Reflection(Carl Brooks) Reflection

By
Carl Brooks

Alan’s car left the roadway as he steered it toward the lighted row of gas pumps. The bright fluorescent lights temporarily blinded him as he slowed to a stop at the remote oasis. He firmly placed both hands over his face in an attempt to remove the deepening numbness and restore some portion of alertness to his mind and body; to become conscious again after functioning in a state of semi-sleep over the past several hours… and miles. He filled the gas tank, then, shuffled to the back of the service station in the near freezing darkness to the men's room. Directly under the dirty mirror a single faucet reflected long neglect and the aftermath of some previous mechanical catastrophe. Alan doused his tired face with icy water, gasping from the shock, while pulling frantically at the container of paper towels on the wall. They smelled like old rags. For a long minute he stared at his distorted image in the mirror. “Who is that guy?” he thought to himself. Alan didn’t seem to recognize the reflection looking back at him. This man was different in many ways than who he thought he was. Not only the image, but the man inside; the one he used to be. What had happened to cause such an ugly change in him. That change wasn’t pretty.

After paying the attendant, he quickly resumed his journey, while attempting to get a fresh hold on consciousness. The luminous dials of his watch read: SUN JAN 10 1:40 AM.
'Not bad,' he thought, 'a little over a hundred miles to go... then he could sleep.'

Temporarily refreshed, he reclaimed his position on the right side of the two-lane highway, and strained to reach 60 mph. He flicked his headlights on bright just as they caught a pair of signs ahead: US HIGHWAY 62. The car heater buzzed steadily, contradicting the freezing cold outside. Alan wondered if Susan was waiting up for him at home with a hot cup of coffee. “Of course not,” he smiled to himself, “I’m dreaming and not even asleep yet.” He became aware of his foot pushing harder on the gas pedal. "Easy now," he spoke aloud to himself while relaxing back to 65 mph.

The symmetrical boundaries of wooden poles along either side of the monotonous road established a vague rhythm within his subconscious. The car began to drift slightly, only inches at first, until his car tires tore into the gravel shoulder. The speedometer read 75 mph and slowing, as he automatically made corrections to find the highway. Alan shook his head vigorously from side to side and widened his eyes in an effort to regain consciousness. “Funny thing about the mind,” he thought to himself, “it takes you where it wants you to go.”

"Wake up!" he shouted. He lit a fresh cigarette, not because he wanted it, but manipulating it might help to keep him awake. He turned the heater control to low, chiding himself for losing control. As a mental exercise, he tried to concentrate on driving in a mechanical fashion; sitting up straight, both hands on the wheel, and staying exactly in the center of his lane. It didn’t occur to him that the more strictly he controlled his driving movements, the more the exacting regimen would tire his already exhausted mind. At his present speed, he was aware that anything he might encounter in the roadway would be upon him in the semi-darkness before he could take appropriate action to avoid hitting it. There was always an abundance of road-kill along this stretch; everything from possums and coyotes to deer. “Ah, yes, road-kill!” Even though the semi-desert was home to many forms of wildlife, it seemed that the only time they ever showed themselves was at night… in the middle of the highway. By the time you spotted them, it was generally too late to avoid the inevitable collision.” About fifty miles back he’d seen a huge snake smashed and flattened by someone who probably gave no thought at all to running over such a lowly, remote, creature, which just happened to be crossing the highway. Several times on his journeys he’d seen entire colonies of tarantulas crossing the highway, apparently searching for water. There were certainly some pretty strange occurrences in the desert night. Most could easily be explained away; others… not so easy.

He put his cigarette out and reduced his speed once again back to 65 mph. 'Maybe Susan would wait up for him after all,' he thought. He knew she didn't like to sleep alone. He knew that very well. Every time his job kept him away for a few days, she reminded him of that fact and threatened to remedy the situation some day; a remedy he wouldn’t like.

"What the...!”

Alan turned the wheel sharply and slammed his foot on the brake pedal as hard as he could. His wheels hit the gravel shoulder, fish-tailing the car to a halt cross-wise on the highway.
A luminous cloud of dust engulfed the car, making it impossible to see through the eerie, artificial fog. His eyes were fixed directly ahead in a shocked daze, his numb brain trying to absorb what he'd just seen. His half dazed mind couldn’t focus long enough to identify it.
"My God," he mumbled, "What the hell was that?" Shaking his head, he squinted through the darkness to somehow confirm the absurdity of… whatever it was that seemed to be waiting for him in the dense blackness of the night.
Pictures flashed through his mind, attempting to somehow reconstruct the fleeting image. It looked like some kind of animal, but it couldn't have been, it was huge. He sat motionless for awhile, almost afraid to move. Then, backing the car to different positions he was able to shine his headlights on most of the immediately surrounding desert. All he could see were mesquite trees and nothingness in all directions. Finally, he sat perfectly still, as if waiting, almost hoping, for something to happen that would validate what he had seen. Scanning the area one last time, he carefully resumed his trek into the night.

Alan's mind tried again for some explanation of the strange phenomenon. He had seen animals crossing the highway before, many times, especially in the desert. This was different… much different. That was the biggest thing he had ever seen on four legs, if indeed it had legs. He shook his head at the sheer insanity of the whole incident. Strange too, he'd just been thinking about animals crossing the road when that occurred. Maybe it hadn't been real at all, but just an hallucination of some kind. He knew that the power of suggestion was very real. He was exhausted and so sleepy that he had to literally force himself to remain conscious. Maybe it was his tired mind telling him to stop and rest. Maybe… If the mind wanted something badly enough, it could always find a way to force the body to succumb to its needs. There was a story that long distance truckers used to tell, the one about seeing the black dog. When you get so very tired while driving, both in mind and body, that you start hallucinating, you start seeing things that aren’t really there… then, as they say, you’ve seen the black dog.

He'd tell Susan about the incident when he got home, if she was still awake... or even still there at all. After the long talk they'd had before his leaving on this trip, she may have decided it would be best if they called it quits. Along with their day to day disagreements, recent events had made their lives together strained to the breaking point. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't his. Sometimes people’s needs and personalities can't be easily understood or tolerated by the person with whom they'd chosen to spend their life. But he’d thought that he and Susan were different. Contrary in so many ways, normalcy in their relationship seemed an unobtainable dream. When he'd confessed his infidelity to her, he'd wanted her to understand; not just that he had to go to such extremes, but what caused him to take such action in the first place. Alan reflected on the happenings of the past couple of weeks and winced at the cruelty on the part of both of them. He'd known about her liaisons for some time, which had forced him to look closely and deeply into both of their motives. He'd thought about it a lot… maybe too much. Reflection is supposed to be good for the soul, but too much of it can distort what is real. His headlights illuminated a mileage sign. He slowed again.

After thinking it through several times and having endless discussions about their present relationship, as well as their future together, they'd left things in an unresolved state of limbo when, gratefully, he departed on this business trip. He cared for her but he wasn't sure he loved her anymore. At times he'd wished they could have agreed on having children, but now he was glad that wasn't a factor. A son would have been wonderful, a reflection, in a sense, of himself.

Alan noticed how lonely that stretch of highway had become. He couldn't remember passing a car for sometime. Maybe he had, but didn't remember it. Just then, bright lights reflecting from his rear-view mirror had temporarily blinded him. He adjusted the mirror and slowed to allow the car to pass. He smiled, realizing the metaphor of using the mirror in front of him to see what was behind him, or… the past. If it were only that simple; look in the mirror and see clearly the truth… the terrible reality of who and what he’d become. Not as we remember the facts, but as they really were.

Another car passed and sped out of sight. Alan re-adjusted the mirror and was startled when his image temporarily flashed across it. For just a moment he thought he'd seen something else; something strange and ugly that frightened him. It was as if there were another person in the car with him; an ugly, destructive persona of himself that had told him to do and say all of the wrong things. He set the mirror and dismissed the thought.

Not far to go now, he thought, turning on the radio. Alan twisted the knob until it stopped, then, carefully reversed its direction.

"This is X-E-R-F, Del Rio, Texas with your all night gospel caravan. I’m your host, Joe Bob Sparks for the next four hours of heavenly gospel music."
The voice went on for several minutes, warning the listening audience of the limited time offer to order tapes of their music. Alan tried to find a talk-radio station to stimulate his mind to alertness. Finding none, he caught just the faint voice of someone reading the news. ".....just in. Another report, this time by a nineteen year old girl in Joplin Missouri. The girl stated seeing something she described as being eight to ten feet tall, covered with hair, and very aggressive. A local constable reported that he placed no validity in these reports. We feel the entire incident to be either mass hysteria or pranks by college students.’”

Alan smiled at this, then, lit a cigarette. Sometimes people see what they want to see, he thought, both in the real world and in their mind’s eye. He slowed again to 65 mph as his eyes began gradually closing. The broken double yellow stripes on the centerline of the highway disappeared steadily into the darkened distance ahead. Occasionally the stripes veered toward his car. How easy it would be to just turn the wheel ever so slightly toward those oncoming lights. A quick jerk and it would all be over… no more pain. Alan corrected his path once again.

Then, without consciously aware of it and reacting purely on instinct, he jammed the brake pedal to the floor, shaking his mind awake. The car swerved to both sides of the highway and finally came to an abrupt stop in a shallow ditch. He flung open the door and ran back several hundred feet searching for the figure he'd tried to avoid hitting. He stood in the center of the highway on the same spot where moments ago a person had been standing.

A hot, stifling tremble quaked through his flesh. His eyes seemed to explode with strained flashes, while at that very moment a disturbing odor of something sick, or dead, entered his nostrils. He turned quickly, sensing a presence, eyes watching him, following his actions. They seemed to know what he was going to do next. Alan's stomach tightened in a new fear. He seemed to be acting out movements of which he was only vaguely aware, as if someone or something was controlling him; as if he was only a spectator. The whole incident had an eerie, surreal quality to it. He could see himself moving before movement was made, like seeing a negative, a motion picture, immediately followed by the same scene in positive form… a repetitiveness of shadowy actions.

He ran to the car, nearly losing control as he sped away from the scene. He quickly silenced the radio noise and tried to think. "What the hell was happening," he asked aloud? He had seen something on the highway and nearly ran over it. Pictures flashed through his mind. His eyelids blinked far out of control and he fought to remember. It was large, very much larger than a normal person, and dressed in black... or was it just a shadow that he’d seen. The look on its face showed no visible surprise at its impending fate. No, he hadn't really seen clothes at all on the thing, just blackness. This was a nightmare. He must be asleep and dreaming. Alan shook his head, opened the window and thrust his face into the cold night air.

The speedometer climbed rapidly and steadily to 75 mph. God! He hoped Susan was waiting up for him, but he knew that was just wishful thinking. She was gone and he knew it. If she were only here now; someone to share this with… someone to verify that he wasn’t losing his mind. She'd probably say he was crazy and laugh at him the way she'd done before. He wished someone, anyone, had been there to witness what he'd seen. Was he crazy, or just hallucinating from fatigue? Fear and doubt raced through his mind. In spite of the cold he could feel the sweat form on his face, his mouth drying. His hands moved with short jerks on the wheel, as he fought for control of himself and the car. There was a growing urgency to get to his destination, a need to escape to safety… but from what…. and to what? In the end, was he running from himself?

The speedometer steadily climbed, as he raced to outrun whatever it was behind him… or was it waiting for him up ahead, or was it with him now? He felt its presence permeating his thoughts… filling the darkness with an indescribable tension and sickness and there was nothing he could do to make it stop. What was happening to him? “What is it,” he kept asking himself out loud? Total anxiety engulfed his mind. Panic flooded his thoughts. He saw Susan, ahead, waiting for him. He longed for her presence, but something blocked his path to her. Something he could not define. In front of him, distance was the obstacle; behind him, a past he could not shake. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw nothing at first. He blinked his tired eyes as he caught a whiff of that odor again, as if an animal was smelling fear on its prey. His eyes froze onto the blurred image of something; a reflection in the mirror. It was horrible. He tried to move… to turn the steering wheel, but he was petrified with horror. The image changed from that terrible… foul thing, to one of himself. His face was in the mirror, smiling back at him like some kind of cruel, demented demon. He slowly closed his eyes and let his body relax. It was so very easy. He saw the embankment... but it didn’t matter anymore.

The police arrived at his house the next morning to notify the next of kin. No one answered the door.

The End

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