Behind The Wheel

I would prefer to get the job done before the sky turned black. The desert surrounding us had just swallowed the sun and the road ahead was pavement kissing red-stained sky. With the sun gone, the air would soon turn frigid.

My knuckles were white as I gripped the wheel. Ungluing one hand, I reached over to my passenger and rubbed his thigh. He twitched.

“Frank.”

I said his name without taking my eyes off the road. I said it deeply and softly, just above a whisper.

It was finally just us two.

I glanced over at Frank. The fading light of day deepened the lines on his face. I noticed he was twirling his wedding band around his finger. I would put an end to that soon when I would take it off his finger and throw it in the grave.

Frank was shifting around and tugging at his seatbelt. He had turned his head away from me to look out the passenger window. I’m not sure what he was hoping to see or find. There was only the endless stream of dusty, desert hills.

I kept driving. I don’t know how long we were driving but there was still some light up in the sky when I decided this was far enough. I spun the wheel to the right and the car skidded a little as it went off the road. I heard Frank gasp as the car lurched. But he still said nothing.

I pressed the brake down and jammed the vehicle into park. Turning over to Frank, I leaned toward him.

“Here. Get out.”

He unclicked his seatbelt and stiffly exited the vehicle.

I lingered for a moment and looked through the window at him standing there in the brush. That thin nose, the wrinkled brow, his shirt and tie hanging on his stick frame – all so charmingly hideous in the dusky light. Wind started to ruffle his greying hair and he wrapped his arms around his hunched self.

With a sigh, I released the lock for the trunk and emerged.

“You have to carry it, Frank.”

He didn’t turn to look at me as I opened the trunk. Looking down, there was the big, black bag. It was Frank’s check-in luggage still with red string tied at the handle. That string was for identification purposes. In a sea of luggage coming from the belly of a plane, that blood-red string would surely set this black bag apart. That string was as bloody red as the dismembered body inside.

Frank wasn’t approaching me. He was staring into the distance. So I walked up to him and touched his arm lightly. He didn’t twitch this time. Instead, he turned his head slowly to look at me. Finally, he was looking me in the eyes. But his watery green eyes were empty, unblinking.

Slowly, he reached his arms around me. It began like all of our other embraces. But his body was stiff. He ran his hand slowly up my back. I didn’t feel warmth like I had the other times he would touch me. His touch was too firm. And his hand was moving up to my neck. I could feel it coming. He was going to kill me too.