The car whines up the valley road, the booth already invisible in the gloom behind. His hands grip the steering wheel while hers lie clenched in her lap. The car sways around the curves, heavy with all their worldly goods. All except one.
She can’t bear to look at him, this man beside her. One look at his sullen face, his resentful frown and the rage will surely overwhelm her. Looking behind her is also verboten. The silent, empty cot on the back seat.
Closing her eyes isn’t an option either, unless she wants to relive that moment: the Troll in all its baleful glory, hand outstretched, demanding the price of their passage.
All she can do now is stare at the road ahead. Towards the future that five minutes ago held such promise, a new life in a new place. And to start coming to terms with the silent, empty cot on the back seat.
How could he have been so stupid, this man beside her?
I thought it said Tollbooth. On the map.
She gives a single sob, unable to tear her mind away from it, the silent, empty cot on the back seat. The hole gouged in her beating heart.
He will speak again soon, this man she thought she knew. His words will be the spark that finally ignites her wrath. And knowing what he will say, she is almost looking forward to the explosion.
We can always have another one?
Stephen Connolly was born in Canada, grew up in Scotland and South Africa but now lives in the Cotswolds. He graduated with an MA in Scriptwriting from Bath Spa University. His short stories have appeared in Far Off Places, Fictive Dream, Leaf Books, Stroud Short Stories, DoubleSpeak and Retreat West.
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