After the fall

Martin had been driving for longer than he realised when his hands started trembling again. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles began to whiten, keeping his tired eyes fixed on the road ahead. The highway stretched out beneath the headlights of his Ford Escape, empty in both directions. Every so often, a road sign appeared out of the darkness, caught in the lights for a second before disappearing behind him. Another sign glowed in the distance against the night. A rest stop.

Martin glanced at his fuel gauge. He knew he still had enough to keep going to his destination, but the thought of driving any longer made his stomach tense. He flicked his turn signal and took the exit.

The rest stop stood alone beside the highway, surrounded by woodland and more darkness. It was a different kind of darkness to the highway. Out here, Martin couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. Fluorescent lights illuminated four gas pumps and empty parking spaces. Just beyond them stood a small brick building, its wide front window glowing beneath the fluorescent lights. Martin pulled up beside a pump, switching off the engine. He sat, unmoving, staring at himself in the rear-view mirror. The sudden silence felt heavy, his own sleep-deprived eyes staring back at him.

Lowering his hands from the steering wheel, he stretched his fingers. A small cut on one of his knuckles opened back up. A thin line of blood trickled onto the back of his hand. He stared at it then wiped it against his jeans. The clock on the dashboard read 2:20am. Letting out a big sigh, Martin leaned back, rested his head on the headrest and closed his eyes.

Just keep moving.

Those were the words he’d repeated to himself since he set off the previous morning. He opened his eyes again and looked towards the . Coffee, gas and maybe something to eat. He could be in, out and back on the road in five minutes.

Opening the door, Martin stepped out into the cold night air. He instantly wanted to get back into his car and regretted leaving his jacket in the trunk. Rubbing his hands together, he walked around to the back of the car and pressed the button on his keys. With a click, the trunk popped open. He lifted it slightly further and reached in without looking, feeling around in the darkness, eventually pulling out a brown leather jacket. The jacket was dirty, several dark stains clung to the leather on the front and one of the sleeves. Whatever they were, he didn’t have the energy to care about cleaning it.

As he turned towards the rest stop, he stopped. Footprints. Clear, muddy footprints crossed the pavement behind the pump starting a few feet behind the car and leading towards the woodland behind the rest stop. Martin looked over towards the trees, the fluorescent lights only reached so far, making it nearly impossible for him to see but he was certain there was nothing there. He looked at the footprints one final time before turning away, making his way towards the building.

The automatic doors opened as Martin approached, the rush of warm air hitting him as he stepped over the threshold. The rest stop was much brighter than it had appeared from outside. The lights were uncomfortable after so long on a dark highway. It was quiet, not empty, but close.

A man sat alone at a table near the window. Probably a trucker, judging by the heavy, dirty jacket perched over the back of his chair. A cup of coffee sat between his hands in front of him, barely touched. A bit further across the room, an elderly woman sat reading a magazine turning the pages without looking up. Behind the counter stood a man who looked to be in his sixties. He gave Martin a quick nod as he walked in before hastily returning his attention to the television mounted behind him.

Martin walked straight to the refrigerators, the low hum coming from them filling the back of the store. A song played quietly from somewhere behind the counter, most of it lost beneath the hum. Martin recognised it after a few seconds. Talking Heads.

“We’re on the road to nowhere…”

He hadn’t really registered the lyrics before a sharp bang came from somewhere behind him. Martin turned to the noise. The trucker was looking straight at him. Neither of them moved. Martin noticed the glass sugar dispenser lying on its side next to the table leg, somehow intact.

“Sorry,” the trucker said, bending over to pick it up.

Martin responded with a courteous nod before turning his attention back towards the refrigerators. His heart was now beating faster. He reached in and grabbed a bottle of water before closing the door. His reflection stared back at him. Only it wasn’t the same room behind him. Broken glass on the floor. A voice screamed in the background. Martin blinked, only his reflection stared back at him.

He made his way towards the counter. He passed a clock hanging above the door to the restrooms. 2:27am. Seven minutes. It had only been seven minutes since he pulled in but he already wanted to leave.

“Long night?”

Martin stopped. The cashier was looking at him.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

The man gave a small nod. “Still got far to go?”

“Far enough. Coffee to go as well, please. Black.” He placed the bottle of water on the counter.

The cashier picked it up, scanned it and passed Martin an empty to-go cup. Martin glanced towards the tables again. The trucker had his head lowered towards his coffee and the older woman was still reading. He turned back towards the counter to pay.

“You alright?” the cashier asked.

“Yeah.” It came out sharper than he intended.

The cashier stared at him for another second. “You sure?” he asked.

Martin felt his jaw tighten. “I said I’m fine.”

The cashier raised both hands slightly, defensive. “Alright. I was just asking.”

Martin looked down at the counter, immediately regretting how sharply he’d reacted. He pressed his hands against the edge of the counter trying to steady them. Behind him, a crash. Somebody struggling for breath. His own voice saying something he couldn’t quite make out. Then it was gone. He reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet.

He paid for the water and coffee before walking over to the coffee machine. He filled the cup, poured in enough sugar for four coffees, fixed the lid in place and headed straight towards the exit without looking back. The cold night breeze hit him again as soon as the doors opened. He walked towards his car quickly, already pulling the keys out of his pocket.

He pressed the button, nothing. Martin frowned and tried again, still nothing. He moved closer to the car door and pulled at the handle. Locked.

“For Fuck’s sake.”

He pushed on the button again, harder this time. The edges of the keys dug into his palm. Nothing. He looked down, his hand was empty. He placed his hands into his pockets. Front, back, and then his jacket pockets. No keys, he checked again, faster this time. He knew he had them but looked through the driver’s window to see if he left them sitting somewhere inside the car but they weren’t there.

He turned back towards the rest stop, something had changed.

The lights outside were not as bright as he remembered leaving more of the building in shadow. From where he stood, staring through the glass it was now empty. No trucker sat with his coffee, no old woman reading and no cashier watching the TV. The only light was the faint glow of the refrigerators at the back of the rest stop. He stared through the glass, telling himself the reflections were hiding them. One of the lights above the entrance flickered. Once. Twice. He knew that his keys were inside, he must have put them on the counter when he got his wallet. Reluctantly, he headed back towards the building.

The automatic doors shuddered as Martin approached. They began to open but stopped halfway, one jerking against the frame before becoming still. Martin stood on his toes and waved in front of it and tried pushing against the glass but it didn’t budge. Taking a closer look, he realised there was just enough space between them for him to squeeze his frame through, turning sideways, he forced himself inside.

Now there was no warmth to greet him, the rest stop felt colder and darker than before. The music had stopped. Only the hum of the refrigerators remained. The trucker’s table was empty, no old woman reading, and behind the counter there was no sign of the cashier.

“Hello?” His voice echoed through the empty rest stop.

He waited, listening for a response that never came. He took a few steps further inside, scanning the room as he went, still expecting some signs of life. It felt different now, not just dark, but abandoned as though nobody had been here for days. He almost turned back, ready to leave the keys behind and break in to his own car. Then he saw them, his keys sitting on the counter next to the card machine.

Martin stopped, staring at them. He must have left them on the counter when he took out his wallet. That was the only explanation. He walked over to pick them up, turning them over in his hand. He had imagined holding them outside. He’d felt these exact edges digging into his palm. Hadn’t he?

He closed his fist around them and turned towards the exit when out of the corner of his eye he saw something else, something that had definitely not been there before. A bloody hand-print, just light enough to be visible but it didn’t look fresh. It had darkened and dried onto the counter. Martin turned for the exit, then a noise behind him, the slow scrape of something being dragged across the tiled floor. He froze. The sound stopped. Martin looked towards the tables but they were still empty, unmoved.

“Hello?”

Nobody answered. He stood listening for a little while longer before turning back towards the doors. This time, as he approached, the doors opened without hesitation. He hurried back to his Ford Escape, pressing the button on his keys as soon as he left the rest stop. The lights flashed and the doors unlocked instantly. He climbed inside, locked the door behind him and started the engine.

As he pulled away, he turned on the radio. Road to Nowhere drowned out the engine noise. The same song that had been playing inside the rest stop. Martin stared at the display, a short laugh escaped him.

Coincidence, nothing else.

Then he looked at the clock. 2:20am. He frowned. He was sure the clock inside the rest stop had read 2:27am.

“Broken.” He muttered to himself.

Martin pressed harder on the accelerator, watching the Rest stop disappear behind him until its lights vanished between the trees. Whatever had happened back there was exhaustion. He needed sleep, that was all.

The highway in front of him remained empty as he drove, the headlights cutting through the darkness. He passed one exit, then another, checking the signs to make sure he was going in the right direction. After several minutes he began to relax, his grip on the steering wheel finally loosening. Then, in the distance, another set of lights.

He stared at them thinking nothing of it. It’s just another Rest stop.

Another one? So soon?

As he got closer, the details became unmistakable. The same sign, the same gas pumps, and the same small brick building surrounded by woodland.

“No. It can’t be.”

He slowed the car to a crawl, looking at the rest stop through the windshield. It was the same place. He was sure of it. He hadn’t turned around, he’d gone straight and he definitely hadn’t taken an exit. Yet somehow, the same Rest stop was sitting in front of him again. He slammed his foot down onto the accelerator, determined to drive past when a light began to flicker on his dashboard. Low Fuel.

Impossible.

The entrance approached. With the fuel warning still flashing, he had no choice , cursing under his breath as he did.

Martin pulled up next to a gas pump and turned off the engine. He sat, silent looking out of the window at the rest stop. Somehow, he was back where he started. He stepped out of the car, a deep pain ran across his shoulders. He winced, rubbing at them before looking down. Mud now covered the cuff of his jeans, and his shoes were dirtier than he remembered. He turned his hands over. Dark soil sat beneath his fingernails and the cut had reopened. He had no memory of falling, nor leaving the highway.

The rest stop almost looked normal again. The lights were brighter, but the rest stop still looked empty. Nobody sat at the tables and nobody was behind the counter. Martin slowly walked towards the entrance. As the doors opened with no issues this time, something sitting on the counter caught his attention immediately. A newspaper that wasn’t there before.

Martin hastily walked towards the counter. At first, the newspaper looked normal. Then he saw the date printed across the top of the front page. Three days from today. He picked it up, staring at the date, letting out a confused laugh. A printing mistake, that was all. Then his eyes moved down the page to the article on the front and the laugh caught in his throat.

HUSBAND SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING AFTER WIFE’S DISAPPEARANCE

His photograph glared back at him. He read the article quicker, skimming it for important information. Police had been called to his home after neighbours reported hearing a disturbance. What police found inside was described as disturbing, and police now feared for the safety of his wife, Jenny. Blood and signs of a struggle throughout the kitchen. His wife was missing and so was he. According to the report, Martin hadn’t been seen for three days. Further down the article another sentence grabbed his attention. His Ford Escape had been captured on security footage at a highway Rest stop shortly after two in the morning on the night of Jenny’s disappearance.

His hands began to tremble. Her shouting, his hands against her, the fall and then the final sound of her head hitting the marble kitchen island before she fell to the floor. Silence. He had waited for her to move but she never did. The fall had been an accident, he had reacted without thinking. But everything after had been his choice. Wrapping her body, carrying her outside, putting her in the car. Martin lowered the newspaper. Dirt still covered his hands. His car sat outside beneath the lights.

She’s in the trunk

Martin threw the newspaper on the ground and rushed out through the doors, barely waiting for them to open before squeezing through. His eyes locked onto the Ford Escape. The trunk was now open. He picked up his pace, running towards the car, reaching the back and looking inside. Empty. The blanket was still there, crumpled up against the side but Jenny was gone.

“No. No. No. No.”

Martin stepped backwards, his breathing becoming heavier. Then he remembered the footprints. The same muddy trail he had seen when he first arrived. He ran back over to where they started, following them with his eyes towards the woods.

“Martin?”

He recognised that voice. At the edge of the woods, barely visible beyond the light from the rest stop. Blood stained the side of her face, her clothes dirty and torn. She stared directly at him, her expression almost calm. She tilted her head slightly.

“Do you love me?”