The Wrong Stop



  The Wrong Stop

  By Ted Stetson

  Published by Three Door Publishing

  Copyright © 2012 Ted Stetson

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  Cover art by Cintia Martins & Martin Boulanger

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  The Wrong Stop

  by Ted Stetson

  She had fallen asleep on the bus. The bus was warm and dry and it was raining outside. She woke when the bus stopped and the driver opened the door.

  He was a new driver, but he looked at her like this was her stop. So she got up, put her heavy purse over her shoulder and held her umbrella in her other hand and stepped outside into the pouring rain.

  The wind was blowing the rain sideways so she lowered her umbrella into the wind to keep the rain out of her face. She glanced at the bus pulling away behind her, the red lights two eyes in the darkness; that's when she noticed it was not her stop. She'd gotten off at the wrong place. It was so dark, what with the storm and all, that she didn't know where she was.

  She turned to wave and yell at the bus to stop, but the wind ripped the umbrella out of her hand. The nice big umbrella was gone in an instant and the rain hit her face so hard she couldn't see where it went. By the time she put her hand over her face and blinked the water from her eyes, the umbrella was lost and the red lights on the bus were far away.

  Keeping her head down and her hand over her eyes she turned around to get her bearings, but everything was so different in the storm. She'd never gone to all the stops on the bus and didn't have the foggiest idea where she was. A friend had suggested she ride to all the stops just in case.

  "In case of what?" she'd asked.

  "In case you get off at the wrong stop."

  "Why would I do that?" She never did things like that.

  "Just in case," her friend said.

  "Have you ever gotten off at the wrong stop?"

  "Yeah."

  "Why on earth would you do something like that?"

  Her friend, Claire, started to speak, then closed her mouth, embarrassed. "I forget."

  But Laura was sure she never would do that. She was not forgetful like Claire, didn't have blackouts, didn't drink or do drugs. So how the hell did she get off at the wrong stop?

  She lowered her head and started walking back the way the bus had come. With the driving rain it was hard to see the sidewalk. She put her hands up to shield her eyes instead of watching where she was stepping.

  The news had said the storm might cause blackouts and before she'd walked ten feet the streetlights went out. And the lights in the buildings up and down the block, buildings she didn't recognize, went out too. "Oh great." Now she couldn't even see where to walk. She had a tiny light on her key ring and fished it out of her purse and pressed it. She’d had it for some time and the light was dim. She had to hold it down at her side to see where she was stepping.

  She was on the sidewalk, but with the wind blowing it was hard to walk in a straight line. After a few steps she tired of holding the light on and let it go off and walked right into a tree.

  At first she was so surprised she thought it was a mugger and nearly cried out. Trembling with fear she pressed the tiny light and saw it was a tree. Maybe she should wait for a car to come along and flag it down before she walked into something else and hurt herself. After all, how long could it take for a car to come along?

  In the few moments she considered this, there was a lull in the storm and she sensed something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder just as lightning flashed and glimpsed a bulky man holding a long stick, maybe a weapon, coming toward her.

  Quickly she turned and hurried away. Using the light in front of her she struggled to make good time, but every time lightning flashed she glanced behind her and saw the hulking form still following her.

  She rushed to the intersection. She didn't recognize where she was. The traffic light blinked red providing little relief from the darkness. She tried to read the sign, but didn't have her glasses on and in the dark storm she probably couldn't read it anyway.

  Up the road in a different direction than the bus route, some lights blinked on. It wasn't very bright. Must be an emergency generator. She was undecided about going off the bus route until she heard the guy behind her shout something.

  She didn't know what he was up to, but she wasn't going to wait around and be mugged. On a night like tonight, who could help her? How would she get to a hospital or a doctor? In the storm, how could an ambulance find her?

  She hurried across the street and up the road to the lights, glancing over her shoulder, saw the outline of the stranger in the blinking red traffic light. He must’ve lost her in the driving rain and darkness because he continued going up the street. With relief, she hurried to the light.

  It was a small diner. Just then she heard a sound behind her and turned as the bus raced through the intersection. Was it the same bus? Maybe it had completed a loop. She couldn't see the number and couldn't see if anyone was onboard. But in headlights she saw the stranger looking at her. Could he see her in the spill of lights from the restaurant?

  She almost ran to the door, saw the closed sign, and looked over her shoulder. The stranger was still pursuing her.

  She opened the door and rushed inside. The place was empty. The tables and counter cleared like it was about to close. It was very quiet; no one was making noise in the kitchen washing up or anything.

  A thick man stood at the counter, his back to her.

  "We're closed," he said.

  "Oh," she said and looked out the window, couldn't see the guy, couldn’t see anything in the dark rainy night. A thought came to her. "Can I wait in here while I call a taxi?"

  He turned around and stared at her. He had mean look in his hard tight eyes. He had short gray hair, gray stubble on his face and his clothes were dirty. Who working in a restaurant would look like that? His skin was pale as if he'd been inside for a long time and his face was twisted into such a grim mask she considered going back outside into the rain.

  "Make it fast," he grumbled.

  She hated to ask, but she had to. "Do you have a phone book?"

  His little dark eyes stared at her like he was seething inside, a volcano of violence ready to explode. He hooked his thumb at the wall down at the end of the counter. "On the corkboard."

  "Thank you," she said. Her being nice seemed to surprise him. She hurried over to the board. It was covered with business cards. If she needed bail bonds or a lawyer or quick cash, she would have no trouble picking a card, but she couldn't seem to find a card for a taxi.

  "On the edge," the gruff voice said.

  There, she saw a card and pulled it off. Then she turned to her purse to get out her cellphone.

  "What's going on out there?" a gravelly voice said in the back.

  Gruff voice pushed the door to the kitchen open a crack and said, "It's okay. Another minute."

  When he opened the kitchen door she saw two men tied up on the floor. One was dressed in white like a cook and the other in a dark blue uniform like a policeman. Then the door closed and she looked into the hard blue eyes of the big man.

  He wore a white cook’s apron too small for him. At the side of the apron she saw the checkered wooden handle of a gun. He grunted like nothing ever went right and walked to the counter.

  Her heart was beating very hard and very fast. She was so frightened she didn't know what to say or do. She was very much afraid he was going to hurt her.

  He held out his thick calloused hand.

  She put the taxi company's business card in it.

  He crumpled it and dropped it on the floor and kept his ha
nd held out.

  What did he want? Oh. She fished her cellphone out of her purse and put it in his hand.

  He nodded.

  She almost sighed with relief; her heart drumming so loud it was hurting her ears.

  He motioned her away and at first she thought he meant she could leave and looked at the door, but he shook his head.

  "Take a seat," he said and her mouth went dry.

  She was out-of-breath scared as she spoke, "I have people--”

  What is it you have people do?

  “--waiting."

  "No, you don't," he said. "Sit."

  He was right she had no one waiting or caring for her.

  She went to a nearby table and sat down, her purse in her lap. She glanced at the empty restaurant, at the red vinyl seat covers, the small tables, the white walls covered with 1950’s memorabilia. Outside the windows the rain was slanting sideways on the dark street. What’s going to happen to me? Why didn’t I look before I got off the bus?

  "Hey," the big guy said and threw a towel to her. It landed on the table.

  She picked up the dry white towel and looked at it. What does it