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Authors: Vanessa Ronan
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Doe Eyes did. He paused for a moment, caught by her bright blue gaze. She stared back. Gaze too unflinching for a child. A woman’s gaze. Almost. He didn’t bother saying goodbye. Just slipped out of the door. It’s been years since he could leave a room without permission. A long time since he could simply rise, and walk, and go. Unlocked doors amaze. He almost said something to Doe Eyes when her look caught him like that. But he halted the words on his tongue before they were spoken. Thank God. Little bitch in the making. More of Bobby in her than he’d like. Eyes he’s not sure he trusts. And yet a softness to her that somehow makes him think perhaps there’s still a chance to feel at home.
A mirage on the open road ahead rises up on the
concrete, like a pool of water, only to distort back into pavement as Jasper approaches. The afternoon sunshine feels healthy on his face, his neck, his arms. He can feel himself tanning, browning. He wonders how quickly he might burn. Doesn’t care. Step by step, he feels his heart pumping, blood flowing. He can’t remember the last time he felt that. Healthy.
Wind rustles burned prairie grasses together, a sound like crickets dying. No coolness in the breeze. June bugs buzz through the tall grasses. Too early still for cricket song. Far off the whir of a truck engine makes itself known and can be heard speeding closer. A sound low and lost as a brewing storm.
He stands on the shoulder and watches the Ford get closer. Blue. Bright, shiny, new-paint blue. He can see even from a distance not many miles have been put on that pickup yet. More toy car than true truck. The kind that folks in the cities and suburbs buy in an attempt to look country.
That truck has probably never driven a proper haul.
He watches it all the same, though. A speck at first far off on the prairie road, barrelling closer and bigger, approaching with almost alarming speed.
It’s been a great while since he saw something move so fast, and he stands still, watching its rapid approach as though transfixed.
The wind hits him as the pickup passes him, and he closes his eyes better to enjoy the cooling blast of air. Over in a second, but still that second makes him smile. It feels like freedom on his face.
Brakes and tyres screech their halt. Jasper opens his eyes. Turns to look behind him. The pickup has stopped
about fifty yards up the road. Dark skid marks from the brakes darken the concrete. He can’t see who is inside. Just the shadowed silhouette of the driver turned round in his seat to look behind him. A Stetson. Wide shoulders. For a second, Jasper thinks the pickup will back up to him. When it doesn’t, he wonders if he should walk up to it. Wonders if he knows the driver. Wonders if perhaps he should wave or call out. Instead he stands in silence, hands in pockets, squinting into the reflected light from the shiny pickup’s truck bed. A mirage on the road far beyond reflects and sparkles like water. Wind rustles dry grass. Earth parched for rain.
Jasper takes a step forward towards the truck, and as he does, it dawns on him. Dread rises in his gut. There is only one frame he can think of that matches that broad silhouette. And it’s the one frame he had hoped not to see. Not yet. The engine revs once. Jasper pauses. Confusion creases his brow. He knows in his gut who this must be, though he’d imagined their paths crossing differently, had hoped maybe time could bandage up at least some wounds. He has done his term, served society’s penance. But Jasper knows all too well how vengeance feeds. He cannot imagine a reality where her brother will not want blood. He draws a deep breath and walks forward. His knuckles crack as his hands fist. Ahead, the shadow abruptly turns, twisting to face the steering-wheel again, and the truck speeds on, tyres screeching. Jasper stops mid-stride. Watches for a moment, wondering. Eventually he can no longer find the Ford on the flat, open road. Eddie Saunders
A mirage on the open road ahead rises up on the
concrete, like a pool of water, only to distort back into pavement as Jasper approaches. The afternoon sunshine feels healthy on his face, his neck, his arms. He can feel himself tanning, browning. He wonders how quickly he might burn. Doesn’t care. Step by step, he feels his heart pumping, blood flowing. He can’t remember the last time he felt that. Healthy.
Wind rustles burned prairie grasses together, a sound like crickets dying. No coolness in the breeze. June bugs buzz through the tall grasses. Too early still for cricket song. Far off the whir of a truck engine makes itself known and can be heard speeding closer. A sound low and lost as a brewing storm.
He stands on the shoulder and watches the Ford get closer. Blue. Bright, shiny, new-paint blue. He can see even from a distance not many miles have been put on that pickup yet. More toy car than true truck. The kind that folks in the cities and suburbs buy in an attempt to look country.
That truck has probably never driven a proper haul.
He watches it all the same, though. A speck at first far off on the prairie road, barrelling closer and bigger, approaching with almost alarming speed.
It’s been a great while since he saw something move so fast, and he stands still, watching its rapid approach as though transfixed.
The wind hits him as the pickup passes him, and he closes his eyes better to enjoy the cooling blast of air. Over in a second, but still that second makes him smile. It feels like freedom on his face.
Brakes and tyres screech their halt. Jasper opens his eyes. Turns to look behind him. The pickup has stopped
about fifty yards up the road. Dark skid marks from the brakes darken the concrete. He can’t see who is inside. Just the shadowed silhouette of the driver turned round in his seat to look behind him. A Stetson. Wide shoulders. For a second, Jasper thinks the pickup will back up to him. When it doesn’t, he wonders if he should walk up to it. Wonders if he knows the driver. Wonders if perhaps he should wave or call out. Instead he stands in silence, hands in pockets, squinting into the reflected light from the shiny pickup’s truck bed. A mirage on the road far beyond reflects and sparkles like water. Wind rustles dry grass. Earth parched for rain.
Jasper takes a step forward towards the truck, and as he does, it dawns on him. Dread rises in his gut. There is only one frame he can think of that matches that broad silhouette. And it’s the one frame he had hoped not to see. Not yet. The engine revs once. Jasper pauses. Confusion creases his brow. He knows in his gut who this must be, though he’d imagined their paths crossing differently, had hoped maybe time could bandage up at least some wounds. He has done his term, served society’s penance. But Jasper knows all too well how vengeance feeds. He cannot imagine a reality where her brother will not want blood. He draws a deep breath and walks forward. His knuckles crack as his hands fist. Ahead, the shadow abruptly turns, twisting to face the steering-wheel again, and the truck speeds on, tyres screeching. Jasper stops mid-stride. Watches for a moment, wondering. Eventually he can no longer find the Ford on the flat, open road. Eddie Saunders
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