Whispers that Scream

Chapter One

Jane

A dinging sound broke Jane out of the daze she had been in for the past hour driving down the desolate South Louisiana highway. She shifted her attention to the dashboard and saw the illuminated gas pump icon which proved that she indeed should have filled up when she had stopped for food.

Sighing, she put her blinker on and exited the highway, pulling up to a gas station devoid of other cars. She turned the car off and stepped out into the soup-like humidity, her sunglasses fogging up instantly. She waited until her sunglasses defogged, giving her the power of sight once again, and then scanned the empty pumps making sure there was no one else around. It was mid-day so it should be pretty safe.

As she took the pump and selected her gas, a loud male voice echoed through the desolate gas bays. "Hello! Welcome to Travel Center of America..." Jane jumped with barely a squeak escaping her mouth. Years of self-preservation had taught her to be silent when scared, still when anxious, and invisible when in danger.

Damn it. It's not even dark yet. I can't even pump gas in peace anymore. The noxious fumes of the gasoline began to give her a headache. She shut her eyes tightly and tried to breathe through her mouth to counter the smell of the chemicals.

The male voice from the video on the display screen continued to drone on and on, and Jane could feel her heartbeat rising. Her breath started to come out faster and faster until it started to become hard to take the deep breath her burning lungs so badly craved. Images flashed through her mind, sounds in her ears, and smells so clear, that she couldn't distinguish them from reality.

"You're fine," she gasped. "You're fine. You're fine." She repeated the ineffectual phrase over and over again in an effort to keep herself in the present. She clawed at her chest, trying to ease the crushing pressure that prevented her lungs from filling. She stumbled against her car as the lack of oxygen and poisonous fumes made her light-headed. Her dark grey Sonata was the only thing that held her up, and she clung to it with all her strength. Eventually, her breathing slowed, and her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythmic beating.

By the time she had gotten herself back under control, she realized that the gas had finished pumping god knows how many minutes ago. She pulled the pump out of her car and replaced it in the holder. Her left arm held up her weight like a cane, the hot metal burning her hand, as she used the car as a crutch to get back to the driver's side. She finally made it to the driver's door and flung it open. As she dumped herself into the seat, her bare legs, covered in sweat, stuck to the leather seats and caused her to skid the rest of the way into the car.

She immediately reached out to her dash and cranked the dial so forcefully, that it broke off in her hand. She was left holding the dial but was rewarded with ice-cold air blasting her in the face. Her t-shirt was soaked in sweat and plastered to her skin. She threw the dial over her shoulder into the back of her car and peeled the constricting fabric away from her chest, holding it up for the cold air to dry off. She laid her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Tears started to leak from the corner of her tightly shut eyelids.

"Please get out of my head. Please. Why won't you leave me alone?" she mumbled while tapping the side of her temples with her fingers as if to drill the thoughts out of her head.