When the Shadows Fall by Elise Noble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15 - SKY

HOW FAR WAS this sodding waiter planning to drive? We’d been going for almost a hundred miles already, first on I-81 and then on I-64, and now I was about to have a problem. The Ferrari might have been a dream to drive, but fuel economy wasn’t one of its strong points. I was almost out of petrol. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I had no money and no phone either. While I drove, I’d checked every nook and cranny of the passenger compartment, and there wasn’t so much as a stray dollar bill.

The satnav built into the dash told me we were heading for Charlottesville. Was that our final destination? I sure hoped so. Did I mention that I also needed to pee? This fucking job. How long did I have left? I guessed twenty miles max, which meant I had a choice to make. Should I carry on following the Audi—and it definitely was an Audi, although the driver had carefully dirtied up the licence plate so I couldn’t read it—and hope that we got to wherever we were going before the Ferrari sputtered to a halt? Or should I try to stop somewhere for gas?

I zoomed out on the map and traced my way along the next stretch of I-64. The nearest gas station would come up in ten miles, assuming we didn’t turn off first. But if I stopped, the waiter would be long gone by the time I filled up. Unless… What if I took a chance? How many exits were there between us and the gas station? Only one, it looked like. If I assumed that my prey would carry on along I-64 until the gas station at least, then I could go on ahead. He wouldn’t need to stop, of that I was certain. Because I knew now that he hadn’t just stolen a handbag. He’d nicked another bloody painting. I’d turned on the radio, and the host had been talking about a daring heist at the Grove Hotel and Country Club for the last half hour. It seemed that Team Blackwood hadn’t been the only ones planning a theft tonight. I bet Emmy was pissed. Really pissed.

Fuck it. I pressed the loud pedal to the floor and sped past the Audi like my wheels were on fire. If there was a cop on this stretch of highway, I was buggered, but with any luck, they were all back at the Grove, trying to work out what the hell happened. Good luck with that. I still hadn’t put all the pieces together, and my jigsaw had come partially assembled.

The Audi’s headlights faded into the distance as the speedometer passed a hundred. One-ten. One-twenty. The waiter had been doing a steady sixty-five the whole way, and soon he was left in the dust. The Ferrari ate up the miles, and it was running on fumes when I finally reached the rickety gas station. A floodlight blinked on and off overhead as I pulled up behind a decrepit Ford. My plan was to fill the Ferrari up, speed off, then mail the cash to the manager once I got back to civilisation. Except when I climbed out, I realised I wasn’t the first person to have that idea, and probably the other assholes hadn’t sent the money either.

A handwritten sign was taped to the pump: Pay first, gas second.

Shit.

I couldn’t even beg the driver of the Ford for a loan because he was already in the kiosk, talking to the guy behind the counter. Fuck. And if I went inside and tried to negotiate, the waiter would vanish into the night. I glanced across at the Ford in case a miracle happened and the driver had left a fifty on the passenger seat. No such luck.

But he’d gone one better.

The window was open and the keys were in the ignition. I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t, not when the owner was halfway to the door. I jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine coughed and died. I tried again, and the owner suddenly realised what was happening and started running towards me. Brilliant. Start, you piece of crap! The engine caught on the fourth attempt, just as the driver reached for the door handle.

“Enjoy the Ferrari,” I shouted and lobbed the key at him. It hit him square in the chest, which made him pause long enough for me to floor it off the forecourt. And in a masterpiece of timing, the waiter had just gone past.

In the rear-view mirror, I saw the owner of the Ford pick up the Ferrari key and stare at it. Then he got smaller, smaller, smaller until he disappeared.

I followed the Audi into the night.

The Ford clunked along for another forty miles before we turned off somewhere past Culpeper. The roads grew narrower and bumpier, the signs of life sparser. The radio faded into a hiss of static so I turned it off. Then the rain started—the perfect end to a perfect evening. The windscreen wipers screeched across the glass as the blurry tail lights of the Audi faded in and out of sight. Surely we had to be reaching the end of the road, both literally and metaphorically?

A moment later, the lights disappeared. One second they were there, and the next they were gone. Had I been spotted? What if the waiter had pulled over to hide? I turned off the Ford’s headlights and proceeded with caution. Should I get out and walk? I didn’t have a weapon. Nothing. Not even a pen. Emmy once told me that if I trained hard enough, I would become the weapon, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t there yet.

I crept forward with the engine on tick-over, my heart thumping so loudly I could hear it over the rain. Where was my quarry? Then I saw it. A driveway, half-hidden by the trees. Their boughs met overhead, leading to a beyond-creepy tunnel effect. The moon shone off wet tarmac, shadows chasing across the pitted surface as leaves blew in the wind. A wooden sign was fixed to one of the imposing stone pillars that held a pair of chunky wrought-iron gates. I risked flicking the headlights back on.

And when I saw what the sign said, I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.