Wildwood Road Read Online Free Page A

silence again. He pressed his lips tightly together, worried for her, then he bent over and buckled her seat belt snugly. The diagonal chest belt was too high and came across her throat, so he tucked it behind her, not wanting to imagine what would happen if he was in an accident and the belt went taut.
    Michael pulled away from the shoulder of the road at 12:29.
    He drove carefully, not too fast, but not too slowly, either. For the moment, the adrenaline surging through him had eliminated any trace of drowsiness, but the recollection was fresh in his mind and he feared its return.
    Old Route 12 had been made to follow a natural path through the valley and wound back and forth, several times seeming to turn in upon itself. As he drove he stole glances at the girl. The streetlights flashed overhead, spaced even farther apart now. Twice, cars passed going the other direction, but otherwise the road was deserted. The radio was off, and the silence of the car was broken only by the hum of its engine and a light snore coming from Jillian in the backseat. The girl seemed frozen, her face as slack and her eyes as unfocused as they had been when he had first seen her. She did not look at him, did not even seem to wonder who was sleeping in the backseat, or why.
    His brain was still fuzzy. No denying that. Michael still had a metallic taste in his mouth and the numbness had not left him. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, in fact, he felt even less steady than he had before. He had to keep his arms rigid upon the steering wheel to keep the car from drifting, and even then he had to adjust from time to time. The alcohol was starting to settle in. This wasn't just a pleasant buzz.
    “Scooter,” she said softly.
    Michael started.
    “What?” he asked, glancing at her.
    Her expression hadn't changed. If anything, she looked dreamy. Drugged. He frowned at the thought, wondering if that was possible. And of course it was. Anything was possible.
    “Scooter,” she said. “You asked my name. It's Scooter. That's what Mommy calls me.”
    Scooter,
he thought.
What kind of name is that?
    His eyes were on her and so he saw her sit up slightly, saw her eyes narrow with interest, and then flicker with sadness. One of her tiny hands floated up and she pointed out through the windshield.
    “Right there,” she said. “Turn right there.”
    Michael glanced at the road, saw a tiny side street coming up, partially hidden in the trees until he was almost on top of it. He slowed.
    “You recognize this street?”
    She nodded.
    Relief spread through him so quickly his skin tingled with it. The girl wasn't lost anymore. He could take her home. He wouldn't have to take her to the police station, which meant no trouble for him with the cops.
    “Fantastic,” he said, and as the street came up quickly on his right, he took the turn, a little too fast. They both swayed left, but then they were rolling along past even thicker woods, the occasional house hidden back in the trees.
    “Just keep an eye out. Let me know where to turn,” he told her.
    The girl sat with her hands in her lap as though she was at church. She clutched the hem of her peasant blouse in her fingers and studied the road ahead. And yet there was something about her sudden alertness that caused Michael to glance sidelong at her time and again.
    Her breath did not come quickly, but it had a little hitch to it, and as her chest rose and fell he thought he could hear her heart fluttering like a frightened bird's. Though her gaze searched the splash of the headlights on the road ahead, her eyes shifted every few moments to the dark woods around them, as though she feared some predator stalked her through the trees.
    “There. Turn there,” she said, with another nervous glance into the darkness between a pair of split-levels.
    Caught up with her anxiety, Michael found himself searching the trees on the right side of the car as well. It took him a moment to register what she had said.