S
till here. Still here.
Abraham rode in the back seat of Sid’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, staring out a window. Mandi sat in the back seat with him, leaning her head against her window with her eyes closed. Sid drove. Smoke was in the passenger seat, humming to a soft-rock song playing on the radio.
He counted the mile markers and watched the hills and leafless trees pass by. Only the pine trees scattered through the woodland showed any green at all. He knew these roads. He knew them well. They were on the hilly climbs and twisting interstate curves of the West Virginia Turnpike.
The car slowed. They were in a car line backing up at the tolls.
Smoke leaned forward in his seat, lifted his sunglasses, and stared hard at the toll signs. “Four dollars. The toll is four dollars.”
“Yeah, and we have three more to go unless you want to take the back roads,” Abraham suggested as he tapped his knuckle on the glass. “But that will take twice as long.”
“No thanks,” Smoke said. “I heard that Hank Williams died on those roads.”
“Are you saying that you don’t trust my driving?” Sid asked.
“No, I’m saying the road might be in poor condition.” Smoke dropped his glasses back down and pushed back into his seat. “You might hit a lethal pothole or something.”
“You got that right,” Abraham mumbled. “It’s bad enough that they have trouble taking care of this toll road.”
Smoke started to sing out loud the lyrics to the song “Into the Night.”
Abraham continued, “You know, there is only so much yacht rock a man can take. I mean, it’s nice and soothing for a while, but every couple of hours, you’re either getting slammed by Barry Manilow or Benny Mardones again.”
Smoke chuckled.
“I wouldn’t mind some country,” Mandi said, her eyes still closed. “As long as we are in West ‘by God’ Virginia, I think some mountain music would be fitting.”
“No,” Sid said flatly.
“She’s not a country music fan even though she does look like a giant Shania Twain,” Smoke said.
Sid punched him in the leg. “I do not, and I told you to stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Smoke replied coolly. “You are much prettier than she is.”
“And
I’m not a giant either.”
“Well…” Smoke muttered.
Sid punched him again. “Don’t push it, buddy.”
“You know that I’m just teasing.”
“Oh, I know, but that doesn’t mean that I like it.”
Abraham’s deep thoughts drowned out Smoke and Sid’s playful banter. He had more important matters on his mind. He’d just had a mental breakdown a couple of days before. Now, he was getting into the middle of God knew what. He couldn’t stop thinking about his friends in Titanuus either.
I was riding on a horse, and boom, here I am. The question is, where are they now? Is Ruger taking care of the Henchmen? Do they even need me?
He didn’t have any doubt in his mind that Ruger was better equipped to handle these high-risk and dangerous situations. But Abraham hadn’t done half bad on his own.
If I only had his body in this world, I’d be better off. The kind of stuff Ruger is made of is incredible. But I used to be a top athlete. I could run and hit with the best long before I mastered pitching.
Abraham glanced at Mandi. Curled up in the seat, she snored softly. He couldn’t let her get hurt. She’d somehow gotten dragged into this, which was the last thing he wanted. Every time he left and came back, she was deeper into the adventure. He couldn’t let that happen again, but she clung to him.
What she sees in me, I’ll never know.
He dug his fingers into his palm. He couldn’t know when he might switch back over to Titanuus. When he’d left, they were heading back to the House of Steel, under siege by the Gond. He only hoped Ruger was back in his body to help them. His own plan had been pretty thin.
I wish I knew what was going on. I wish I knew for certain that I wasn’t crazy.
He scratched the scruff on his neck and yawned and closed his eyes. Part of him wanted to stay home. Part of him wanted to go back to Titanuus.
Perhaps all I need to do is make a choice. Home or Titanuus?
Abraham rested. He didn’t sleep, and he only opened his eyes when they slowed to pay at the toll booths.
Sid didn’t stop the black SUV otherwise. The ride was smooth, the cabin quiet. It seemed as though everyone had a lot on their minds.
Finally, the Jeep dropped off the exit ramp near Bluefield, West Virginia. The blacktop on the main highway was bumpy, but the Jeep absorbed the bumps well. They followed the old highway a few more miles and turned right at an old brown sign that read Country Roads Microbrewery.
They pulled into the gravel parking lot of the small beer distributor that Abraham worked for. The time was after seven in the evening. Several beer trucks were parked on the lot. Otherwise, the place was abandoned, save for one man that came out of the main two-story building. It was Luther Vancross. He wore a vest over a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. He was at least seventy years old and mostly bald, with a neatly trimmed goatee.
Abraham got out of the car. He and Luther shook hands.
“It’s good to see you again.” Luther looked him up and down. “You look well. Better.”
Abraham shrugged his eyebrows. “I don’t know about that. So, are you really wanting to do this?”
Luther smiled. “I’m old. Why not?”