DARLA IS WAITING

This is a collaborative flash story written with Salvatore Buttaci.

 

The man’s sudden appearance on the side of the road caused Warren to flinch.  It gave him the impetus he needed to get back to the serious business of driving fully awake.  Behind him lay too many miles of hypnotic highway, of trying to focus heavy-lidded eyes on the straight and curving white line.  The stretch ahead wearied him even more.  More than 200 miles from Haggerstown, he debated pulling over.  Some shut-eye.  A few minutes at least to rest his eyes.  Rest the racing horses under the hood.

When he forced his eyes to once more spring wide open, he saw the man again.  Warren twisted his neck to look back, then into the rearview mirror, but he had driven too far and there was no way he intended to waste more time u-turning back.  It was an optical illusion, he decided.  The way the interstate light hit the trees.  His imagination.  His dire need for sleep.  He shook his head clear.  I need to get to Haggerstown.  And the face of Darla sprang behind his eyes.  The way her dark hair hid one eye.  Her smile bright enough to make day out of night.  Now she was dying. And he wasn’t there. 

Up ahead he saw the stranger reappear again.  “Enough of this!” Warren said out loud and slowed the Toyota so that when he pulled onto the shoulder the man, surrounded in some kind of other-world light, bowed his head to him and smiled.  

In the dull gleam of Warren’s headlights, the stranger slowly approached the car and the engine turned off. There was the hesitation; the desire to drive off and try to pretend this was a sleepless dream. Darkness seemed deeper outside the odd light of the movement of this man. Without turning his head, Warren knew the man’s hands were now resting on the doorframe. He could sense him leaning down; peering in the window.

“I think you may be going my way.” The voice sank deep inside, dripping over his mind like warm rain. Turning to face the window, Warren trembled as his hand reached down and his fingers stretched out, reaching for the lock. Slowly, he pushed down on the small button and released the latch. In a moment, the passenger door swung open and the stranger sat beside him.  Warren turned back just in time to see a smile creep up over the strangers lips. “Drive,” the voice whispered.

“What do want with me?” Warren tried to look away, but found himself staring into the strange smile. “Why are you here?” His voice cracked and he felt himself grow weak.

The hand of the stranger reached over, held onto the keys, and turned them over. The engine came to life, and killed the silence of the dark road. Warren’s hands gripped tight to the wheel and he could do nothing to release them.

Warren knew he wasn’t dreaming.  He also knew in the epiphany of a moment that all his life he had vehemently decried the existence of anything that lay beyond the physical senses.  And that resolute disbelief had rendered his life a tragic lie.  Something unexplainable was happening here.  It was the middle of a desperate night.  Except for some highway illumination, the road ahead was dark, yet inside the Toyota with its dim interior light, daytime sunlight dazzled.  Beside him, bathed in what Warren’s old grandmother had called “Beatific Light,” the stranger sat without speaking for what seemed to Warren at least twenty miles.

“What’s going on?  Am I dead?  Are you the Angel who––”

Then the stranger spoke inside Warren’s head.  A voice like the beating of hummingbird wings, the soft breezes twirling flowers in summer dance.  He would never forget the sound of the unspoken. 

“Darla is waiting,” spoke the beating wings, the playful breezes. 

“Then you are the Angel of Death.”

“The Angel of Healing. She will not die.  The fever is lifting.  Listen,” said the stranger.  “Can you hear her?”

Warren strained to hear above the roar of the engine, the push of the highway wind against the Toyota, and then he heard her, his kid sister whom he had loved, calling him home. 

“You healed her?”

The angel spoke, this time in a human voice.  “It was you who needed healing.”

Warren saw the green Haggerstown sign high ahead of them.  The dreaded return home after so many years now filled him with longing.  When he turned towards the brightness beside him, he saw that the angel had disappeared.  Funny, thought Warren, but I don’t feel alone.
 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Thanks, Salvatore!

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

WONDERFULLY WRITTEN , the details you included about the humming bird wings and the beautific light .. were excellent.. ty

[Tracie Skarbo]

Excellent collab between two amazing writers. You take us through a dark night and impart your wisdom within your words. I love the fact that even though she is dying it is he who is in need of healing. I am wondering how you two work together...do you get an idea and then write a paragraph and then switch between the two of you? Or do you simply write paragraphs until something takes shape? I hope we will see more of the two of you working together...

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Well there was a twist with an important message... what a great collab between you two.
It was like one of those uplifting and heartwarming stories you see on the hallmark channel.

[PhantomDancer]

Really good writing! I like the tension building which lasts right to the end.

[Honeypot]

This was beautiful and uplifting. I thought he must have been a grim reaper or an angel of death, but I loved the twist at the end. You both did a wonderful job on this.

[deeps]

This is so wonderful you two, I liked this alot,
Very well written