Roads Less Traveled
His black overcoat was dusty, like he'd been standing on the side of that dirt road for a while, watching old pickup trucks clatter by.
He didn't quite match the setting. His tailored black suit and wool coat would be more appropriate for Madison Avenue or Wall Street; that's what made her take notice of him. That, and the piercing eye contact he made as her little compact car closed the distance between them.
He was utterly relaxed. In fact, he leaned against an old fencepost. It was as though nothing mattered to him at all; not the dust clinging to his coat, not the chill in the air, nor even the cigarette in his hand. He was completely nonchalant.
But that look. Those eyes.
He was perfectly composed. For all the surrounding farmland, this strange man in a tailored three-piece looked like he was leaning against a mahogany conference table in a boardroom.
All of these details, she processed at 45 miles an hour. She hadn't even realized she'd slowed from sixty until she came to a stop in the road just feet from where the man leaned.
He made no gesture. He made no signs.
And yet.
Those eyes, they commanded her to stop.
Piercing, dark, almost black. They stood out in contrast to his alabaster skin so pale she could nearly see the veins in his neck on the back of his hands.
He acknowledged her with a nod as he tossed his spent smoke into the fine sand of the road. Grinding it further into the dirt, his shining black shoes dimmed a little in the sunshine as they collected a bit more dust.
She pushed a button and lowered the passenger window. He leaned against the frame, smiling.
It wasn't a harmless smile, nor was it threatening. It was genuine, it was warm, but it spoke of danger and wonder in equal measure.
"Why are you out here dressed like an undertaker, Mister? Are you lost?"
A small laugh shook his slender frame, and he shook his head.
"No, ma'am. I'm always where I need to be."
She didn't quite know how to take that, so she just waited.
"I could use a ride, though. If you wouldn't mind."
"My dad says I shouldn't ever let hitchhikers in the car."
He adopted a very serious look. "Your father is a wise man. But I'm no hitchhiker."
"Well, you're on the side of the road, and you just asked me for a ride."
"This is true. But I can tell you're uncomfortable. That's fine, dear. You drive on, until you're ready."
It was hard to tell how old he was, exactly, but Melissa knew he was a good bit older than her seventeen years. A junior, she was making her way home from high school. She was used to being called "sugar," or "baby," or "dear," but she wasn't used to this man's strange accent. He sounded like an old movie actor; thoughts of "It's a Wonderful Life" flashed in her memory.
She almost missed his comment.
"What do you mean, ready?"
Melissa took this way every day. There were other routes between home and town, but these particular dirt roads were more fun to drive, even if there was the occasional obstacle by way of tractor or wandering livestock. She knew the way like the back of her hand; it was filled with sandy traps and gravelly snares that would snag and pull, adding to the excitement. Her little city car wasn't meant for such country living, but she was determined to drive where she wanted, how she wanted.
The man just smiled, and pushed himself away from her car window.
"Run along now, Melissa. You've places to be."
It wasn't until a mile later that she realized she'd never told him her name.
____
The dust cloud finally settled as her car faded from view.
The man in black went back to his fence post, reaching for a new Nat Sherman.
As the lighter on his cigarette case clinked, an audible pop sounded as the air around him was displaced.
"How long will you let her drive, Kharon?" The voice rumbled, menacing, but the threat implied was ignored by the man in black.
Not answering immediately, the slim man savored the flavor of his cigarette.
"You shouldn't get this one, Lucy. It isn't right."
Rumbling laughter echoed as Lucy spoke. "You know the rules. You make the deliveries. Where the packages go isn't your problem. You just get them there."
"How is this one yours? She's seventeen. A good kid."
"The wages of sin, and all that bullshit, K."
"She's just a goddamned kid."
"Was a kid. Quotas, K. I don't make the rules, I just play by them. Same as you."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. You're the king of breaking the rules."
"Prince of lies, actually."
The man in black couldn't help but chuckle.
"Technically, she isn't yours until I ferry her."
"Yes, I know. Which is why I'd like to know how long you're going to let her keep passing you."
"She's happy here. Dreaming."
"Kharon. She's been wasting away in a coma for years."
"What's this? Sympathy?" Kharon looked sideways at the man he called Lucy.
"I see what you did there, K. No. She's mine. I'm due."
"Wordplay from you, now, is it?" Kharon watched the road, where Melissa would reappear any moment.
"It's been seven years since she wrecked on this road. Think of her family, watching her rot in a hospital bed."
"Jesus, Lucy. You almost sound like you care."
Lucy cracked a devilish grin.
"What's a few more months to the likes of us? Let her have this. It's better than what you have to offer."
Sighing, Lucy finally responded. "I will be waiting when you finally do your job."
"And if I just let her haunt here, even after the plug is pulled?"
Palpable, simmering anger was the only response to the question.
From around the road's bend, Melissa's car glimmered in the sunlight, billowing a cloud of dust.
The man in black's companion popped back to his domain, leaving Kharon to his work.
Slowing and rolling down her passenger window, the teenage girl had no way of knowing she was asking the same question for the thirteen thousandth time.
"Why are you out here dressed like an undertaker, Mister? Are you lost?"
He smiled, happy to answer her again.
_____
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Title: Roads Less Traveled
Genre: Fantasy Short Fiction
Age Range: Young Adult / Adult
Word Count: 1074
Author Name: Nick Ferryman
Why this is a good fit: It's a fantastical piece that provides a potential answer for "Why?" or "Is there anything after we die?"
The hook: Sometimes the persona of Death lobbies on behalf of mere mortals.
Synopsis: Death himself prevents a girl from dying by keeping her in limbo, stuck inside a coma dream, to spare her eternal damnation.
Target Audience: Adult fans of the fantasy / sci-fi genre.
My Bio: withheld.
Platform: Microsoft Word
Education: withheld.
Experience: published in professional journal(s), hobbyist short story author, several stories chosen for electronic publication on various websites.
Writing style: A mixture of noir and romantic nostalgia.
Likes/Hobbies: withheld
Hometown/Age: withheld