Lost Highway(10)

“I heard about this place and wanted to see it. I heard people disappeared, and killers roamed the woods. I wanted to hunt those who hunted others.”

“Why?”

“Why does a man hunt a deer? For the challenge. Hunting violent humans in this terrain intrigued me.”

Odessa studies me. “Are you insane?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it.”

“You killed people before you came here.”

“Yes.”

“What kind of people?”

“Whoever they assigned me to kill.”

“Who assigned you?”

“I told Mary all of this, and she died. I’m unsure whether I want to waste the time of sharing my life story with someone who will soon be dead.”

“Who’s Mary?”

“The last person I brought to the cabin.”

“How many have you brought here?”

“Three before you.”

“How did Mary die?”

I recall the crazed expression on Mary’s face the day I ended her life. She hadn’t meant anything to me, yet I still resented wasting time on someone I couldn’t keep around.

“The Highway changed her. She became feral and attacked me. I don’t know if she meant to kill me, but my instincts kicked in, and I killed her.”

Odessa doesn’t miss a beat before asking, “What about the people before her?”

“The other woman was named Rachel or Rachelle. I can’t remember. She cut her throat out there on the porch while screaming about birds. I don’t recall the man’s name. He was a short time after Tom died. He wanted to hunt with me, and I let him until he began eating the Death Dealers we caught. I had to put him down.”

“Is that why you lock me up? Do you think I’ll go crazy and eat you?” Odessa asks, and I spot a slight smile on her beautiful face.

“The Highway turns people feral.”

“What about Tom? He sounds evil but also like he wasn’t crazed.”

“I initially thought the cabin kept him and me safe, but the others were here when they lost control. I don’t know why some remain sane and others don’t.”

“Did Tom build this cabin?”

“No. It’s here because it’s here in the other world. Why else would we have electricity, running water, and occasional TV reception?”

“Who are the people in the pictures in the hallway?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always assumed they were the people in the other cabin. This place exists because it was built in the other place.”

“Did Tom want to be here like you do?”

“I don’t know. He lied about how he arrived here. His lips tightened when he lied. It was his tell.”

“What if I don’t go feral and try to eat you?”

“I suppose you can come out of the room. Though I’ve left a large hole in your wall so locking you inside might prove difficult.”

“The sun is going down,” Odessa says, turning on the couch and placing her feet on the ground. “Will the wolves come in through the hole?”

“They’re too large. The ones I saw eat Tom’s body were at least four hundred pounds. We should keep the door locked tonight in case something else comes inside.”

“What else is there?”

“I don’t know.”

Odessa rolls her eyes at my answer, and I’m surprised by her demeanor. I expected more tears or ranting after her discovery. The others refused to accept what they saw. Mary cried a lot and begged me to wake her up. The man said he was insane and locked up somewhere. He thought this place was a fantasy, so he embraced it without mercy. I can’t recall the other woman’s reaction. She wasn’t here long or hadn’t proved all that memorable.

If Odessa goes insane and I’m forced to put her down, I hope to remember her for a long time.





Chapter Eleven


Odessa




Quill doesn’t offer his bedroom for the night. He doesn’t even seem to consider I might want to sleep. We sit in the living room, long past sundown. He says nothing. Not even when he stands to lock down the house. I see how he removes my suitcase and bag from the room before locking it again. When he sits in the chair, Quill returns to staring at me.

I take the TV remote and click through channel after channel of static. After Quill secures the cabin, I finally land on a visible episode of Tom & Jerry, but the signal goes out after a few minutes.

“You’ll need to get accustomed to fewer comforts now that you’re in the Lost Highway.”

Focusing on his face shrouded in darkness, I ask, “Do you miss your old life?”

“No.”

Finding the static soothing, I leave on the TV. I relax on the couch and watch Quill. He seems otherworldly in the dark room with the flickering light dancing on his face.

“Are you ever scared here?”

“No.”

“Were you ever scared in your old life?”

Quill doesn’t answer. His menacing gaze bothers me, but I won’t look away. Nothing in this cabin is as reassuring as looking at him.

“What would you be doing if I hadn’t come here?”

“What I’m doing right now.”