The Pale Man Rises

CHAPTER EIGHT

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As the Harley expelled mud from beneath its wheels his brain was churning with questions. This was a rare moment indeed for Luther Newton. Who had committed these murders, where was the kid Clay, and who was in the pickup that he'd seen leaving the place?

Once he arrived at the highway he gunned the motorcycle and was speeding back toward the interstate and the Roadside Motel.

Little time passed before he came upon the Ford pickup. It was raining again by now and it made the truck gleam brightly in the somber atmosphere.

Luther halted just behind the truck and climbed off of the Harley. He immediately pulled the Smith & Wesson from his waist. He approached the truck with the caution of a cop. He peered in through the rear window of the cab as he came upon it. He could see the cab was empty. He then went to the driver's door and looked in through the window.

Using the bandana once more he opened the door and bent inside. He then noticed that the key was still in the ignition. He turned it, but the only thing he heard was the feeble effort of the engine trying to turn over. The noise became fainter and fainter with the effort and soon he realized it would not engage.

He shut the door and walked around to the passenger door opened it and looked about curiously. He inspected the floorboard and beneath the seat. He then opened the glove compartment.

He found the truck's registration, the insurance papers, and sundry other items in there. This too proved to be none to unusual. Suddenly he felt quite vulnerable.

It occurred to him that the two people who had just so recently been inside the vehicle could possibly still be about and observing him from some unknown vantage. If not then they must have gotten a ride or somehow dissolved into the terrain. He looked about nervously alert for someone, anyone. And still he saw nothing.

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Looking before him in the near distance he could see the overpass that spanned the interstate. He quickly returned to the Harley and was off again. He had decided to scope out the area from the crest of the overpass. If those he was seeking were still about and moving along on foot then he figured he could easily spot them from that position. If he did not see anyone he could only assume that they had gotten a ride with someone or had disappeared into the forest. There was no other traffic about on this road and so he felt the odds were good that he might see them.

He at last made it to that position on the overpass where he wished to be. He settled the Harley and walked to the abutment of the railing.

He looked down to his right to the Roadside Motel perhaps a mile away. Beyond it he could see other nondescript businesses and beyond these he could see a Stuckeys.

He saw little traffic moving below along this stretch of the interstate. It was apparent that few were stirring in this bad weather. He looked to the left at the exit of the interstate that led to the overpass, which he had taken last night to get the Reese farm.

He saw them then. Two odd figures moved down the entrance ramp toward the narrow emergency lane bordering the federal highway. Not far down this lane another wide exit led to a utility road, which in turn led to the defunct remnants of a retail towel outlet.

The two sojourners were an odd couple indeed. A young man in a T-shirt and khaki pants was leading the way for a tall figure that was clad in dark clothing, a very white person it appeared where his flesh was exposed from beneath the cover of the clothing. This person's hair was the most striking feature about him. It was very long like that of a woman's. It appeared to be platinum the way it shimmered in the bleak light. His gait even seemed to have an unearthly quality about it. Even though they were some distance from him and he could not discern if any communication was passing between them he felt certain the looming, following man was urging on the one ahead.

He felt like a voyeur standing there, watching them descend the incline, a voyeur in the sense that he was witnessing something obscene. For most voyeurs the obscene quality was what they sought in anything they might be watching regardless of what it was. Even if the scene being 

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watched was the most innocuous of occurrences the ones with the greater depth of perversity could conjure some obscene imagery, which they longed to witness. And Luther definitely fit into this category.

He did not get back onto the Harley and move down the ramp to confront them. For some reason he knew that if he did that he would be destroyed. He would be obliterated he knew even if he was brandishing the .38. He just stood there astounded at the vision of them. He watched in silent respect as they continued along the side of the interstate and at last onto the utility road.

They proceeded on up the utility road to the failed outlet. They then found one of the doors of the place. The dark clad man soon had torn away some of the boards that barred their entrance into the building. At last they disappeared into the darkness within.

It reminded him of evil returning to its lair until it was summoned forth again. He stood there in the rain in complete silence and watched them, watched them with a curiosity borne from the cauldron of his own depravity.