Author's note:
I wrote this for an anthology. I'm pleased to be able to share it here. It's a stand-alone story but there is potential for new chapters in the near future. Needless to say all characters are fictional adults. Comments are always welcome and votes appreciated. Thank you for reading.
*****
Jim sat alone at a far corner table, sipping black coffee and checking the weather on his phone.
The truck stop was nearly deserted in the pre-dawn hours; a gray-haired old-timer manned the coffee shop counter and the occasional disheveled and bleary-eyed trucker would shamble in to grab a coffee and a greasy breakfast, but other than that it was empty.
Jim drained the cup and considered going back for a second but dismissed the idea. He had a pickup in Leamington and then a twelve-hundred kilometer run up the Trans-Canada to Hearst, and he didn't want to stop at every washroom along the way.
The clock above the coffee counter showed seven-fifteen. Almost light enough to do the morning inspection of his rig. He pushed the chair back and stood, pulled on his heavy jacket to ward off the mid-autumn chill, grabbed the empty paper cup and shuffled towards the exit.
And that's when he saw a woman step into the truck stop and pause just inside the entrance. Mid-thirties, maybe. Good-looking in the kind of way that doesn't draw attention to itself - brown hair tied back in a ponytail, light ski jacket unzipped over a loose-fitting white sweater, faded blue jeans, sneakers. She wasn't a trucker; there weren't many women in the business and in any case she didn't look the type. She looked to be a traveler, though, judging by the well-worn backpack slung over her left shoulder.
She scanned the room and her eyes met his. He thought he saw a flicker of interest - of recognition - in her expression, but he dismissed it as wishful thinking. In the next life, hopefully. Certainly there were no women for him in the present one.
He paused and waited for her to move away from the entrance. It was better that he not get too close to her. No point inviting calamity, especially so early in the morning. After a moment she wandered over to the coffee counter and he slipped out of the building while she ordered.
It was damp, blustery and cold outside. Winter was coming. Canadian winter. Six months of poor driving conditions, unpredictable weather, slow traffic and long, icy nights. He wrapped his jacket tighter around his wiry frame and muttered curses under his breath. Forty-five years old and still hauling his ass from one end of the country to the other? It was no life. He wondered again why he even bothered.
He got to his rig, unlocked it, pulled himself up into the cab and hit the 'test mode' switch on the console, then dropped back down to the pavement and started a slow circle check of the vehicle. Lights. Flashers. Tires. Fluids. Belts and hoses. Finally he returned to the relative warmth of the cab and checked the dials on the console. Gas, charge rate, oil, coolant, water. Every day for the past twenty-seven years, the same routine. He could have done it in his sleep.
He stepped behind the seat to his bunk and checked that everything was secured, garbage removed, cupboards closed, bed made, desk retracted and the swivel arms that held his television and laptop were folded out of the way.
Ready to go.
Jim had settled into his seat when he heard a knock on the driver door. A quick check of the mirror revealed it to be the woman from the coffee stop. He froze. What reason would she have to come looking for him? Had he left something behind? He checked. Wallet...keys...phone, all accounted for. He sat, trying to figure what to do, but the coffee hadn't soaked into him yet and his thoughts were fuzzy. He couldn't open the door, that was for sure. He didn't mix well with women. Or to be more accurate, he mixed TOO well with women. Better for both of them if he kept the door closed.
Finally he lowered the window, just enough to speak through it.
"Good morning," he said, his tone gruff.
"I'm Lisa. Could I get a lift?" Bold. Direct, but she had a sweet enough voice - very easy on the ears.
It seemed odd, her being a hitchhiker. She'd have had to hitch her way to the truck stop...but at seven-fifteen in the morning? Who was picking up hitchhikers in the dark? What woman would thumb a ride at night? Jim cursed his luck - he really should have had that second cup of coffee to make the thinking a bit easier.
"Not possible. My boss doesn't allow it. Sorry." It was a convenient enough excuse.
"Aw, come on. He won't know, and I can be very good company," she said, winking on the word 'very'.
It had been a few years since he'd had an offer like that; more than a few, actually. He felt the first stirring of temptation, the awakening of urges he'd spent his life damping down.
"Still no. Sorry about that." He raised the window, then did his seat beat. When he checked the mirror again, she was gone.
Or so he thought, until the passenger door opened and the woman climbed awkwardly into the cab.
This was bad - very bad. A woman should not be so close to him. He swiveled the seat to face her.
"Now, look, miss. I thought I was pretty clear..." he trailed off.
She held a gun. The barrel was pointed at his face.
"Drive," she said, her voice hard. Mean. Her eyes peered into his and didn't flinch.
"Okay...you want the truck? All yours. I'll just step out," he said. It was insured, after all. No reason to die - not over such a silly thing anyway.
"Drive, or I'll kill you right here."
"There are cameras all over the place...inside the coffee stop, too. They'd find you quick," he countered. Why was he arguing? Was he trying to get shot? Had his death wish become so pronounced?
"Drive." She pointed the gun lower, at his abdomen. The idea of a bullet tearing through his guts was somehow more daunting than the thought of being shot in the face. A bullet in the stomach was a slow, painful way to die.
He turned back to the wheel and put the truck in gear, then navigated to the on-ramp and accelerated onto the highway. He was almost up to speed when he heard a snicking sound and felt cold metal around his right wrist. Startled, he tried to pull back but found his wrist handcuffed to the wheel. He drove in silence for a few minutes before he dared to speak up.
"This won't work if I need to reach the gear stick." The truck had an automatic transmission, but he hoped she wouldn't know that.
"Just drive."
"Where are we going?"
"Just fucking drive!"
Another few minutes passed in silence as he debated using The Curse. He hadn't used it in thirty years and didn't want to start it up again now. It wasn't right, that sort of power. It brought nothing but trouble. It ruined lives, his most of all. Definitely a last resort. He glanced at her sidelong and tried again.
"Whatever problems you've got, this isn't the right fix. If you tell me what you need, maybe..."
"Jesus, you don't stop, do you?" she said with an eye-roll and a humorless smile.
He sighed. Time for The Curse.
"Undo the handcuffs," he said in a soft but firm voice.
"Shut up and drive."
Her response set him back. Well...it had been a long time since he'd used his power. Easy to see how it could be a little rusty. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder.
"Undo the handcuffs."
"It won't work," she said flatly.
"What?"
"I won't obey you. Your powers of control won't work."
"You know about The Curse?" he asked in an awestruck tone. Dozens of questions bubbled to the surface all at once and he couldn't decide in what order to ask them.
She barked out a derisive laugh. "Is that what you call it?"
"Are you able to do it too? Magic, I mean?" Despite the gun in her hand, Jim felt only a desperate curiosity. This might be the chance to get answers to questions that had haunted him his whole miserable life. The threat of being shot seemed insignificant by comparison.
