Jon

Nothing made driving at night worse than mist. Jon could deal with sleep deprivation and the minor hallucinations that accompanied it. He could even deal with what he could begrudgingly admit was depression, and the almost nightly urge to just take his hands off the wheel and let the road decide his fate. But mist, that was a whole different beast.

Both comforting in its cold serenity and treacherous in its simple deceptions. It both made the road more hazardous and forced Jon to slow down. And slowing down, that was what he truly feared.

Slowing down meant missing the ferry, or at least missing a nap. Slowing down meant missing time quotas; it meant being viewed as less committed. It meant lost contracts; it meant missed paychecks; it meant—

Out of the corner of his eye, just within the mist, a pale white blur in the night.

She was back again.

Jon knew her well and knew his best bet was to ignore her. Keep her out of sight and out of mind.

Too much attention and he’d have a passage again.

Not enough sleep, too much stress.

Just keep moving.

If he could afford one, he might tell a therapist that it was all he saw at night now. He rarely went ten minutes without passing what looked like a woman in a white dress.

Maybe he wasn’t sure. He never saw their face, and if she ever got in…well, she looked like other people then.

Jon would lie on that weird little couch and say she was following him. And whenever he reached his end, she’d be there too.

Another white blur in his peripheral vision dispersed amid the wavering vapor.

He’d tell that quack, pointing, red in the face, that she was fear and she was catching up on him.

But even in his mind, the one place he should have had under control, he would lose the argument every time. The strawman would disagree, his voice calm.

The woman isn’t fear…she is guilt, and she delivers retribution.

It was so easy to explain and yet, still impossible to face.

What was less difficult to explain was the sudden bump and the loud crunch under the front right tire.

“Oh, fuck!”

Jon applied his brakes and glided to the side of the road.

Gasping for air, fingers turning white, clutching the wheel, he threw on his emergency lights and jumped out of the truck.

Running to the passenger side, he looked to the wheel well…

No blood, no remains of any kind.

But he felt it; he knew.

At the very least, he’d hit an animal.

Crouched along the side of the truck, Jon inspected the wheel well.

There was nothing there. Nothing shook loose as he pounded his trembling fists against the cold metal paneling of his truck. Nothing cried out to meet his own haggard scream.

But he felt it: the vibration of crunching bones.

Jon ran into the mist. Soon losing sight of the trucks, he sprinted back down the highway. To the place where he felt it, where he hit it.

It was almost pitch black there, in that swirling mist. Filtered moonlight glinted over the cracked edge of the road until finally, he was there.

But there was nothing.

He scanned the road, eyes wide and wild. Looking for anything, afraid of what he might find but unable to bear any more guilt.

If he didn’t know it would eat him.

Standing there, panting and scratching, his arm raw and aching.

Unsure if he’d find a body, or tear his own skin off first.

But there was nothing.

That wasn’t the relief he needed, though. It didn’t grant finality; it was just further confirmation of something he already knew.

You’re losing your grip on reality.

He walked out onto the highway, pulled by the moon and the night. Maybe there he’d find relief.

Maybe if he was lucky, someone else might find him there. Hidden by the mist. Going 60 or more through the darkness. A kind spirit ready to take it all away.

But no, no such luck.

Instead, he found more empty road, and more solitary night.

The mists retreated, blown away by a merciful breeze.

He could see his truck again, some 50 yards away…and he could see the gas station, further down the road in the opposite direction.

Somehow, in the dark, he had dragged himself out into the middle of the road. There, under the watchful gaze of the stars above, he’d wandered into the crossroads.

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