A VOICE IN THE DARKNESS

copyright © 2003 by Mary Lynn Mercer

 

Wednesday, April 9, 1997. A barely perceptible breeze quavered over Tom Mercer's skin as he stepped outside the automotive parts store. The Florida night was clear, mild, and as drained of its earlier warmth as he was of strength. His wife and family were on the other end of a twenty-two miles commute. Lord, he couldn't get home quick enough. When he did, he would either be recounting the ups-and-downs of the business day with those he loved, or slumping into bed for a short night of much-needed rest between work schedules. Either one was a strong incentive to cross the nearly empty parking lot in a hurry.

Tom sighed as he reached his blue-and-white Isuzu pickup truck. He fumbled, as much from haste as fatigue, with the keys on the metal ring clipped to the belt loop of his uniform-black pants.

Go back. Check the security system.

He paused, the car key a piston-length from the lock. He glanced over his shoulder toward the nearly dark building. He could just make out the glow of the lights deliberately left on above the catalog racks inside. Beneath the neon glare of the blue-and-gold sign hoisted into the sky, the seventy-five feet between him and the side door of the building stretched out like a mile. The throbbing in his feet from tramping on concrete floors all day intensified.

As the last employee to leave the store, it was his responsibility to turn on the security system. I know I set it. I remember setting it... And I want to get home. Matter of fact, he should be on his way home already, instead of standing here arguing with himself over a silly stray thought.

Tom yawned as he climbed into the cab of the diesel pickup. He took pride in the fact that the vehicle looked nearly as new as the day he'd bought it fifteen years ago. He'd rejected several offers to buy it. It seemed almost like a member of the family. His daughter even nicknamed it Herbie after the character in the Walt Disney movie.

As Tom and Herbie headed homeward, the crowded streetlights and shoulder-to-shoulder university housing of the city rapidly melted away into gently rolling pastureland. Gainesville was a hub of activity on the interstate highway connecting Miami with Sault Ste. Marie, MI. But towards the Gulf of Mexico to the west, the towns were smaller, the fields larger, the roads narrower, and the tallest things blocking his view of the starlit sky were the pine trees planted in rhythmic rows on either side of the asphalt ribbon unfurling ahead.

The trees were so thick in places that it wasn't uncommon to startle a deer crossing the road. His hands tensed protectively on the steering wheel. He'd seen the damage that hitting a deer could do to a vehicle. He didn't want anything like that happening to Herbie. He glanced down at the speedometer, and saw the red needle hovering at 60 mph.

Be careful.

The thought flared like a match in the back of his brain.

He neared a profusion of tangled vines and leaning fencing on the right hand side of the road. Concealed behind was a road that intercepted the one he traveled to and from work on. It was a dangerous unlighted T-section, scarred with brake marks, and nearly impossible to discern when traveling at the maximum speed limit.

His eyes refocused on the road, and in that instant a flash of red metal soared in front of him. His foot crashed onto the brake pedal, but it was too late. Rubber squealed and burned. Herbie's front end crunched into the side of the sports car, right behind the driver's door. Then, just as quickly as the car appeared, it vanished from his view and the world as he knew it jarred to a screeching halt...

 

To find out what happens next, click here to order the anthology Then Along Came An Angel, featuring the complete story. Available now from Pleasant Word Books and Amazon.com.


Reader Reviews

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