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By Elizabeth Horton-Newton
Everything changed for me the day after finals. I was on winter break from the university until the second week in January. While most of my friends were headed home for the holidays or going someplace exciting to drink lots of beer and have sex, I was getting evicted from my room. I’d scored a room in one of the nicest rooming houses in town. It was within easy walking distance to the campus and convenient to bars, coffee shops, the library, and enough fast food joints to keep me from getting bored. With the holiday break, I realized I would need to take on a part-time job if I expected to stay out of the vermin-infested dorms. However, the businesses on campus were laying workers off since business was slow without the daily influx of students. The job boards outside the school library had been stripped of most openings. The few call centers I submitted my resume to never got back to me. Finally, I gave in to the one posting I had been avoiding.
“Drivers Needed!” The sign screamed in bold, italic letters. I had a fairly decent, well-running Honda Accord. It wasn’t the most luxurious car, but it was clean, got good gas mileage, and was paid off. I had toyed with the idea of living in it when the issue of back rent came up. The cold weather had me pushing the idea to the back of my mind. So, I became a Transporter driver. That was the name of the private car company in town.
Most of my runs were to and from the airport, the bus station, the train station, and hospitals. I’d only been stiffed twice which I heard was good. There were trips to the emergency rooms with intoxicated partygoers who had either gotten into knock-down, drag out fights or had fallen down and broken legs, arms, hands, and in one instance, a pelvis. Why they didn’t call an ambulance was beyond me. But, as long as I got paid and tipped I just drove.
The night had been a gold mine. I was heading back to the rooming house and sneaking upstairs past my landlady’s door when a group of guys flagged me down. As a Transporter I wasn’t supposed to pick up random fares, so I pulled over and opened the passenger window.
“Sorry guys, I’m off duty.” It was almost four in the morning and we were in the middle of the business district. I figured they must have been attending an office party. I was open to an offer of big bucks I wouldn’t have to account for. But I figured a little negotiating might be needed.
One of the guys leaned in the window, his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck, his tuxedo jacket open, his dress shirt untucked. “Man, we’ll pay you double if you take her to the hospital.”
The strong order of booze and vomit competed with the icy night air. Before I could respond, two of the other guys pulled open the back door and shoved a woman into the back seat. As soon as she was in the car, puke breath tossed some bills on the front seat and the group took off at high speed down a one-way street, leaving the door opened.
I leaped out the car and shouted after them. “Hey! Hey! I can’t take her!”
One of the men looked back at me and shot me the bird. I responded with both my fingers and some select expletives. Bending to look in the back seat I almost keeled over. The woman was stunning. She looked like a movie star from the golden age; platinum hair, a silver gown that clung to her body like a second skin, jewels glittering in her ears and around her neck. I couldn’t tell what color her eyes were because they were closed.
“Hey, um, miss, I really can’t take you...”
She never moved, her eyes remained closed. Sighing and shaking my head, I made my way to the door. Leaning down I looked closely at her. She had to be freezing cold in the low-cut gown that left little to the imagination. Then I noticed she wasn’t wearing shoes. Reaching into the car, I shook her gently. Her skin was icy beneath my hand and I drew back quickly. “Holy shit!” I swore under my breath.
I stared at her chest, hoping to see it rise and fall as she breathed. After a couple of seconds, I was pretty sure she was dead. Looking at the empty streets, my mind raced, trying to think. If I left her on the sidewalk and she wasn’t dead, she would probably die there. If I took her to the hospital I’d have to explain to the police how she came to be in my car. That could turn into an all-night process. Worse, the cops might think I had something to do with her demise. Finally, guilt and a sense of responsibility overruled fear and I slammed the door.
Running around the front of the car, I jumped into the driver's seat and sped to the nearest hospital. Squealing into the emergency entrance, I leaped out of the car and hurriedly ran through the sliding glass door.
“Hey, I need help here! I have an unconscious woman in my car!”
The few heads in the waiting room turned to look at me, the nurse behind the desk literally jumped out of her seat, and two orderlies raced to my car. As they were lifting the woman out of the car, tossing questions at me like rice at a wedding, an ambulance, lights flashing and siren winding down, pulled in behind me.
“Move your damn car and come inside,” one of the orderlies shouted as a doctor came outside accompanied by a nurse with a wheelchair.
When I jumped into my car I had every intention of obeying him. But, when I pulled out on the street, I realized I would have to park in the nearby garage, pay for the pleasure of exposing myself to police questions, and walk a block and a half back to the hospital. I wasn’t sure what I would do until I drove past the garage and took the long way back to my rooming house.
I’d check my rear-view mirror constantly, sure I would see the flashing blues and reds of a police car bearing down on me. It wasn’t until I pulled around to the small parking area behind the house that I took a deep breath. The joints in my fingers popped as I released my hold on the steering wheel. I had been clutching it so tightly they were white and bloodless.
It took close to twenty minutes for me to stop trembling. I’d done the right thing. I’d been responsible. There was nothing I could have told the police about the woman. I wasn’t sure I could recognize any of the guys if I saw them again. Maybe she was alive and she could identify them. Once I was sufficiently calmed down I picked up the bills that had been tossed on the passenger seat by my fleeing friends. Staring in disbelief, I counted out almost seven hundred dollars in twenties and tens. That would catch me up on back rent and then some! I almost shouted for joy. Common sense kept me quiet.
After making my way up to my room ninja style I tossed the money on my bed and threw myself on top of it. Joy began to fade to that pervasive guilt. Those guys weren’t paying for a ride to the hospital. They were paying for my silence. I was debating calling the hospital to check on the woman’s condition when I fell asleep. I was exhausted.
I might have slept all day except my landlady banged on my door at 8:00 AM. I jumped out of bed certain the police were at the door, guns drawn and warrant in hand. I might have gone out the window if she hadn’t yelled through the door.
“Come on! I know you’re in there. I can’t wait no more. Pay up or get out.” Her Tennessee twang broke the morning silence like the Hulk through a brick wall. The woman had some set of lungs.
I was shoving money under my pillow and counting out my bank rent plus an extra month as I shouted back at her. “I’ve got it! Hang on!” Throwing open the door, I offered a big smile. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long Mrs. Cady. I appreciate your patience (she didn’t have any). Here’s what I owe you and a month in advance.”
Her heavily shadowed eyes narrowed as she looked at the wad of cash I proffered. Never breaking eye contact she reached out and took it from my hand. Finally looking at it, she did a quick count. If it was possible her eyes narrowed even more until they were slits in her face. “You do something illegal? You remember, no drugs in the house?”
“No, no! Nothing illegal!” I hoped that was the truth.
I sensed her skepticism. As I suspected, her greed outweighed her morality. “I’ll write you up a receipt.” Turning slowly, she descended into the lower half of the house.
Stripping down to my boxers, I crawled between my threadbare blankets and sheets and sighing heavily, went to sleep.
Part 2
Waking almost ten hours later, I had to decide if I wanted to drive that night. I recounted the money I’d stashed under my pillow. It wasn’t hard to make up my mind. My rent was seventy-five dollars a week. I’d given Mrs. Cady four hundred and fifty dollars. I had three hundred and seventy-five dollars left, not counting my meager pay and whatever tips I might make. Yes. I was going to drive.
Before heading out, I booted up my laptop and searched local news to see if there was any mention of an unidentified woman being admitted to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. There was nothing. I figured that was good news. If she had been dead there would have been police reports or a picture captioned, “Do you know this woman”?
Relieved and ready with a plan, I set out on my Transporter adventures. I vowed I’d stay well away from the business district, not accept any calls in that area, and all would be well. Did I mention I was consumed by the desire to know everything about everything? You guessed it. I drove down the same damned street. And there she was.
I almost ran up on the sidewalk. She was standing at the curb, staring back at one of the few buildings that still had lights on. Caught in my headlights, she turned toward my car. I was instantly reminded of how extraordinarily beautiful she was. She had either found her shoes or gotten new ones because her outfit was now complete. She wore spiky silver high heels and a silver evening bag with a glittery rhinestone strap hung over one slender pale shoulder. I hadn’t noticed the slit up the side of her dress, revealing an incredibly long, shapely leg, the night before. I should have driven off but seeing her was hypnotizing. Then she was walking toward my car, her hips swaying seductively.
When she reached the passenger side window she leaned forward, her full breasts almost tumbling out of her dress. I didn’t open the window right away. I was too busy staring into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. She tapped the window with long silver-tipped nails.
I lowered the window
“Can you give me a ride? I can pay you extra.” Her voice was like music, soft, sibilant, and sexy. Her long blond hair fell forward, casting part of her face in shadow.
I wondered if I should remind her of the previous evening. I decided against it. I still didn’t know if the police were involved. Clearing my throat, I squeaked out, “Sure. Hop in.”
I’d forgotten I’d hit the auto lock on the doors and she pulled at the rear door handle a few times before I realized what the problem was. Once inside she gave me an address on the fashionable and pricey west side of town. The spicy scent of her perfume wafted throughout the car and I inhaled deeply, relishing the odor.
As I drove I wracked my brain for some witty way to start a conversation. Repeatedly checking the rear-view mirror, I watched her staring out the window at the passing streets. It wasn’t until I turned into the upscale subdivision that she sat up straighter. Pulling into the long driveway of what I would classify as a mansion I turned to request the fare.
She turned those dazzling eyes on me after she examined the contents of her purse. “I seem to have lost my money.”
I should have been surprised. I wasn’t. “I see. Well, do you want to go inside and get some so you can pay me?”
She looked from me to the house and back. “I don’t keep cash.”
I still wasn’t surprised. “Okay.” My mind drifted back to that wad of cash tossed into my car the previous night. I was well ahead of the game and I sort of owed her for dumping her at the hospital. “Well, Happy New Year.”
Without another word, she stepped out of the car and walked slowly to the front door of the house which was ablaze with lights. A Christmas tree, lights blinking in an epileptic induce rhythm, stood in the front window. I waited a moment to see her enter the house, curious to see who might greet her. She had to be freezing in the thirty-degree temperatures wearing only that sleek dress.
I heard laughter in the street behind me and turned to see if a car was pulling in behind me, effectively blocking my exit. But the sounds came from across the road, cutting through the cold, still night. By the time I looked back at the front door, the front steps were empty and my mysterious lady had gone into the house.
Once back in my parking spot behind the rooming house I was exhausted. My eyes stung from a night of headlights reflecting off snow-covered streets. Wasting no time, I hurried upstairs. Pulling my clothes off I dropped them a piece at a time on the floor leaving a trail from the door to the bed. Collapsing across it and pulling the covers up to my chin, I fell asleep.
Part Three
After counting my money, the next morning, I found I had another successful score and opted to treat myself to a night off, Chinese take-out, and a RedBox DVD rental. Having seen the Silver Lady, as I had come to think of her, I gave no thought to checking the news for any mention of her.
I considered taking more time off but I knew myself well enough that if I did, the days would extend until I was in money trouble again. So, the following night, I grumbled and dragged myself down to my car. It turned out to be a good idea. With New Year’s Eve only two nights away, parties around town had increased. Top that off with a lot of airport trips as travelers hurried home before the ball drop and I scored big bucks.
It wasn’t until after midnight that a couple in the back seat started trying to do the horizontal mambo turned my night upside down. The woman was climbing all over her very willing companion when she squealed.
I almost hit the brakes as I glanced in the rear-view mirror. She was obviously on her knees in the back of the car and a glittery, silver evening bag hung from her hand, sparkling from the passing streetlights. “Looks like someone lost a bag.”
It was a good thing I came up to a red light. My heart had picked up a loud, fast beat that echoed in my head. I recognized the bag at once. Turning in my seat I took it from her hands. “I know who dropped it.” My voice was a little shaky and a tad too loud. She opened her mouth to protest, no doubt wanting to reclaim it. The light turned green and her boy toy put his hand on the back of her head. Giving me a pointed “turn around and drive” look, he encouraged her to return to business.
After dropping them off at one of the local hotels, I found a parking space and opened the bag. Inside was a small spray bottle of perfume and a tube of lipstick. There was no identification, no money, nothing. I debated what to do. I had her address on my travel log. I could return it to her. Or I could toss it. The scent of her perfume wafted up into my head and I remembered the pale skin, the long legs, and those penetrating blue eyes. Swearing at my own weakness I threw the car in drive and headed west.
It was a little difficult finding the house. There was no party that night. The tree still sparkled in the window and a few lights shone from windows. Leaving my car idling in the driveway, I approached the front door nervously. Hesitating a moment, I took a deep breath and rang the bell. The tones of Big Ben echoed inside and after a couple of minutes, a woman opened the door. Wrapped in a flannel robe, short dark hair curling around her face, she was not the Silver Lady. She looked annoyed.
“Um, I’m sorry to disturb you but the lady I dropped off the night before last left her purse in my car.” I held the bag up, hoping she would recognize it.
Frown lines appeared between her brows. “What lady?”
I went on to describe her, watching the woman’s expression grow more confused. Suddenly she was joined by a man. I recognized him right away. He wasn’t wearing his dress clothes, attired now in a tee shirt and jogging pants. But I’d know that face anywhere. He recognized me too. And he was not happy to see me.
He stared at the bag like it was a snake, tongue darting in and out, ready to strike if he moved. “What’s going on?”
The woman looked up at him. “Did anyone say they lost a purse the other night?”
He was holding the door and his fingers tapped lightly as though he was trying to remember. I had a feeling he was trying to think of a response. “Hmm. I don’t think so.”
I wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “I dropped her off. Here. The night before last.”
He knew I remembered him. We were on the same wavelength now. “Oh yeah. I think Stella said something about it. I can bring it to her tomorrow at the office.”
“Are you sure? I don’t remember...”
He cut her off and reached for the bag. I didn’t let go. “She can just contact me and identify it. It’s the company rules,” I lied smoothly. “Or you can give me her contact info and I’ll call her.”
His eyes narrowed and I realized he was a big guy and obviously no stranger to the gym. “I can just take it to her. Save you the trouble.”
“Oh, let him deal with it, Roger.” The wife, by now I’d figured out she was his Mrs., protested.
Roger thought about arguing. He was outnumbered and Mrs. Roger’s vote carried a lot of weight. “Yeah, I’ll tell her tomorrow.” He started to close the door but I put my hand out to stop it.
“Don’t you want my number?”
A deep red began to rise from his throat up into his jaw. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Mrs. Roger huffed. She slipped beneath his arm and disappeared into the house. He glanced back to make sure she was out of earshot.
“You got paid a lot. Now get the hell out of here and don’t come back.” His lips were tight and thin and the tapping fingers had clenched into a fist.
“What about...?” I waved the purse.
“Lose it,” he snarled as he stepped back and slammed the door.
I stood a moment before going back to my car and tossing the bag onto the front passenger seat. He knew Silver Lady. Since she had been at their party and the wife was there, chances are she was no stranger to Mrs. Roger. Why didn’t the woman recognize the description of Silver Lady or the purse?
Not one to leave well enough alone, I puzzled about it all the way back downtown. It was inevitable I’d find my way back to the street where I’d first seen Silver Lady. What I didn’t expect was to see her again. If my heart had been pounding when I came face to face with Roger, it practically exploded when I saw her standing at the curb. I pulled up beside her.
She wore the same dress and shoes, the same jewelry glittered in the night, and she leaned over to gaze in the front passenger window at me. I watched as her silver nails tapped the glass.
I opened the window and listened as she made the same request I’d heard before. If anything, she was more beautiful. She seemed to glow in the halogen light cast by streetlamps. I wanted to drive away. I wanted to pretend none of this happened. I couldn’t. Because I noticed one big difference in her appearance. I could see through her. It was as though she was fading away, disappearing into the darkness like a vision.
I held her purse out to her, my hand shaking violently. She looked at it. Then she looked at me. Her hand seemed to float into the car and her long fingers closed around the glittery strap.
“I can’t give you a ride,” I stammered. “I’m off duty.”
She studied me with icy blue, almost transparent eyes. “I need a ride.”
Her fingers were resting on the window. Without thinking, I hit the auto switch and watched it rise. It should have caught her fingers. It didn’t. The tips seemed to linger inside the car for seconds before fading away like fog burning off at dawn. Then she straightened and walked back toward the building.
Shadows converged on her; shadows shaped like the figures of several men. She looked back at me imploringly before being absorbed into the night, the darkness swallowing her like a hungry beast with a sweet treat.
I hit the gas. My bladder suddenly felt as though it would explode but I wasn’t going to stop. I ran red lights and stop signs. I didn’t stop until I squealed into my parking space. Jumping out of my car I felt a hot stream spread across the front of my jeans and down my leg. Stumbling up the stairs, I barely made it to the shared bathroom before I bent over the porcelain God and made a deposit. I heaved long past the point my stomach had emptied. Looking into the mirror over the sink I saw a stranger looking back. The terror etched on my face, leaving it white with eyes as black and frightened as the proverbial deer in the headlights, was enough to cause me to retch again.
When I was finally steady enough to make it to my room, I sat on my bed and booted up my laptop. Checking the news, I saw her. It was an artist’s drawing because no news outlet would post a photo of a dead person. “Do You Recognize This Woman?”. I recognized her, but I had no idea who she was. I knew someone who would recognize her.
Part Four
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat at my window, staring out at the back of the house behind us. She had died from an overdose of something called gamma hydroxybutyric acid mixed with a copious amount of alcohol. She had been sexually assaulted by several men. Any information could be given anonymously.
It was just past dawn when I walked to the nearest gas station. I could have driven, but somehow getting into my car made me uneasy. There was a pay phone outside the attached convenience store. I called the number I had copied from the news article. A gruff-voiced police detective answered and I told him I had seen her with five men. I described them. Then I told him I knew one of the men and gave the address where I had dropped her off. Hanging up before he could ask me any additional questions, I wiped the phone with the front of my shirt and walked home.
I imagined Mrs. Roger answering the door, still wearing that flannel robe. I envisioned Roger, protesting, denying. He looked the type who wouldn’t hesitate to turn on his companions. He wouldn’t go down alone.
After not driving for almost a week; avoiding my car like a rotten bag of garbage I knew I had to take out, I made myself get into the driver’s seat. I drove straight to Reasonable Ron’s Used Cars and traded the Honda in for a more recent model of a Toyota.
I decided being a Transporter wasn't the job for me. Returning to the job boards I took another swing at call centers and lucked out. By the first week in January I was selling magazine subscriptions to housewives, old folks, and lonely people who were happy to have someone to talk to on their seldom ringing phones.
The story broke on a Friday afternoon. I was in the breakroom and the television was on low. A couple of the girls who worked the phones with me got up to turn channels just as Roger’s picture flashed on the screen.
“Hey, Ashley isn’t that the guy who tried to pick you up at The Chirping Cricket just before Christmas?”
“Oh him. Yeah, he kept trying to buy me a drink like I was some idiot. I had him pegged.”
“You were right. He drugged some girl and killed her.” With that, she turned on some talk show. I went back to the phones.
Roger and four of his buddies had apparently picked Silver Lady up at the same bar where he’d tried to hook up with Ashley. She was a working girl and should have known better. Roger wasn’t her first “date” of the evening. Not only did they fill her up with drugs and booze, they took turns using her savagely. Then they used her money to pay a car service to take her to the hospital. They swore they thought she was just unconscious, they never meant to kill her. There was no sense in Roger trying to deny his involvement. Her silver evening purse was found under the front passenger seat of his car. He swore repeatedly she had never been in his car. Maybe that was true while she was alive. But somehow, she had found his Beemer and left evidence for the police.
A request went out for the taxi driver who had dropped her off at the hospital. It was a request I would ignore. I only hoped Silver Lady was resting in peace. Because if she wasn’t satisfied with what I had done, she might just show up at my door one night looking for a ride.
Part Five
I had pushed the incident to the back of my mind. Yet, when I would roll into bed at night, she would invade my dreams, lips slightly parted, arms outstretched. If it was possible she was even more beautiful. I tried to tell myself the dreams didn’t mean anything. Little by little, I would wake in the middle of the night, heart racing, sheets clenched in my fists, and breathing as though I had run the hundred-yard dash. It wasn’t long before my grades started to drop.
I suspected she wanted me to go to the police. I toyed with the idea. But it had been weeks since the incident. The police might suspect I had something to do with her death. They might want to take my DNA to see if it matched any of the samples found on her body. It was the DNA they would find in her body that concerned me. As I said, she was beautiful. She was unconscious. That dress left nothing to the imagination. Her panties were long gone, no doubt removed by her five dates. I never noticed the glitzy purse. I was too focused on her; her full lips, her slim hips, and those long legs. I never claimed to be perfect. I’m just a nerdy college guy trying to make a few bucks and get through school.
By the second week in February I was only sleeping one to two hours a night. Valentine’s Day rolled around and campus parties overflowed with revelers. I wasn’t one of them. I was in my new car driving through that business neighborhood. I passed The Chirping Cricket and watched scantily dressed girls tumbling out the door, jocks whistling and chasing them down, couples lip locked on their way to the privacy of dorm rooms, the back seats of cars, and, the more fortunate ones, apartments or private rooms.
As I turned down the same street where it had all started I saw her. She wore the silver dress and stood at the curb as though she had been waiting for me. I tried to swallow but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t. My breathing was fast and shallow and I was sure I would hyperventilate and pass out. My heartbeat drowned out any sounds there might have been outside the car.
I slowed to a stop beside her. She leaned over and looked through the window at me. My Silver Lady was still a looker. “I need a ride.”
Was it wrong that I still wanted her? Was I evil because I hungered for the soft touch of her silky skin, that I wanted to inhale the spicy-sweet scent of her perfume? I popped the door lock and she got into the front seat. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. And, as her mouth came closer to mine, I knew her image would follow me through eternity as we did that crazy dance we’d begun in the back seat of my car on a cold winter night. She was my Valentine’s date and she always would be. I owned her. I had bought and paid for her when I’d held my hand over her mouth to drown out her protests, her screams weeks earlier. We were locked forever in my car.
That’s how the police found me the next morning. The only evidence left behind was a pair of silver shoes, the thin beaded strap on one, broken, leaving a dazzling stream of stones on the floor of my car.
