Killer On The Road

Killer on the Road

Brock McElhenney

         The city howls with suspicion. Cars wait at the stop light like students waiting to get out of class. Rain falls like a shower. A newspaper blows in the wind until it violently lands at a man's feet. The man picks up the paper and skims it. 'Thursday, April 14, 1973' reads the top of the paper. The man then directs his eyes toward the headline. 'News writers losing jobs all over New York City.' He angrily tears the paper in half and starts to walk back to his apartment.
         He walks at an even pace as his coat gets shot at by water like bullets. Upon his return, his girlfriend is making dinner. "Hello sweetie!" she says as the man takes of his hat and coat. "How was work?" He hangs his hat and coats and says sadly, "Work was work."
         "Well God, Peter," his girlfriend says, "you're 27 years old. You've been dreaming about this job since we were in high school in Pennsylvania. Do you remember what you said to me freshman year?"
         "No" he replies painfully.
         "You said 'Rosie, after college, I'm gonna get out of here and work as a news writer in New York.' Now that's exactly what you're doing so what's the problem?"
         Peter angrily walks to the living room and picks up the paper from that morning. "This!" he yells. "Writers are being dropped everywhere! Just today, Bill and Larry got let off and God knows I'm next!"
         "You just need some time to calm down. Try meditating." says Rose. "Maybe." Peter says. Rose takes dinner out of the oven and Peter sets the table. They ate in silence. As they finish, Peter puts the dishes in the sink, fills up a glass of water and walks into his room. He picks up a bottle of depression pills and takes one with the water. He sits on the bed, undresses and goes to sleep.
         Peter wakes up in a panic. He looks at Rose to his left, and then at the unforgiving clock to his right that says 12:30. A good three and a half hours of sleep. He stumbles out of bed, nearly falling, and knocks over his bottle of pills. He dresses and combs his silky short black hair. He grabs his gun and some money and shoves it in his pockets. Peter grabs his coat, leaving his hat and puts it on to cover the gun. He walks downstairs and leaves his apartment building as the city becomes shrouded with uneasy danger.
         There's a hot dog stand outside the building. Peter buys a hot dog and eats it while he stands of the corner of the sidewalk and watches people as they go by. As he finishes, he starts to walk into the road. He stops at a taxi at a stop light and gets in. "Where you headed?" the driver asks in a New York accent.
         "Two miles south toward the edge of the state." Peter answers dully.
         "You got it buddy."
         A moment of silence occurs as the car starts to move. Only a minute or so, but it feels like thirty. The driver breaks that silence.
         "So what ya doin' at this late hour?" he asks.
         "Not much," Peter answers sternly, "clearing my mind."
         "Yeah, ya gotta do that sometimes." the driver says as he stops the car. "Alright, that'll be two fifty."
         Lightning flashes and thunder crashes as a warning. He looks back as Peter draws and fires between the driver's eyes. The leaf has fallen of the tree. Peter immediately gets out of the backseat, takes the driver out of the car and speeds away.
         "I didn't think I'd kill anyone," he says to himself, thinking out loud, "I was just paranoid that someone would try to mug me."
         He begins to look around at everything and everyone.
         "Surely someone must have seen it, or at least heard it."
         He gets more paranoid by the minute.
         "The cops will be coming soon if they aren't already. I can see the headlines now. 'Local news writer kills taxi driver.' Has a nice ring to it."
         Paranoia fills his body as he goes mad.
         "Maybe I'll convince the jury I'm innocent."
         He pulls into a long road surrounded by nothing but open field. Peter rolls down the windows and screams a scream of absolute insanity and laughs like a madman. He then flinches at a scream in response from the car behind him. The scream of the siren of a police car. Peter panics and starts to speed faster. The cop follows as he rolls down his window and shoots one of Peters tires, then shoots the other. Peter's car stops as he gets out of the car and takes aim at the cop. The cop, stuck in his position, puts his hand up.
         "Get out of the car!" Peter screams.
         The cop gets out, grabs his gun and aims at Peter.
         "Give it up," the police man says, "you're done."
         "There's no one the road," Peter responds, "no one will know."
         The cop runs at Peter, aiming his gun and Peter does the same. Then finally, a gunshot.