Blood Kiss

New Blood

Friday, October 13

Steve Reynolds tried to think positively as he drove his silver '04 Corolla down the highway in the fast lane.

Maybe my first day won't be so bad, he thought.

He came up suddenly on a slow-moving car and turned the wheel to swerve into the right-hand lane.

I can't believe I might be late for my first day at my new job.

Only it wasn't exactly a new job. He had worked part time for the Vitus College Police Department a few years back. He left Vitus when he found a better campus police job at Bradley College: a larger school with more opportunities. He had been proud of himself for getting away from the small college and now he was on his way back again.

This will work out. I won't lose my cool again.

The Camry's tires screeched in protest as Steve slammed the brakes again. Another car cut in front of him without looking. He missed striking the back bumper by mere inches. A powerful rage took hold of him, which almost caused him to black out with fury.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw a gap in the left lane. Steve swore under his breath, pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and enjoyed the rev of the engine as he swerved left and cut off a car in the fast lane. Racing ahead of the driver who cut him off in the right lane, he swerved in front of it. Tires shrieked as the car behind him hit its brakes when Steve tapped his brake pedal. Speeding up again, he left the car in his dust. Checking the rearview mirror, he smiled as he saw the driver give him the finger.

Fuck him.

Returning to the fast lane, he checked the dashboard clock and saw it read 2:46 PM. He needed to be at the college by 3:00 PM; it was still at least twenty minutes away.

Steve came up fast behind another car, which was only going 80 mph in the fast lane. Not fast enough. Glancing in his right rearview mirror, he saw it was clear, so he cut off another car, which beeped its horn in protest.

Steve drove like a maniac, swerving in and out of lanes as he encountered slow-moving cars. He was starting to make better time. He felt a surge of relief as he spotted the sign for the college exit ahead.

Passing several more cars, he turned the wheel sharply and swerved onto the exit ramp. The Camry's tires shrieked like a tortured animal as he steered down the tight curve of the ramp.

As he came off the ramp, he pressed the gas pedal when he found the road clear of traffic. He drove 55 in a 35 mph zone for a half-mile and swerved his car onto a side road as he spotted a sign for the college. The campus was only a short distance ahead.

Suddenly, Steve slammed his brakes as a car shot out of a driveway ahead, blocking him. Rage took over as he imagined smashing into the car's back bumper. Checking the opposite lane, he saw it was clear and hit the gas.

He swerved into the opposite lane in time to see a truck coming straight at him from around the corner. The truck's air horn blasted at him like the roar of an angry beast. Steve narrowly avoided a head-on collision by turning the wheel and cutting in front of the driver who cut him off. The driver beeped at him and Steve responded by giving him the finger.

That was too close, but I'm still making good time.

As he accelerated down the twisting, turning road, multi-million-dollar homes flashed past him like phantom images. He passed thick swathes of green forest, which divided the perfectly-manicured lawns of Westvale's wealthy residents. Westvale was considered to be the richest town in Massachusetts. Ironically, the college within its borders catered mostly to middle class students.