The Hand That Guides

“Fate is resourceful”, I whisper to myself.

The mantra I’ve chanted so many times before. 

“Fate is resourceful”, I try to steady my breathing.

The whooping siren blares again behind me in another short burst, red and blue lights, blinding in the rear-view mirror. Reluctantly, I ease my foot off the pedal. The road is empty, it's the early hours, nothing around but the woods for miles. 

I bring the car to a stop, the cruiser does the same, snug against my bumper. Oppressively close, breathing down my neck. Our engines rumble in unison, static and waiting; a game of chicken, he wants me to turn mine off first, proof that I won’t try to run. 

“Fate is resourceful”, I sigh, reaching for the ignition. 

A sudden silence overtakes the vehicle, before long the cruiser falls silent too. An owl shrieks somewhere in the distance, I imagine it watching the scene unfold, it's eyes glowing against the darkness; our only witness.

Clunk, clunk, clunk

The officer taps at my window with his flashlight. I can’t see his face beyond the brightness. No way to read his expression, to judge his character, to gauge how to play the situation.

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz  

The cool night air hits my face.

“Good evening, Officer”

The flashlight hits me with more intensity without the safety of the window between us. I feel exposed, under examination. The light seems cold, almost sterile, more whitish in colour than the inviting and warm yellowish tone of normal flashlights. I feel as if every crime, no matter how menial, is suddenly visible on my skin and in my eyes. Every time I jay-walked or ran a light, laid bare beneath the dazzling light.

“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”, he questions flatly.

“No Officer, not a drop!”, I reply.

“Licence and registration”

I reach for the glovebox, I feel his eyes on my hands, watching intently as I retrieve the documents. I’m shaking slightly as I hand them over.

“Hands back on the wheel, Sir”, he commands before turning his attention to the documents. For the first time, his flashlight is redirected from my eyes, and I can see him. He looks young. A rookie. The type I can imagine they’d pass off the graveyard shift in the middle of nowhere to. 

“Mr. Anderson, what are you doing out here so late at night?”, he asks, keeping his tone even; without diverting his attention from the paperwork.

“Just… out for a drive” 

A brief silence overtook us as he went on with the scrupulous examination of my registration.

“Sir, please step out of the vehicle” He pulls the door open and steps back. I suddenly feel very exposed, like a turtle ripped from its shell, the safety of the door between us had been taken away and every inch of my body was available for his scrutiny.

My shaking legs threaten to betray me as I step out of the car, feeling only somewhat comforted by the fact we we’re now on an equal level; in fact, he is actually shorter than me. Taking him in more closely now, I notice the deep blues of his uniform, the thick winter coat with the black furred collar and the boots shined to a polish, his hairless face with its boyish roundness.

A sense of confidence swells within me, perhaps misplaced, but in the desperate struggle for any power over the situation in which I find myself; having him beat in age and stature was as good a victory as any.

“Sir are you aware that you have a flat tyre?”, he gestures to the back of my car with the flashlight.

Following the beam with my eyes I see that my back right tyre is slumping over the rim, accompanied by the faint hssssss of escaping air. I curse internally, trying to disguise my reaction to such truly awful timing.

“Ah, yeah, I see it,” I say, “I’ll make sure to get that fixed as soon as I get home!”

“It’s not safe to drive on a flat, we’re going to have to change it here or wait until morning for a tow-truck, I’m sure you don’t feel like hanging around until then?”, he says, taking on a much friendlier demeanour than at first, I suppose no longer viewing me as any sort of criminal or threat.

“No, no, you’re right about that!”, I chuckle.

“Okay, go ahead and pop the trunk, let’s get the spare…”, he begins moving towards the rear of the car and I freeze. 

The trunk. 

Shit. The trunk.

“What’s the problem?”, he notices my apprehension.

I search my mind for a feasible excuse, “You know what? Maybe it’d be best to wait until dawn… for the tow-truck…”, I stagger out.

A distant roar grows louder and louder and I see orange headlights growing larger behind him as a truck rushes it's way towards us, still a distance off, but moving at a speed granted by only the abandoned road.

“nonsense! It’ll only take us a minute”, he goes to open the trunk.

MMMPHHH MPHMMMM

The sound coming from within was barely audible over the sound of the truck which grew ever closer as it rattled and swayed down the road. Still, I watched his hand freeze on the latch and his eyes grow wider. 

“What was that?”, his voice betraying his worry and his free hand subconsciously resting on the pistol at his waist.

“Nothing! It's nothing! Really, Officer, I’ll wait for the tow-truck – “ 

MMMPHMM MMMMMPH MMMPHM

I watch as the realisation forms on his face and the muffled, disembodied protests grew lounder from the trunk. 

He fumbles with the gun in its holster, slowed by lack of experience and the shock of the reality that there is someone in the trunk.

I advance on him quickly, he has no time to react, I see his face twisted with panic as I grab him by the lapels. He cries out, something I don’t understand, distorted by the sound of the rapidly approaching truck. He tries to push me away, the attempt is in vain, I’m stronger than him. There is so much fear in his eyes. I feel sorry for him. He wasn’t meant to die on this road, in the middle of nowhere, but… 

“fate is resourceful”, the truck has reached us.

It all ends so quickly. A bright flash of the headlights, the horn blaring against the darkness of the night. the roar as it tears past us by, the thuds as he is swallowed up beneath its wheels, and the screech as what remained was dragged along the asphalt.

It's silent now. 

Across the road, shrouded against the trees, I see the spectre. It’s head is no longer bowed. It’s staring right at me. Fate. It's presence crackles in the air around you like lightening about to strike; a presence that is only felt when one must make a choice. A spectre who lingers at the crossroads.

I could see the spectre now, waiting in the shadowy periphery beside the road, I had made my choice; it commands me to follow.