~ One Rainy Night ~

by

Kathye Quick

One

"This isn't a vacation, it's a Stephen King nightmare!"

Corrine McCullough smacked the palm of her hand on the steering wheel of her dark blue sports car for emphasis and crumbled the map she was trying to read. As she drove down the country road, she strained to see something recognizable. She was nearly out of gas and the cloudburst that had begun as a gentle late summer shower mid-afternoon had now turned into a full-blown downpour by early evening. This was no way to start the new chapter in her life.

Even at the steady crawl the car made along the unfamiliar roadway, sheets of water streamed down the windows, making it hard for her to see out. Correy leaned forward just as a sudden streak of white lightning sizzled overhead and she started counting. "One thousand one, one thousand two--" And then the thunder crashed. Very loud and very close.

The rain drummed with new intensity on the roof of her car and her irritation rose. "Why did I ever answer that help-wanted ad? This is an omen. I just know it," she muttered.

This was supposed to be the start of a relaxing vacation before starting a job as comptroller with a newly reorganized transportation company. Knowing it would be a tough transition when she left the safety of a bookkeeping job she held for five years, she’d let her friends talk her into taking a condo in Virginia Beach for a week to relax and regroup. But if this storm was any indication about the rest of her vacation...

Correy pushed the negative thought out of her head and adjusted her position in the driver’s seat. Her blue eyes became fixed and focused in an attempt to concentrate on the white centerline marking that snaked ahead of her. Every few minutes a flare of lightning would blaze overhead, lighting the blackness and giving her a chance to scan the shoulder for a highway sign, any highway sign. At this point she wasn't even sure what state she was in any more. She strained to see the signs the headlights lit up in the blinding rain. They only warned of the speed limit.

Her hometown of River Edge near the New Jersey-Pennsylvania line was somewhere four hours behind her. To save time and avoid the usual heavy traffic on the New Jersey highways and interstates during a Friday evening rush hour, she’d left right after the farewell party and had taken back roads. Now she prayed the right turn she made at the last junction had been the correct one. She was tired, hungry and not at all happy about the prospect of more driving in the designer suit she’d worn to work.

Suddenly a weather bulletin announcing a severe storm warning interrupted the soft music coming from her car radio.

"... We repeat, Hurricane Andrea has taken a surprising turn, strengthening instead of weakening as expected, and is now buffeting the area. Although losing momentum as it sweeps over land, the accompanying winds last clocked at more than seventy miles per hour, have downed trees, closing many local roads.

"Fires caused by broken power lines have fire and rescue crews busy and police report a rash of accidents. Motorists are urged to keep the roadways clear and be alert for emergency vehicles. Shelters have been set up along major highways and motorists are urged to make use of them until the storm passes.

"The system is expected to clear our area by morning. Stay tuned to this station for further weather updates. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming."

Correy grimaced. She'd known a storm was coming, but when she'd checked the weather report in the morning before leaving for her last day on the job, it had been on a path that would take it out to sea. That was good enough for her and she had been too busy wrapping up her last day at work to bother to check again. The light rain falling when she left on her trip gave her no reason to believe the storm had changed direction.

She shook her head. "That's it. I'm lost, heaven knows where, in a storm that should be over by now." She groaned as a nervous fluttering settled into the pit of her stomach. "What else could possibly go wrong?"

The answer to her question came in the form of a sound like a brown paper bag popping. She felt her heartbeat rise with the noise and a hollow, clammy feeling settle into the pit of her stomach. Her chest heaved with short, noisy gasps and she instinctively knew she was in serious trouble. Through the thick layer of rain on the windshield, she could see wisps of smoke curling up from under the hood of the car.

Quickly she checked the dashboard gauges. The engine temperature climbed and the oil pressure fell. The display looked like a high-tech video game as the entire front panel began to blink and flash, lighting the inside of her car with flickering colors of red, green and yellow. Through the annoyance spiced with uneasiness, she saw the needle on another gauge begin to fall and knew she had to turn off the car before she seized the engine. But the thought of her car dead in the middle of an unfamiliar rain in a raging storm made her plead for just a little more power to move off to the side. Then as though some capricious god had heard her prayer, the next white flash overhead illuminated a road sign just long enough for her to read it. Rest Area. Next Right.

With a sigh of relief she limped the sputtering car down the ramp and into the parking lot. A few seconds later, with a loud bang, the engine wheezed and clanked to a halt.

"Damn computerized monster!" she yelled, battering the steering wheel with both hands.

She reached over and turned the key. The motor coughed, and although the lights, wipers and radio still worked, telling her the battery was not the problem, the car refused to budge.

"Do I call a mechanic or a programmer?" she asked aloud to no one in particular, dropping her head onto the steering wheel in frustration. Another streak of lightning, the roar of thunder, and then nothing except the pounding of rain on the roof and the rhythmic flick of the windshield wipers answered her question.

Though the sound became oddly subduing, it brought with it a feeling of foreboding that Correy did not like. She glanced at her watch. It was already nine and she suspected that if help didn’t come soon, she'd be forced to spend the night in her car.

Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her knuckles and scanned the rest area. The few overhead lights still working in the area cast grayish-yellow light on the paved area below them. Across the way, a tractor-trailer sat beneath some low hanging branches. Otherwise, the lot was deserted. She focused on the truck for a minute or two and, seeing no signs of movement in or around it, guessed that its owner was probably nice and dry at one of the shelters set up somewhere or at the truck stop she'd passed a few minutes earlier.

She looked over the area with more precision. The rain came harder now, shaking the leaves with hammering drops. It made everything move. Everything seemed alive. Her stomach clenched tight and her heart pounded as her mind began to conjure up menacing shapes behind every tree and bush.

"Where is a knight in shining armor when you need one?" She grumbled. "If not a knight, the driver of that truck would do."

She opened the car window just a crack. "Is anyone out there?" she screamed into the wind.

A sudden thump to her left made her swing her head around in time to see a trash can careen across the parking lot. She patted her chest with her fingertips and took a deep breath to steady herself. "Apparently what I'm going to need is a minor miracle."

In the next flash of lightning, she had one. There was a phone booth to the left of the truck. A fallen tree branch blown away by the last gust of wind must have obscured it.

"Yes," she shouted, turning off the wipers. She was going to be rescued after all.

Reaching into the back seat, she retrieved her suit jacket. After draping it over her head and grabbing her purse, she threw open the car door. The lightning was coming in quicker bursts and she could feel the ground shake when she stepped out of the car. The rolling thunder appeared endless, sounding much like the roar of an on-rushing train. The storm appeared to be right overhead. It was raining so hard the raindrops hurt when they hit her face and the wind shoved against her as she made her way to the booth.

"Salem's Lot," she said when she was safely inside. "That’s the story with the sudden wind storm that came up just before the vampire jumped out at the innocent victim." Her heart still pounding, Correy forced herself to be calm. "I'm fine. There are no monsters or axe murderers in the bushes. You're the lunatic around here and you're talking to yourself. Get a grip, girl."

She took the rain-soaked jacket from her head, raked her long hair away from her face with her fingers before wiping the water from her eyes. Correy looked down at her clothes and shook her head in disgust. She should have taken the time to change. Her linen suit was probably ruined. The jacket and the matching slim skirt were sopping wet. Not only was she soaked to the bone, but her shoes made squishing sounds as she wiggled her toes.

But at least she was in the phone booth. It was the first thing to go right since she'd set out on this vacation from hell. Unless she was in some totally uninhabited corner of the planet, all she had to do was call AAA or the police and, in no time, she'd be in dry clothes with the hair dryer humming in a room at the motel she passed about twenty minutes earlier.

Anticipating a nice hot cup of coffee to go with the fantasy, she thrust change into the coin slot and waited for the dial tone. Nothing. The line was dead.

"Of course. Why not? If I was writing this nightmare, I'd sure as heck have the heroine discover that the phone was out of order right before..."

She stopped mid-sentence. Another crack of lightning exploded the night into white and she caught a glimpse of movement outside in the lot. After wiping the mist from a small portion of glass, she cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool window, straining to get a better look outside. This time it was not her imagination. Someone, or something, was definitely moving around the back of the truck and heading toward her.

At first it appeared to be a dark shape but as the figure closed in on the booth, she could tell it was a man. A large man. A very large man holding something in his right hand.

A cold chill shot down her spine. Okay, realistically maybe vampires didn't exist, but right now she couldn’t rule out the possibility of an insane criminal coming her way. And if she was right, he very well may be preparing to commit the perfect crime.

A murder. Her murder.