swallowed him whole.

   Brandon cruised along the highway back to his Redsbouro flat where the woman and her two children, Preston and Hannah, were waiting patiently for him. He'd never been this late before in months, and throughout his time with Cindy in the short time that he wished he didn't remember at all, he didn't pick up his phone throughout the night. He was too captivated by the commotion that plagued them both in the old, dirty apartment building then.

   The urge was impeccable. He yearned so badly in that moment to swerve his car straight into the traffic alongside him and smash himself into the barricade of the highway. The call of the void in his mind was just as potent as it had ever been. His itch to making a sudden turn and watching as his soul was ripped from his body in a flash wouldn't leave him alone. He wanted his heart to give out. He wanted his pain to end, the guilt to seize, the fear to subside.

   Brandon drove past the Quiet Rosemary Saloon once again, and his stomach grew sickened by the thought of Cynthia. He couldn't force the image out of his head. It invaded his mind like a hive of hornets.

   'What if she's dead?' he questioned himself. 'What if she's on this same highway somewhere? What if she's on her way to the hospital?', his concentration on the road was beginning to strain him. His brain was multitasking.

   'Only 5 more miles, and I'm home. I can make it,' he motivated himself. He just needed to concentrate on the wheel and to the road in front of him. Nothing more, nothing less.

   In his mind though, he couldn't help but question if this was something he deserved. He was an unfaithful man, unhappy in the intimacy of his relationship, and felt so desperate for this lust that he would hook up with a dirty, mysterious woman who just so happened to have a death wish. As his luck would have it.

   His arrogance forced the thought in the back of his mind to dissipate. Now was not the time to be yelling at himself. He couldn't handle any more of the turmoil and the stress of everything happening around him. The possibility of knowing that the same woman he had just met two hours ago was most likely now dead would eat him alive if he continued thinking of it.

   The highway road ended, and he could see Redsbouro was the busiest he'd seen in quite a long time. Cars were piling on the road, almost unmoving, as a matter of fact.

   "God dammit, like I need more time to waste sitting in this damn car," he growled, honking his horn towards the driver in front of him, who couldn't do much of anything to remedy Brandon's frustration. His fingers shaking, he honked again. "Fuck I gotta get home man, My wife's pissed at me. Come on!"

   He breathed in deeply as he began to compose himself. The driver in front of him now looked irritated, appearing to shout in her own front mirror. He could see the woman bitching and complaining, probably about something trivial. She was probably crying about how she cut her hair a little too short now and that now it looked like complete shit. Or, she was crying about her boyfriend buying her a cherry flavored Ring-Pop instead of a golden carrot like her needy, entitled ass wanted.

   Finally, the line began to move, though ever so slightly.

   'The fuck is going on,' he groaned as he continued to sit patiently in the asshole train that extended for as long as he could see. His persistent paranoia and fear wasn't registering it so well, either.

   While he sat in traffic, he checked the texts on his phone another time. This had been the third time in the past 20 minutes since the drive started. There was nothing from Wanda, nor his children. He felt defeated in even trying.

   If these cars didn't hurry up and move, the stress and the burden of last night would begin pestering him again.

   'A woman is dead, and I could've done something, but I didn't.'

   Ten minutes passed on since the traffic jam was at its prime, and finally, vehicles were beginning to move again, his nerves sickened him to discover what could've been the cause of the pile up. His nerves were on high alert since Brandon left the apartment that morning. His legs were beginning to numb. 'Please, god...', he begged.

   As he continued his painstakingly slow drive through the sea of cars, he stared up at the construction worker that eventually waved for him to pass, and he entered onto Main Street. He sighed with relief as he saw the construction vehicles repairing a portion of the bridge he had just crossed, and the grip on his steering wheel loosened.