Stolen Car

Part 1 of 1

     It'd been half an hour since he'd stolen the car. Another furtive glance in the rear-view mirror brought a grim smile to his lips. Few cars were on the road in the fast-fading January light, and heavy flakes plastered the windshield, already beginning to coat the passing lane of the dreary interstate. He began to relax.
     "Where are you taking me?" Her voice was calm, precise.
     "What the—? Jesus!" The old Chevy fish-tailed as he jerked his head to see into the shadowy back seat; he had his door open even before the car stopped.
     He looked at the woman with puzzlement while the snow whitened his hair. She was short, maybe five-two, and misproportioned somehow. No wonder he didn't see her, nestled among the packages.
     "OK, out!" he yelled, opening the door.
     "I can't."
     "Look, lady. I don't have time to play games. Get out now or I'll drag you out."
     "My legs are paralyzed. My wheelchair is in the trunk."
     "Paralyzed?" Oh shit, he thought. I don't need this. He mentally added kidnapping to his list of misfortunes. "Fine. I'll get your chair, then I'm outa here."
     "But, I'll freeze to death," she said.
     "Somebody'll be along to give you a ride." He retrieved the keys and walked to the trunk.
     "There hasn't been a car along since we stopped," she said, "and probably won't be with this storm." Her eyes were moist. "That's murder."
     "What do I care, lady?"
     "You're not a killer," she said firmly, meeting his eyes.
     "Shit," he said, as he slammed her door and returned to the driver's seat. He was cold, wet and tired. And she was right.
     "Lady, what—"
     "My name is Ellen Chambers."
"—are you doing here?"
     And she told him about her accident a few years back, and about her cousin Samantha who lives with her. Samantha, who treated her like a mental cripple, and who never took her out except to wait in the cold car while she sold cosmetics door to door, like today.
     "Life's a bitch, lady. We've all got our problems, and now you're another one of mine."
     "What's your name?"
     "John," he said without thinking.
     "What are you running from, John?" she asked softly.
     "Lady, I'm an over-forty, out-of-work engineer. My wife split, and there're some nasty types I owe money to who'd like my hide. Now I've got grand theft auto and kidnapping to boot. Does that answer your question?" He knew he talked too much when he was tired.
     "But where will you go?"
     "I just want to get out of that stinking cold city. South, I guess. Florida"
     "I want to come with you."
     "What?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you nuts? This car is hot; I've got to drop you off somewhere and find another one."
     It isn't kidnapping unless I say it is, John, and this is my car."
     "But—"
     "Neither one of us has anything left back there. I've got some money in the bank; we'd be all right for a while. We're sort of the same, you and I, and I guess you could say we need each other."
     "I'll tell you what, lady. You stay in the car and I'll walk." He made to leave.
     "The police will catch you, John, and car theft and kidnapping, well..." She was smiling.
     He rested his head on the steering wheel for a long moment, then sighed and started the engine.