been running and the Driver allows himself a small smile fringed with doubt. He looks in the rear vision mirror at the trunk of the car. He imagines the covered figure inside. He shakes his head and exhales. He slides the gearbox into reverse and releases the handbrake. The tires send up dust as he spins the car back onto the black ribbon. He pushes his foot down hard as the beast takes to the road. A kilometre away the knocking begins.
Inside the cabin the Driver’s eyes go wide. The tapping resonating from behind the bench seat in the back of the vehicle is slow and soft. He turns his head away from the road and towards the sound. The tapping stops. The Driver’s eyes flick towards the road then back to the bench seat. A loud knock rings. The Driver flinches in fear. He turns towards the road, tightens his grip on the wheel, and eases his foot onto the brake. The vehicle comes to rest on the shoulder of the highway. The Driver turns in his seat towards the rear of the car. His eyes stare intently at the bench seat. A faint inviting tap comes from behind it. The Driver reaches warily for the handle, opens it and exits the car.
Several feet away from the back of the car the Driver stands staring at the trunk. Overhead the sun beats down on the man’s face but he doesn’t feel it. A loud knock from inside the trunk breaks the silence. The Driver looks around and takes a deep breath in. Furtively he reaches into his back pocket and retrieves the deck of cards. He removes them from the packet and rhythmically begins to shuffle them. As the shuffling cards coalesce, his mind drifts away from the choices in front him. A loud knock from the trunk breaks the spell.
A single card slips from the shuffle. It floats to the ground and lands picture up. The Driver stares at it and takes a deep breath. He steps over the card and towards the lid of trunk. Behind him the Ace of Spades faces the endless blue sky.
The Driver’s hand conforms to the moulded trunk lid and his fingers search for the release button. His middle finger slowly presses it in. The lid pops into his palm and the trunk creaks upwards as he raises his arm. The Driver’s body instinctively tenses with the motion. Images of his own curled up body intrude into his mind. His breathing deepens and he lifts the lid fully open. A figure flies out of the trunk directly towards the middle of the Driver’s chest. He reels back and falls to the ground. The deck of cards spills out of his pocket and fans out unceremoniously onto the ground. When the dust clears from his fall and from his lungs, the Driver looks up at the open trunk. Perched on top of it sits the Gargoyle, its dark eyes staring deeply at him. In here, the bird whispers.
The Driver sits back on hands knowing that his fate is not entirely in them. He stares up at the dark-winged spectre. A smile forms on his face. He pushes himself to his feet and gives the back of the car a wide berth. As he reaches for the door handle on the driver’s side of the car, there comes a screech.
“Can’t.” The Gargoyle screams at him.
“We’ll see.” The Driver replies without a thought.
He opens the door and sits down. His hand reaches forward to the ignition and he swears. He turns and looks through the rear window. The Gargoyle is already staring at him as though it has been waiting. The angle of its head is several degrees past mockery and somewhere in pitiful inquisition. Simple man, it says, whilst inside the car the petrol gauge reads Empty. And, for a moment, the Driver thinks about the lady slowly dying behind the counter in the convenience store.
The Gargoyle spies the Driver as he exits the car and walks back around to its rear. Overhead, the Sun hangs between them, presiding over their exchange.
“What is it you want from me?” The Driver exhales in exasperation.
The Gargoyle twitches its head to an angle the Driver hasn’t seen. Good, it says. It cranes its neck and looks into the open trunk then peers back up at the Driver. The man immediately shakes his head.
“I didn’t make it. I want no part of it.” He declares as he raises his arms.
But the Gargoyle just stares, its head shaking trivially one way then the other. And when did you begin to think you had a choice, it sneers.
VI
The Driver steps forward and the Gargoyle intuitively flies back from the trunk. The man reaches his hand up and places on it the underside of the lid, then pushes it fully open. He looks down into the boot. The body appears smaller than earlier. It’s on its side and its knees are pressed tightly into its chest. It doesn’t look as though it has been dumped in the trunk but that it had climbed in it out of weariness and a need for sanctuary. The Driver’s body aches with the same quality of weariness, and a feeling crosses him that is entirely unfamiliar. Pity. He reaches down into the space.
“Care.” The Gargoyle squawks.
The Driver turns toward the sound and sees the Gargoyle on the ground. It pauses a moment and then begins to scratch at the dirt again. The Driver looks at the small hole the bird is creating and then back at the body. He looks to the heavens in resignation.
The sun beats down on the Driver as he kneels to the ground and starts digging into baked earth several yards away from the car. At first the gains are small, almost ineffectual, and the man begins to the tire at the task. He turns to the car and the Gargoyle stares back at him. He sighs and returns to his task.
Slowly the small puncture becomes a hole and the Driver leans back to look at it. He wipes the dripping sweat away from his face and appraises its depth. He moves forward and into the hole and turns to face the sky. The sides of the hole barely rise above his chest and he exhales in submission. He turns into the hole again and commits himself to his task.
From inside the hole, the Driver finishes and turns towards the car. His lips are cracked and he imagines a full bottle of water on the other side of the passenger door. He looks up to the endless blue sky and pictures a cloud drifting over. He can almost feel the rain against the skin on his face and his tongue flicks out. Around him the dead sand and the distant ageless rocks cry myth, and chide him for his perversion.
The Driver dizzily looks down at the wound at his side. The blood is a hard bronze colour of several days old. He looks at the hole and his hands fall down into it. He holds himself up and his eyes close. His body begins to fall into the hole and the Gargoyle’s scream shatters the movement. The man’s eyes flash open and he turns. The bird stares at him and the man’s gaze shifts to the back of the car. The image of the body inside finds him and he wrestles himself out of the hole.
He crosses the sand to the car and stands over the covered body. With a deep breath he reaches into the trunk and feels the figure for the first time. It is rubber-stiff and inexplicably cool to his touch. He slides his arm underneath the frame and lifts it lightly as to not disrupt the sheet. Each step away from the vehicle is delicate and the journey takes an eternity. The Driver’s vision perpetually seeks the serenity of the horizon as he moves. His feet barely leave the sand but still manage to land with a thud. He is exhausted and still dying.
After a lifetime the Driver falls to his knees in front of the grave. The body rolls forward in his arms and the man struggles to maintain balance. He shifts to his left and places the body down in the same shape as the grave. Once satisfied, he stands above it and stretches his back in relief. If he ever saw another morning he would wake in pain. He shuffles around the lip of the grave and slowly drags the body by the shoulders into it. He sits back and begins shoveling the loosened dirt into the grave. The body finally disappears under red sand and the man rolls over onto his back and closes his eyes.
He wakes to the pain of his lips cooking. Their sting makes him reach up and drag the tips of his middle and index finger along them. His mouth opens roughly at the jaw and the parched skin on the inside of his mouth splits.
“Car.” The Gargoyle’s voice cracks through air.
The Driver looks up. The Gargoyle is resting back on the lid of the trunk. The man begins to argue but nothing but rough air leaves his lungs. He pushes himself to his feet and crosses the ground to the car. He moves around to the driver’s side door, but as he reaches for the handle, the G
argoyle taps the metal on lid of the trunk loudly. The man stops and tiredly turns toward the bird. He looks at it then down into the trunk. His exhale is painful. He mouth forms into the word no. The Gargoyle’s head gently tilts yes.
The Driver trudges around the vehicle and the Gargoyle takes flight. The man stands in front of the trunk. He looks up at the bird for mercy and finds none. He looks back into the trunk. For a moment he imagines that he won’t fit inside it. He reaches down into the hole and feels for the bottom. It is brutal steel. He turns to the soft shallow grave and the body beneath it. He turns back to the trunk and climbs inside.
At first he writhes around in order to find some measure of comfort. Finally he settles himself and looks up through the opening of the trunk. The relentlessly uniform blue sky hangs above him, either ignorant of his plight or completely uncaring. A loud caw from the Gargoyle breaks his gaze.
“Close.” It says.
Without a struggle the Driver reaches up and pulls the lid of the coffin closed.
VII
Nothing happens for many long, ragged breaths.
VIII
The Driver wakes to the abandoned