The Exit Door

Ding ding rang the little bell fastened to the front door of the old country service station. The attendant behind the counter barely heard it over the radio newscast and the pouring rain. He turned his attention from the shortwave radio long enough to notice the sharp-dressed middle-aged man in the dark fedora. The man was soaked and his trench coat, muddied.

“Looks like someone left the house without checkin’ the weather report. Where’s your raincoat, mister?” the attendant said as he padded his wet, thinning hair with his pocket rag, then turned his attention back to the radio. “There’s some for sale in the corner over yonder.”

“Thanks. I swore I had one with me in the car.” The man in the fedora walked toward the rack with the raincoats and tilted his hat toward a young blond woman leading a boy wearing pajamas. They were on their way out of the restroom, and both looked worse for wear.

“Evening, ma’am. Howdy, chief,” the man in the fedora said as he passed.

“Good evening to you, too…if you can call it that, “the woman said as she herded her young son toward the shelf with the yo-yos and jumping jacks. The boy buried his face within the long folds of her damp skirt. After the man passed, she pulled a compact from her purse and gasped at the reflection. She quickly produced a comb and proceeded to fix her tangled hair.

“Mommy, we hafta go,” the boy pleaded as he pointed to the rear of the service station.

“Not now, Tommy,” the woman muttered as she put away the comb and padded her hair. “I’m stuck with these mats forever, it seems.”

The man in the fedora made his way up to the front counter and placed a folded raincoat and pack of chewing gum next to the cash register, then began searching his pockets for payment. “I’ll take a pack of Lucky Strikes, when you have a moment,” he said to the back of the attendant’s damp white shirt, which read Service & Towing. He reached over the counter and tugged the other man’s sleeve, “Lucky Strikes.”

The attendant flinched and swiveled on his stool, “Oh…hey, yeah…you all set there? Sorry ‘bout that, mister. Got caught up in the news report. Surely, you’re not venturin’ back out there yet. Might be comin’ down like this all night, the newsman’s been sayin’.”

The man in the fedora noticed the radio broadcaster’s urgent voice for the first time and asked, “you mind turning that up a minute?”

The attendant reached over and turned the volume knob. “Not at all, mister. Sounds like a serious accident not too far yonder highway here, around nine-fifteen tonight, they estimate the time of crash.”

The newsman on the radio spoke in spurts, relaying updates as they came in to the station, “…multiple vehicle pileup on northbound Highway 19…just outside Jefferson County…two sedans partially submerged at the bottom of the flooded bankment…wreckage from a…a pickup truck blocking the northbound lane…occupants of the vehicles not yet identified…still waiting on emergency personnel to arrive on scene…coming from neighboring county…more updates on this horrible incident as we…”

“Oh, how dreadful! Those poor, poor people, ” the woman said from beside the toy shelf, “I wasn’t expecting rain like this when we left our home this morning. I thought I’d be able to drive through the night until we reached Little Rock.”

“No-one was expectin’ rain like this—not in a hundred years,” the attendant called back. “One of them freak-o-nature weather phenomena—like the kind you see in the nature magazines.”

The woman placed her hands on her son’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss the top of his head—more for her own reassurance than his—then stopped. “Tommy, you only have on one shoe and sock…”

The boy looked down at his bare foot, then began to sob.

“What happened to them, Tommy?”

“It came off…they got lost…when the car goed sideways and the rain went in…then the man in the rain—”

“Beautiful country up there in Little Rock, ma’am,” the attendant said, still focused on the radio. “Your boy’s shoe musta fallen off as you was runnin’ him into the store outa the rain.”

“But he and I were standing outside under the canopy waiting for you to unlock the front door,” the woman said, “I saw you coming up behind me, through the rain, with your keys in hand. I assumed you were just getting here, yourself.”

“Do you have a death wish?” said the man in the fedora to the attendant, “You couldn't have called in on account of the rain? What were you thinking, man?”

“Well, I was…” the attendant faltered for words as he glanced up at the wall clock, which read ten fifty-eight, “Well, I was…now wait a minute.” He scratched the top of his head and blinked. “I been here inside the service station since…well, my shift started at five o’clock this evenin’.” He looked down at his watch to confirm the time, but it had stopped. “Well, don’t that beat all…watch stopped at nine-fifteen. I always wind it first thing in the mornin'’.”

The man in the fedora looked at his watch, then put it up to his ear. “Mine’s stopped too, and the face is cracked. I polished it yesterday and surely would’ve noticed a thing like that.” He turned to face the tall glass windows along the front wall while he searched his pockets again. He could see to the far edge of the canopy covering the two gas pumps, but beyond that, nothing but the shiny black sheets of diagonal rain.

He turned back around to face the others, “It’s not like me to misplace things, but it seems I’ve misplaced both my wallet and my keys.” He then walked to the counter, grabbed the pack of Lucky Strikes and a box of matches, and sat down on a crate of motor oil. “Not sure what's going on, but thing’s aren’t adding up, right now,” he said as he lit a cigarette.

The urgent voice of the newsman once again dominated the silence that hung in the still air, “…emergency personnel now at the scene…at least two additional vehicles involved…one tow truck…now waiting on news from paramedics…“

“Well, what in blazes!…,” the attendant said as he looked outside, stood up from his stool, and walked to the edge of the counter. “The ol’ tow truck’s missin’. Vanished! I swear, God’s playin’ jokes on us tonight. I always park the truck out front, under the canopy.”

“Tommy!” the woman screamed as her son suddenly bolted toward the front door. He managed to push it open and take two steps beyond before the man in the fedora jumped up and caught his arm.

“Whoa, chief! Got somewhere to be at this hour?” the man in the fedora asked, and pulled the boy inside.

“Tommy!” The woman ran to her son and knelt in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “What has gotten into you, Tommy? It’s dangerous out there. You’ll catch your death of cold, and who know what else!”

“No…lemme go!” the boy said as he fought his mother’s grasp. “He told me to hafta go…when the rain came—”

“Who did, Tommy? Who told you to go out there?,” the woman said, pulling his chin to face her.

The boy stopped squirming and simply looked into his mother’s wide eyes.

The man in the fedora and muddied trench coat stood facing the front wall of glass, smoking a cigarette. “Do any of you remember how you got here?” he asked as he contemplated the rain and the darkness beyond. “Anyone?”

The woman turned her head toward the man and stood up. “Let me see...I had a full tank of gas in the Impala so I thought I’d drive into the night—until that awful rain started. Then we stopped in here to wait out the storm.”

“Yes, but do you recall the period of time from when the rain started until you walked through this front door?” The man’s gaze was a hundred miles away. “Where is your car? Look out there. Where are any of them? I drove here in a 1961 Pontiac Ventura and I sure as hell don’t recall pulling into this service station, much less where I parked it.”

The woman ambled over to the front windows as she spoke, “I was driving up the highway, with Tommy asleep in the back seat, when the storm hit us out of nowhere…then…well, then I…” She turned sharply to face the man in the fedora, “What are you trying to do here, you…! Now you have me questioning my own thoughts. You’re insufferable!”

“Ma’am, sorry to interrupt,” the attendant said. “Think you folks should hear this.”

The newsman spoke from the radio, “…I repeat, we have identification on several vehicles involved…a Pontiac Ventura, license EF 6462…Chevy 3600 pickup, license TX 9012…Chevy Impala, license—“

“Didn’t you say you drove a Pontiac Ventura, mister?” the attendant asked.

“Yeah,…” the man in the fedora replied, slowly, still gazing into the night. “…license plate EF 6462.”

The woman knelt in front of her son, with worry on her face. The boy stared over her shoulder into the dark rain as she hugged him.

“Mommy, he’s here! Look, Rainy Man is coming!” Tommy trilled, while pointing and jumping. “Rainy Man said he’d come and he keeped his promise!”

The attendant walked from behind the counter and stood with the others, squinting into the storm. “Well, I’ll be…there sure as heck somethin’ out there. Comin’ this way, too.”

They all watched as a cloudy gray figure grew closer through the black rain. It became more distinct and brighter in color as it approached. The rain seemed to part wherever it went.

“It is a man…,” the woman muttered.

The man outside reached the far edge of the station canopy and continued walking forward, with long strides, until he reached the front door. He was tall, slender, and distinguished.

Ding ding rang the little bell as the man in the white suit walked into the old country service station. He was bone dry, without a speckle of mud on his white dress shoes or imperfection in the gray temples of his contoured hair. He stood on the door mat with his hands clasped in front of him and smiled at each person, in turn, letting the door close behind him.

“Good, you’re all here. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” The distinguished man said in an articulated, Castilian accent.

“Mommy, I telled you he was coming, didn’t I!” the boy cheered, and broke free from his mother to greet the man.

“I kept my promise, didn’t I, Tommy?” the distinguished man beamed.

“Tommy!” the woman called out and snatched her son’s hand, pulling him back toward her. “You know better than to talk to a stranger.” Her face scowled as she clung to her son.

“Return to your mother, Tommy,” requested the distinguished man. “Madam, your son and I have already been acquainted; therefore, ‘stranger’ no longer applies. And now that I’ve met the rest of you—”

“What is this all about?” demanded the man in the fedora. “Get to the point. Let’s start with your name.”

The distinguished man fidgeted his fingers and looked up in thought, then chuckled. “I know…you may call me Rainy Man, as Tommy has so named me. I can tell that you are all clearly upset by what has happened. The four of you were chosen to take the next steps in your journeys. Your purposes here have been fulfilled, and now your gifts are needed elsewhere.”

“What are you going on about? This is quite the elaborate hoax, Rainy Man,” the man in the fedora said as he lit a cigarette. “You expect us to believe this bologna you’re feeding us?”

“Sounds to me like he’s sayin’—and lemme get this crystal clear—that we’ve…passed on?” the attendant added.

“An unfortunate byproduct of the process, I’ll admit. But it’s the only method that works, at the moment,” the distinguished man answered.

“What about the others who were in the accident? What happened to those poor people?” the woman asked.

The smile on the distinguished man’s face faded. “The others, I’m afraid, didn’t meet the required standards, as it were. Their next steps are not a concern of ours.”

“But how can you just leave them folks out there?” the attendant asked.

“It’s not my decision to make, sir; I’m simply the porter. Those who didn’t arrive here will be accommodated by other means, I’m sure,” the distinguished man assured.

“But Tommy...” the woman said, “he’s just a little boy. What gives you the right—“

“Tommy, here, is gifted, madam,” the distinguished man replied, his smile returned. “He tried to tell you, if you had only listened…”

The boy looked up at the distinguished man and beamed. “We’re all ready and set, Rainy Man!”

“So, where’ll we be off to?” asked the attendant as he hiked up his dungarees. "I been lookin' for a change of scenery."

“Wherever you’re needed is where you’ll be going,” the distinguished man replied.

“So, you want us to just amble back out into the rain like we’re riding off into the sunset?” asked the man in the fedora.

“We don’t run a revolving-door operation, I assure you; we’ll be exiting by another way—one which leads to more comfortable accommodations.” The distinguished man gestured with his chin and began walking past the others, taking long, elegant strides; his footsteps were silent as he went. He halted next to the rear exit door of the service station and turned to face the others.

The door opened outward without intervention from the distinguished man, revealing bright light that was whiter than his suit. He spread an arm gracefully to the side, like a wing, signaling them to usher through.

“Lady, gentlemen…after you.”