End of the Road Read online

  The End of the Road

  An Anthology of Stories

  Edited by Jacques Antoine, James Rozoff and Robert Thomas

  The End of the Road, © 2013 Jacques Antoine.

  Edited by Jacques Antoine, James Rozoff, and Robert Thomas.

  Cover and Graphics by Suzie O'Connell.

  All stories and introductory material used by permission of authors of each story. All rights are otherwise reserved.

  Publisher’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Authors or Publisher, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.

  Smashwords Edition

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Kiss at the End of the Road, by Brandon Hale

  Chapter 2: A Touch of Cold, by Robert Thomas

  Chapter 3: Clay, by Russell Blake

  Chapter 4: Waiting In Line, by James Rozoff

  Chapter 5: Traveling Companions, by Anna J. McIntyre

  Chapter 6: Nowheresville, by Donna B. McNicol

  Chapter 7: One More Mile, by Dale Roberts

  Chapter 8: The Zombie Pestilence, by Randall Morris

  Chapter 9: The Last Hours of Brandon Kratz, by James Rozoff

  Chapter 10: The Savior, by Alison Blake

  Chapter 11: Death of the Senator, by Stephen Arseneault

  Chapter 12: The Long Road Home, by Jeanette Raleigh

  Chapter 13: Joint Venture, by L. S. Burton

  Chapter 14: Sherdan’s Road, by Jess Mountifield

  Chapter 15: Living Ink, by Shirley Bourget

  Chapter 16: Anywhere, by C.A. Newsome

  Chapter 17: Natural Selection, by J R C Salter

  Chapter 18: Because I Love You, by Michael Meyer

  Chapter 19: Holmgang, by E.B. Boggs

  Chapter 20: Young Chef’s Regret, by David A. Cuban

  Chapter 21: The Sinkhole, by Scott Langrel

  Chapter 22: Sans Cinderella, by Traci Tyne Hilton

  Chapter 23: Hilda’s Song, by John Daulton

  Chapter 24: Sinners in Church, by Kathleen Steed

  Chapter 25: Once We Were Children, by Chris Ward

  Chapter 26: The High Road to the Mountain Gods, by Jacques Antoine

  Chapter 27: The Frozen Truth, by Shirley Bourget

  Chapter 28: The End of the Road, by Saxon Andrew

  Chapter 29: Stalked, by Sherrie Giddens

  Chapter 30: Home Now, by Suzie O’Connell

  Chapter 31: The Velociraptor at the End of the Road, by Vel R.

  Chapter 32: Downfall #1, by Thomas Jenner and Angeline Perkins

  Chapter 1

  The Kiss at the End of the Road

  By Brandon Hale

  I sat at the bar, moving the shot glass in small circles, watching the alcohol swish around the glass. “She could kiss,” I said quietly. “Damn, that woman could kiss.”

  “I bet,” the bartender said.

  “No tongues,” I went on as I gazed absently at the glass. “It was just a soft, slow pressing of the lips. After ten years of marriage, her kisses still made me feel like I was a teenager. They just felt… hell, I dunno… powerful.”

  “Sounds like she was an amazing woman,” the bartender said. He was an older man, probably about fifty or so, totally bald with a neatly trimmed gray mustache and goatee.

  “She was,” I said quietly. “I don’t know why the hell I’m telling you this. It’s not like you have any idea who I am.” I looked around the bar. A few people sat in one corner. Other than that, the place was empty. “I didn’t even know this place was here until I saw the sign tonight.”

  “You’re always welcome here,” the bartender said. “Sometimes it’s better to talk about this stuff to strangers, you know?”

  “I guess,” I said. After a few seconds of silence, I started babbling again. “You know what’s weird? She always swore she’d kissed me before.”

  “Not sure I follow,” the bartender said.

  “Our first kiss was at the end of our third date,” I explained. “I still can’t believe it was twelve years ago. Anyway, at the end of that date, I leaned over and kissed her. When I pulled back, she had this odd look on her face.”

  “Odd?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s hard to describe. She looked surprised, I guess. Her eyes were all wild. Of course I panicked and thought I’d overstepped my bounds. I told her I was sorry and braced myself for a ‘let’s be friends’ speech.”

  “Since you wound up married,” the bartender said, “I’m assuming that speech never came.”

  “Right,” I said. “She just looked at me for a few seconds, then said, ‘I’ve kissed you before.’”

  “But you said it was your first kiss.”

  I nodded. “It was. We’d never kissed before that night. Ever. But she swore we had. She was absolutely positive she’d kissed me before. Over the years, it kind of became a joke with us. We always said it was proof of reincarnation and proof that we were together in a past life. We claimed it was proof that we really were soul mates, in this life and the next.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” the bartender said.

  I sighed. “Yeah. It is.”

  I finished my drink in silence and he poured me another.

  “When did she pass away?” he finally asked.

  The question was a dagger in my heart. Up to then, nobody had asked me that question. I’d spent the past month with family and they obviously knew when she died. I wanted to punch him in the face for asking. I wanted to climb over that bar and beat the living shit out of him.

  I took a steadying breath and said, “A month ago, but really, she was already gone. She was unconscious for the last two months of her life.”

  “Damn,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’d think knowing it’s coming prepares you, but it doesn’t. Not really.”

  “Cancer?”

  “You know what I regret most?” I said.

  Respecting that I ignored his question, he said, “I couldn’t even venture a guess on that one.”

  “I regret that I didn’t kiss her before she lost consciousness the final time. I know it’s selfish as hell to say this, but I feel like I was cheated out of that final kiss. I really thought she’d wake up again, but she didn’t. I know it was best for her. When she was awake, she was in pain, so it’s good that she passed on in her sleep… but if I’m being totally honest here, I wanted her to wake up. At least for a few seconds. I was ready. She was going to wake up to a kiss from her husband.” I downed the rest of my drink. “But her eyes never opened again.”

  “It’s not selfish to want that,” the bartender said. After a pause, he added, “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish, but it’s also human.”

  “Every night since she died,” I said, “I’ve thought about kissing her.” I could hear my own voice breaking, but I didn’t really care. I’d never been to this bar before. I didn’t care what this man thought of me. “It’s the weirdest thing. I mean, we didn’t kiss all that much. We’d been married for ten years. Most of our time was spent just enjoying each other on a level much deeper than a kiss. We did everything together. Everything.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Yet all I can think about is how much I wanna kiss her. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I could move on from this if I could just kiss her one last time.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy at all, Jack,” the bartender said.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked.

  He smiled. “You told me. A couple times, actually.”
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  “Damn,” I said. “I’m drunker than I thought.”

  “Speaking of,” he said as he took my empty glass, “I think you’ve had enough. Besides, it’s an hour past closing time.”

  I looked around at the bar. The people in the corner were gone. The place was empty. “Sorry,” I said. “You should have run me off an hour ago.”

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m here to help. Matter of fact, let me lock up and give you a ride home. You’re too drunk to be driving.”

  “I walked here,” I said. “Our apartment’s just about a mile away. That’s why I was so surprised I’d never noticed this place before.”

  “Meh,” he said with a shrug, “we’re new to town and tucked away pretty good here. You’d be amazed at the amount of people who don’t notice us.” He pulled a jacket from beneath the bar. “Jack, I insist you let me give you a ride. A mile is a long way for a drunk man to walk.”

  “Becca would have a fit if she found out I let a stranger give me a ride home,” I said.

  Becca’s dead.

  The thought came like a punch in the face and I wanted to die for thinking it.

  Becca’s dead.

  “Becca would want you to get home safely,” the bartender said. “I didn’t know her, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m right on this.”

  “Yeah,” was all I could manage to say.

  “If you don’t let me drive you home,” he said, “I’ll just follow you with my car.”

  I chuckled despite the crippling pain in my heart. “You really go the extra mile for customer service.”

  “Repeat business and all that,” he said.

  His small pickup truck was parked in the alley behind the bar. I staggered to the passenger side and climbed inside. He immediately cranked it up and started driving.

  “Don’t you want to know where I live?” I asked.

  “You told me in the bar,” he said. “You really can’t handle your liquor, Jack.”

  “Cut me some slack,” I said. “I don’t normally drink.”

  At the first intersection, he went left.

  “My place is the other way,” I said. If I’d been sober, his wrong turn would have probably made me nervous, but I was really too drunk to care one way or the other. Besides, in those days I didn’t much care about my own well-being.

  “Don’t worry, Jack,” he said. “We’ll get you home. We just have to take a slight detour first.”

  I shrugged. “If you’re a serial killer, you’d probably get more pleasure from killing someone who gives a shit about living.”

  He laughed. “I’m not a serial killer, I promise.”

  We rode through town until we came to a road on the south side, near the college.

  “I know this road,” I said.

  “I thought you would,” he said.

  “Why are we here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He drove to the house at the end of the road and stopped in the middle of the street. The house’s driveway was packed with cars. I could hear music thumping inside. All the lights were on, so I could see several people through the windows, standing around the living room.

  “Looks like they’re having a party,” the bartender said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “College kids rent most of these houses.”

  “I know,” he said. “There’s something special about this house, though, right?”

  My heart was pounding like it was desperate to get out of my chest. “It’s where Becca lived during her freshmen year of college,” I said quietly. “This was her home during the party years. It was before I met her, but I’ve heard all the stories.”

  “Not all the stories, Jack,” he said. “Go inside.”

  “No,” I said. “This house has no meaning for me. I told you, she lived here before we met. That was over fourteen years ago. Nobody who lives there now would know her. What possible reason would I have to go inside?”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Trust me, Jack. Go inside. Right now.”

  “Why the hell not,” I said as I opened the door. “Let’s go. It’s not like I have anybody waiting for me at home.”

  Because Becca’s dead.

  I was learning to hate my own mind for the constant reminders.

  “I’ll stay here in 2013,” he said. “I hated ’98. The music was just too damn pretentious.”

  “Huh?”

  He laughed again. “Just go inside.”

  Still quite drunk, I staggered toward the front door. As I got closer, I could hear people inside. Laughing, talking, singing.

  They were happy.

  It’s like they lived in a different world. A world where Becca wasn’t dead.

  But Becca is dead.

  When I got to the top of the porch steps, I stopped. My feet and my heart.

  I heard Becca’s voice.

  No you didn’t, idiot. Becca’s dead.

  The voice was young and happy and innocent, but it was unmistakably Becca’s voice.

  Becca!

  Is!

  Dead!

  On the other side of the door, Becca laughed. Oh my God, she laughed. My heart filled with joy and despair.

  “Okay, okay,” I heard her say with a slur. She was clearly drunk. “A dare’s a dare. I’ll kiss the next person who walks through that door.”

  “And it can’t be a peck,” someone else said. “It has to be a real kiss.”

  “I don’t half-ass my dares,” Becca said. “It’ll be real.”

  In that moment, I understood everything. I ran to the door and pulled it open.

  There she was. Younger than I’d ever seen her. Beautiful. Vibrant.

  Alive.

  “A dare’s a dare,” she said.

  She grabbed me by the shirt collar, pulled me to her, and pressed her lips against mine.

  The young Becca kissed exactly like the Becca I knew.

  Soft, but strong.

  And absolutely bursting with passion.

  For that brief moment, my joy vanquished my sorrow.

  Becca was alive again.

  I was alive again.

  The kiss lasted about ten seconds.

  It also lasted forever.

  When eternity ended, our lips parted. She winked at me and said, “Welcome to the party. I’m Becca. I’m also very drunk.” She turned to her friends and said, “How was that?”

  “Weak,” a girl said. “There was no tongue.”

  “Tongue is for horny teenagers,” she said. “Anybody who understands kissing knows that.” She looked around the room. “Okay, my turn. Tom! Truth or dare?”

  My world was spinning. Oh shit, I thought. I’m going to pass out.

  Without really thinking, I turned around and staggered back outside, desperate for air. As soon as I stepped on the porch again, I was assaulted by silence.

  No music. No laughing.

  Nothing.

  I spun around. The house was dark. The driveway was empty. I looked at the street.

  The bartender and his truck were gone.

  It took me about three hours to walk back to the bar. When I finally got there, the building was completely dark. As I got closer, I noticed the sign above the door was missing. I walked to the window and looked inside.

  Empty.

  No tables, no bar, nothing. Just four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and dust.

  I stared inside that empty building for at least an hour. By the time I finally wandered home, morning had come. Before I entered our apartment, I stopped and looked at the sky. The morning sun was just starting to peek over the apartment building.

  Beautiful, I thought.

  It was the first time I’d noticed beauty in over a month.

  I watched the sun rise for a few more minutes, then went inside and flopped down on my couch. I was asleep almost instantly.

  While I slept, Becca came to me in a dream. I don’t remember where we were or what we were doing. The only thing I remember is Becca.

  She was smil
ing.

  “I was right,” she said. “I knew I remembered kissing you. My first was your last.”

  “Who was that bartender?” I asked.

  She just shrugged.

  “I don’t guess it matters,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter. He was just a delivery driver. The gift came from somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  “Stop questioning,” she said. “Damn. Just appreciate.”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  “I love you, Jack,” she said. “Note the tense.”

  “Present, not past,” I said.

  She winked.

  “I love you too, Becca.”

  The next day, I started cleaning the apartment. I hadn’t really cleaned in over a month, so the place was a disaster. Honestly, I hadn’t done much of anything in over a month. I started cleaning because I knew the time for nothing had passed.

  It was time to start living again.

  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t naïve about it. I hadn’t found happily ever after. I knew full well it wouldn’t be easy. My grief hadn’t vanished. My heart was still broken, but something had changed. I felt sadness instead of despair. In a weird way, I actually felt optimistic.

  I’ll get through this, I thought. Becca was gone and, yes, that was almost unbearable.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Becca’s not dead. Not really.

  That was the day I stopped hating my inner voice.

  Since then, I’ve had good days and bad. Some days are harder than others. Birthdays, anniversaries, things like that. But when the hard days come, I get through them. One day at a time, baby steps, take comfort in your friends, a million other clichés. Truth is, I usually get through the worst days by thinking about the night that bartender promised to give me a ride home but instead took me to 1998.

  I don’t know how long the grief will last. Probably forever. There are some wounds time just doesn’t heal. But I’ll manage. I’ll keep moving. Eventually, I’ll find happiness again. It’ll be a different kind of happiness, but that’s okay. Honestly, I have no idea what tomorrow has waiting for me, but no matter what it is, I know one thing…

  I’ll never forget that first and last kiss at the old party house at the end of the road.