Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction > Liz Shelbourne > Point of No Return
Point of No Return
by Liz ShelbourneIt was hot, so blasted hot. The ripples that came off of the blacktop of the parking lot shimmered against her car and rose up in waves to wrap around her as she walked out the door. Of all days, she thought, why didn’t I park inside the structure, why did I get lazy and take that deceptively easy front space. This is my penance, the blistering heat and the inferno inside the car that awaited.
She opened the door of the sportscar and waved at the interior, trying to move the stifling air out. Gingerly, she sat on the seat, almost burning through her short, thin skirt, and started the engine, throwing the air conditioning levers to maximum. Climbing out to pull off the jacket of her designer suit, she saw the puddle that was spreading underneath the car. "Oh shit," she muttered in disgust, then pushed her hand in front of the air vent inside. It was true. What should have been a delightfully cooled breeze was instead a blast from the furnaces of hell. Her air-conditioning was broken.
Laughing mirthlessly to herself, she stripped off her pantyhose in front of God and everyone, then climbed into the baking interior in just her silk tank, skirt and holster. Opening the windows did little good, she gunned the motor and squealed out of the lot to try to find cooler winds.
Even though the air conditioner had let her down, she loved this car. Some days, and this was one of them, it seemed like the only thing that was right with her world. Racing through the gears, she headed not toward home, but to a quieter stretch of highway that led off in the opposite direction.
Gradually, tall trees gathered around the edges of the road, blocking the last rays of the relentless sun. The greenery helped to cool the air a bit, it felt almost below 100 now.
Driving was a therapy for her, a solitary place away from the cameras and the eyes, a place where she could think. She needed to think now. Things had gone from bad to worse; she was no closer to completing her mission than she had ever been, her co-workers were useless, her father was a demanding cold fish, her family, if you could call that duo of dysfunctional sociopaths a family, gunning for her job. Everywhere she turned, she was either being derided or mocked, and she realized with a start that it had been a very long time since she had been happy.
There were advantages to being employed where she was, advantages that came with a price, but which could also come in handy. She watched calmly as the speedometer climbed past seventy, then past eighty, knowing full well that as far as the local law was concerned, she was able to cross the line with relative impunity.
The wind raced past her open window, tugging on her hair. It felt good, like the vibration she felt in her seat from the finely tuned engine. She smiled and reached for the radio and was rewarded with a wailing 60's folk tune. One eyebrow raised of its own accord, her smile fading. Another station had changed its format without informing her. She hit the seek button. Bob Seeger - oh, please. Back Street Boys - gag. Mozart - not today. Metallica - she snorted. A radio wasteland, full of prepubescent pretty boys, aged rockers and whining women. She reached for the off button and hit a tuning one instead. Alanis Morisette growled out of the speakers; well, she thought, at least she could relate to this one. She left the radio on.
Her shoulders heaved with a long sigh. Was this how it was supposed to be? She felt tired, disgusted, alone. She had friends, well, she had had friends, who would be at home this Friday night, making plans to go out, or catching that last bit of dust before the guests arrived, or dishing out a home-cooked meal for their kids. What was she doing? Speeding along a rural road with one eye looking back for the first hint of flashing lights, the other on the face in the rear view mirror, all alone, so very alone.
The thought kept rising up through her mind, was it worth it? Not just the job, the family, no, was any of it worth it? Was it worth getting up every day, getting dressed, going out on another fruitless mission? Was she ever going to be able to complete the task she had been given, ever going to be able to leave, to be free? She looked once again in the mirror and the truth was in the lines around her eyes. She would grow old there, she already was, and eventually she would die there.
"Feel it coming, it's knocking at your door," The words wound through the speakers. What a strange band, she thought to herself, geriatric throw-backs who had a second coming a decade after their first success. A real wealth of talent there, she thought sarcastically.
"The point of no return." She snorted once more, she had been at that point long ago. Everything since that had been just an epilogue to her life. Angrily, she flicked off the radio and sat in the noisy silence of the engine and the wind, but the song would not leave her mind "and now you know the score." She couldn't get the singer's wailing voice out of her head.
"Goddam it," she yelled at no one in particular. Throwing her arms in the air, she ran them dejectedly through her wind blown hair, guiding the steering wheel with her knee. She wiped at the sweat that had collected on her forehead, she could feel the exasperation and despair rising within her.
It was so hellishly hot.
Without warning, a car pulled out from an intersection in front of her, and made no sign of any kind of rapid acceleration. Reflexively grabbing the wheel, she realized that she was going much too fast to stop before she hit it, her only option was to pull into the opposite lane and go around, but as she did that, her field of vision was filled with the headlamps of an oncoming truck. Her eyes widened, her heart raced and in the split-second that she was given she made a choice and pulled to the far left of the other lane, slipping and sliding in the gravel on the side of the highway.
"Feel it coming, it's knocking at your door." The truck screamed past her with its air horn blaring in anger, just a bare five inches from her bumper. The other vehicle continue on its oblivious way while she was left trying to control her widely swaying car going the wrong direction. And heading straight for a tree. She pushed the brake pedal as hard and as smoothly as she could, reciting a long forgotten prayer and bracing for the impact."The point of no return."
She sat silently in the car, willing her heart to stop its racing before she pulled onto the road once again. It was obvious how close she had come, the ancient, gnarled tree was only a foot and a half from her front bumper. Had she been going even a little faster, she and her beautiful car would now be wrapped around the trunk, a mangled stain on the surrounding landscape. The thoughts swirled through her imagination - dead, gone, alone, free……..It was frightening to realize that although the adrenaline still coursed through her veins, she was not afraid, not in shock from the close call she had managed to just squeak through. The thought of eternal rest had more than a little appeal. She stared at the tree sadly. Just a little bit faster and it would have all been over…..
It was so damn hot.
The sound of the motorcycle brought her out of her reverie as it slowed down and stopped in the opposite lane. She glanced over and saw the rider in the waning sunlight, taking in the full face helmet, the loose t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, the cargo shorts, work boots. She could only just barely see his dark eyes behind the face plate as the rider watched her for a moment, assessing the situation. He tilted his head to the side, and there was something familiar about the movement, something that tugged at her and brought her back to the present.
She could see his eyes crinkle in the corners as he grinned at the sight of her own surprised expression. He raced the engine in place once, twice, then gunned it and roared off down the road.
"Son of a bitch!" Her hands fumbled with the shifter as she threw the little car into reverse and spun it in the gravel. There had been no mistaking the challenge in his expression, the cocky bastard had even turned around to see if she was following him. The tires screamed as they finally bit into asphalt and launched her down the highway in pursuit."Not this time, you bastard. This time you're mine!" Her voice carried above the growing sound of the wind blowing past her ears, sounding hoarse but exuberant. The engine raised its growl to match.
She could see him up ahead, he had to being doing at least 85, if not ninety. Well, that wasn't too difficult to meet, or beat. In two blindingly fast minutes, she had caught up to him, content for the moment to stay a few feet behind, but knowing that her quarry was aware of her presence. He sped up, she matched him mile for mile. She grinned.
It was so hot.
Bent over the seat of the motorcycle, hiding behind the tiny windscreen, he looked more like a racer than a casual biker. She remembered that he had experience with the machines, was he as good as she was with a car? Her eyes traveled to his well-developed arms, she remembered how the line of the muscles melded gracefully into the edges of his strong shoulders, evident even under the fabric of a shirt or jacket. She glanced at the work boots that perched on the pegs of the bike, and the perfectly defined calves that flexed above them, and grinned once again. Had she ever seen his legs before?
It was a pity she had to turn him over once she bored of this little chase scene and caught him. She reflexively checked the gun in her holster, felt the hardness of it against her ribs, checked to see her shoes on the seat next to her near the crumpled heap of her black nylons. Yes, a damn shame, they could have had some fun together.So damn hot!
They slowed through a little town, but only barely, down to a reasonable 50, and then raced away. A curve here, an unexpected turn onto the freeway there, and then off again. The minutes ticked past, she concentrated to stay within a few yards of him. He had learned to ride well, but then again, he did everything well.
She wondered, the corners of her mouth inching up into a feral smile, did he?
They slowed again through another town, he, always concerned about the plight of the innocent. In the back of her mind, she realized that he had trained her; she, too, was watching out for the unwary pedestrian, the tentative driver unlucky enough to pick right now to pull out into the middle of their personal driving drama.
She was beginning to tire of the game, steeling herself for the inevitable ending, although she knew that it would be a long time before she had this much fun again. That damn song came back into her mind. "It's not the kill, it's the thrill of the chase."
The sound of the motorcycle in front of her suddenly changed dramatically. What had been a quick contented purr through the town now exploded into a frenzied wail as he cranked the throttle to its peak and tromped up through the gears. He looked over his shoulder for a split second, just long enough for her to see the gleam of delight in his teasing dark eyes. She was caught unaware, watching as he disappeared over the horizon in front of her before she had the wherewithal to speed up to try to catch him. He had done it to her again, lulled her into a sense of achievement and then sprung out of her grasp, but she had to laugh at him, at herself, as she raced over the hill he had crested two seconds before.
"Not this time, you son of a bitch."
The lights flashed in her rearview mirror. "Goddam it!" The words exploded once again from her mouth, but this time they were not screamed in anger, not followed by the despair that had threatened to engulf her before. She shook her head ruefully as she slowed, 70, 60, 45, and the cruiser gained on her, and then she started to laugh. He had set her up, just like he always did. Somehow he had known there was a cop there, waiting, and he had managed to sneak past and leave her to pay the price for their joyride. She pulled over to the side of the road and waited while the cop ran her plates, but the smirk never left her face.
Finally the patrolman walked up to the side of the car and asked for the licenses she had ready for him, including the permit for the gun that she explained as soon as he had neared. The last thing she wanted was to be shot by a frightened rookie who caught a peak of a weapon.
"So, uh, Ma'am, do you have any idea how fast you were going?"
Such an inane question - what? - was it in the cop manual, a required bit? She shrugged and bit her tongue, anything that she wanted to say would simply make matters worse.
He was taken aback by her silence. "Do you have some kind of a death wish or something?"
She thought about the answer, then looked at the cop, her features now placid. The point of no return. She had been wrong, she hadn’t been there before, but a few minutes ago, sitting in front of the tree, she had been very close. Then he had come along, taunting her as usual, but making her remember exactly how much fun life could be. A death wish? "No," she smiled serenely, "Not any more."
It had taken over an hour, a call from the lawyers to the cop's superior and the temporary surrender of her driver's license and credit card before she was allowed to drive home. She was mildly surprised that she hadn't been forced to relinquish the car, too. The corporate ambulance chasers were even better than she had expected. Now all they had to do was deal with that pesky court appearance.
Minding the speed limit now, she drove back through the winding curves of the road, remembering the delicious feeling of the car as it had responded so elegantly to her commands as she had braked, expertly turned the wheel, accelerated through the corners and back out onto the open road, following that equally delicious figure on the motorcycle ahead of her. It had been so much fun, the thrill of the chase. She grinned to herself.
Slowing through the tiny hamlet they had raced through earlier, her head snapped around of it's own accord as she passed a gas station and her eyes caught sight of a lone motorcyclist pulling up to the pump. She pulled over to the side of the road quietly and twisted in her seat to get a better look. The rider climbed off and into the pool of light under a pump in the now darkened night. She could see his sleeveless shirt, the shorts, the work boots and those wonderful, muscular calves. His hands reached up and unhooked the chin strap of the helmet.
This is it, she thought to herself, he has no idea that I'm even here. I'm going to give myself ten seconds to relish the moment and then I'm going to rush over there and nail the son of a bitch. Again her hand went to her holster, checking the gun.
Both of his hands went to the sides of the helmet and she could see the muscles in his arms flex as he raised it off of his head.
"I've got you now, you bastard," she whispered in the dark.
And then she stopped. And stared.
He looked right at her, he saw her, his brown eyes twinkling even at this distance. He grinned and ran his fingers through his short blonde hair.
Blonde.
The breathe escaped her, forced out of her body in disbelief, and then she started to laugh, and laugh, until the tears leaked from her eyes and the sound of her giddiness reached the rider.
Son of a bitch, it wasn't him.
IT WASN'T HIM!