The Stones of Serin - Chapter 1

“On a dark desert highway…” Jack taps the steering wheel in time with the music and croons, “Cool whip in my hair,” entertaining himself with the classic misheard lyric. Misheard lyrics were a favorite amusement of Jack and his daughter, Sara.

He pictures Sara at ten years old—

Her strawberry-blonde hair was neatly braided and the hemline of her jeans announced that she was going through a growth spurt. Sara flailed her lanky arms as she danced about while helping him make an asparagus omelet; the two of them belting out, “This is the dawning of the age of Asparagus.” Tommy sat at the table and laughed. He was much more serious and rational than Sara, but he always indulged his younger sister’s silliness and hijinks.

Jack chuckles and wipes the tears welling in his eyes. The engine in his 1970 Plymouth GTX roars as he shifts and accelerates, hastening his departure from Las Vegas.

Jack is muscular and fetching. The lines on his face and the gray that dusts his temples and contrasts his sandy blonde hair are more the product of a recent heartbreak than the weathering of time.

A new track begins to play. “One dragonfly. Huh. Huh. Huh. Two dragonflies. Huh. Huh. Huh…” says Count von Count—jarring Jack from the comfort of his rock-and-roll soundtrack. With an audible growl, he turns it off. As the rhythmic patter of the wheels lull him, Jack thinks about Clare.

Right now, his wife would be curled up on the couch reading. Her charm bracelet would jingle each time she turns the page. Clare would finally be relaxed after an arduous week. And, as usual, she would probably give herself a startle by knocking over her empty water glass as she tosses her hair off her neck. Jack imagines his wife wearing a sage colored halter dress and smiles. As Clare finishes reading, she would look up at her husband, her cerulean eyes reflecting whatever emotion the story elicits. His wife, his lover, would part her coral-colored lips to say something, and Jack would go weak in the knees.

Clare has always been an exceptional beauty with strong stately features and a piercing gaze, but Jack’s attraction to her transcends her outward appearance; it is just her—his Clare—that draws him.

A passing car snaps Jack out of his daydream. He takes a deep breath and turns on the air conditioner. With the Sin City more than half an hour behind him, Jack knows he will soon be passing the Ivanpah Solar Generating System. Clare likes that stretch of road, especially during the day. When they approach it from the south, she says the sun shimmering on all those solar panels makes them look like a lake.

“Siri, call Clare,” says Jack.

“Calling Clare,” Siri replies.

His wife answers the phone, pleasantly surprised, “Hey Jack. I was just thinking about you.”

“I was thinking about you, too, Babydoll,” Jack replies. “So, what are you reading?”

“How’d you know … oh, right–the time.” Clare laughs. “… The Tell-Tale Heart.”

“Poe. Interesting choice. Kinda trippy.” Jack comments. “So, have you had a chance to relax? Maybe put on that green dress?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am wearing that green dress. Why?”

“Oh, you know,” Jack suggests.

Clare lets out a demure titter. Jack knows she is blushing, and his heart races. He hears the zip of her flicking open her silk hand fan. Even after so many years together, he still makes her swoon.

“You okay, Babydoll?” Jack asks.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Clare replies.

“So, I ran into Professor Cline at the conference.”

“Really? I haven’t heard much about him in a while. How is he?”

“Nothing much has changed. He’s still scaring freshmen and publishing like a maniac. Oh, he’s got a full head of gray hair now.”

“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Nothing really. A few sessions targeted toward students. I decided to skip it and head home tonight.”

“It’s kind of late to be hitting the road now,” she observes.

“It’s too late to change my mind. I’m already checked out of the hotel and have been on the road for bit. I’m coming up on that solar farm that you like.”

“Well, I guess you know what you can handle.”

“Don’t worry. I’m what two-and-a-half or three hours out? I’ve got the air conditioner on, and I’ve got a large coffee and a good playlist. Don’t worry; I’ll stop if I need to. Otherwise, I’ll be home by midnight.”

“Okay,” Clare concedes. “I miss you.”

Jack sighs. “I miss you, too, Clare. So, what have you been up to while I was gone?”

“Well, Tommy’s here. He’s recently taken up a habit of staying over while you’re gone. I’m not sure how I feel about that. He was in such a hurry to move out into his own apartment—he didn’t want to live at home, and he didn’t want to live in the dorm. And then he comes over like he’s standing in as my protector. I mean is he saying I’m not capable of handling things myself, or is it an extra measure of protection since we don’t really know what happened to Sara?”

“I can’t speak to his motive. But as for me, I appreciate that he steps in when I’m gone. It makes me feel like I did well as a father, that we did well as parents.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, we went out for dinner with Katie last night. Tonight, Tommy and I ordered a pizza and talked about Sara’s…”

“Did you turn up anything new?”

“No. It still doesn’t make sense.”

“Then why do you keep torturing yourself like that, Babydoll?”

“You already know the answer to that. I’m her mother—I have to do something,” Clare replies. “I still wish you would work on this…with me.”

“I know, Honey…I know. It’s not like I’m doing nothing, but you do things different than me.”

“It’s just that I feel like you and Tommy are the only ones who really hear me when I talk about it. And I still can’t wrap my mind around why she would have even been in…”

“Babydoll, I can’t do this right now—not while I’m on the road. Besides, we’ve been over those details a thousand times already.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. You are determined and capable. You’re an amazing woman, but when you go down that rabbit hole…”

“You still think I’m amazing?”

“Of course I do! But I guess I haven’t told you that in while.” Jack replies. “There are probably a couple of other things I haven’t told you in a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I wonder sometimes if I tell you often enough how beautiful you are—and you’re also…" Jack runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. "Babydoll, do you remember that night a couple of months after we got married? You had such a terrible day, and to top it all off, when you got home, it was raining so hard you got completely drenched in the short distance from the carport to the apartment. Those things I said to you that night—it’s all still true. All of it.”

Clare remains quiet, but Jack hears her breathing rate increase.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, I think I am,” Clare replies with a chuckle.

“Oh, I so wish I was home already.”

“Me too,” she titters.

Jack thinks of Clare greeting him with a kiss and then biting her lip as her eyes search his.

“Princess, I need to focus on the road,” Jack says. “Like you said, it’s late, and it’s dark out here. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

He hangs up the phone then turns his playlist back on skipping to the next track. With the rainy night that he mentioned to Clare on his mind, he accelerates.

Jack smiles and resumes his habit of tapping the steering wheel in time with the music when an innocuous shadow looms over his left shoulder making him feel like someone needs his attention. Jack glances out the driver side window. Terror grips his entire body as he sees a large black van coursing straight at him. He instinctively raises his hands to protect himself. Before Jack can even comprehend how entirely wrong it is for a vehicle to travel across the highway crosswise, he hears the explosion of the van crashing into his car followed by a crumpling noise.

Suddenly Jack cannot see or hear anything. He struggles to breathe as the airbags inflate and cover his face, and he wonders why he thought it was a good idea to retrofit his classic muscle car with airbags and shoulder-restraint seatbelts. Jack feels like he’s spinning.

He grips the steering wheel as something cold and hard sprays over him. Jack tries to step on the brake pedal, but he can’t find it.

His efforts to regain control of his car are futile. The van had continued accelerating after the impact and pushed him across the traffic lanes and over the edge of the road. His car was rolling into the desert and becoming increasingly crumpled and crushing in on him with each violent turn.

The car finally settles in the upright position. Jack is battered and shaken up, and he still can’t see clearly. He tries to pull his shirt up to wipe his face and writhes at the sharp pain in his left shoulder. That pain also constrains him from opening his door. Jack reaches toward the passenger seat attempting to grab his cell phone, but it has been tossed about and is no longer within reach. Instead, he feels the rubble of broken safety glass. A breeze drives the warm desert air into the car, perfuming the cabin with the musk of chaparral and sand. Jack smells the angry scents of leaking gasoline and oil; overheated rubber and metal.

With his vision slowly returning, he tries to look around. Everything is blurry and confused. As the adrenaline wears off, he feels something poking him in the back—and something is squeezing his left leg just below the knee. Jack reaches to touch it. As he shifts his position, the sensation of warm liquid in his groin and thigh alarms him.

“What the …? Am I bleeding or did I….?” Jack thinks, embarrassed at the thought that he might have urinated on himself.

He hears noise coming from the highway and tries to call for help but can’t get out more than a hoarse whisper. Frustrated, Jack pounds the steering wheel several times with his right hand honking the horn repeatedly. He then rests his hand on his head and cries.

Then Jack hears the crunch of footsteps walking on the sand and glass outside of his car. He relaxes and tries to cover his face as someone breaks out the driver side window. He tries to make eye contact with his rescuer, but he can’t make out the face on the shadowy figure. Jack’s relief quickly gives way to confusion, when the three poker chips land on his lap—and then panic as he catches the gleam of the mid-summer moon reflecting on the blade of a titanium chef knife.

A gloved hand reaches into the car and slits Jack’s throat.

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of an in-progress novel. Stay tuned for future chapters.