In Laymon's Terms

Brent Zirnheld

HE OLD MERCEDES had seemingly come out of nowhere. Its sleek, black form cut through the humid air as its tires threw a mist of water into the air. It was too wet to be taking curves so fast, but Jim Black wasn’t about to let the reckless driving dissuade him from hitching a ride.

Jim threw out an arm with an extended thumb. He’d been headed the other direction, but what the hell? It was about to rain again and with barely anyone cruising the small, two-lane coastal highway, matters of direction were relative.

Realistically, Jim figured he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting a ride this time. Not from someone in a Mercedes who appeared to be hell-bent on getting where he or she was going. He’d probably have to wait for the next car.

Jim showed his best smile anyway; he always prepared for the worst even as he hoped for the best.

The Mercedes slowed, but then picked up speed when the driver got a better look at Jim. It was then that Jim saw the driver’s distinctively feminine features. If it had been a man second-guessing Jim’s bedraggled appearance he would have been the recipient of Jim’s best one-finger salute, but for the blonde’s benefit Jim continued smiling and even offered a nonchalant shrug as if he understood the bitch’s hesitation. Less than a second later, the brake lights came on and the car slowed to a stop.

Jim picked up his bag and trotted the twenty or thirty feet to the stopped Mercedes. When he got a good look at the driver he wondered if he wasn’t the luckiest bastard on Earth.

He opened the back door, tossed his bag to the floor and then hopped into the front seat.

“Thanks for the lift. Where you headed?” he asked, raking a hand through his wet, black hair. His clothes were very damp from the rain, but if she didn’t give a shit about the car’s interior, why should he?

The young lady shrugged. She was a hot little thing, far too young to be the owner of the vehicle. She’d taken daddy’s classic out for a spin and had done the forbidden: picked up a stranger on a deserted stretch of highway. Daddy would be so upset when he discovered her indiscretion.

Without so much as a glance to check for traffic, she darted back onto the highway. Blondie clearly liked living on the edge, or at least what she thought of as the edge. Sure it was a huge drop from the cliffs to the coast below, but she wasn’t really taking much of a chance—not when the vehicle was designed with control and handling in mind. If she really wanted to tempt fate she’d have to add some force to the gas pedal.

Jim eased back in the seat and stretched his legs.

“The name’s Jim Black. And my savior is...” Jim offered his right hand so he’d know what a willing touch felt like.

She eyed him and his hand and then gave her own. It was warm and soft, just as Jim suspected it would be. So was her smile. She’d be so easy to charm. The pragmatism of age hadn’t yet hardened her; viewing the world through reason-tinted glasses was a few years away yet.

“My name is Celeste White.”

“Black and White? You are kidding, right?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Nope.”

In an instant, her guard had fallen.

“Where you headed?” she asked. Her hair was pulled back so tightly Jim could hear the follicles screaming for mercy.

“Anywhere.”

Jim stared at her delicate face, with its soft, smooth skin and upper class features as if she’d been genetically altered to appeal. However, there was something he’d just noticed in her eyes—they were a bit bloodshot and glassy. She’d recently been crying.

“What?” She had noticed Jim’s smile from the corner of her eye.

“Just admiring your facial structure. You’re very beautiful. Oh, forgive me, I’m an artist; I sometimes notice these things and spout off without realizing it sounds like a lame attempt at a pick-up,” Jim said.

Celeste’s hair was the color of straw, but looked more like dyed silk than dried grass. Now that she knew he was eyeing her, he let his eyes wander along her curves. He followed the jut of her breasts against the tight fabric of her white blouse. Long, tan legs projected from an aqua-colored skirt that fell halfway to her knees.

She gave him a glance, as if to survey his face, too, but then flicked her eyes back to the road so she could make another sharp turn. Though she had caught him staring at her legs, she gave no sign that she might be uncomfortable. She continued to surprise.

Another curve. Celeste took this one at a more conservative speed; maybe she’d decided to be more mindful of the cliffs now that she had a passenger.

“Deserted out here today. Guess everyone is at work,” Celeste said.

“Or school.”

She raised her brows, but didn’t glance his way. “Yeah. That, too.”

“You headed anyplace in particular?” she asked. Her eyes looked furtively in his direction as if his staring was beginning to unnerve her.

Jim breathed in deeply. “Wherever you take me. Ecstasy, perhaps?”

Celeste’s mouth twitched and she looked at Jim longer this time.

“Excuse me?”

Jim smiled. He could have played the game a little longer, made her feel more comfortable and then begun to strip her of her guard, slowly watching her unease grow until fear gave way to terror. But the need was overpowering. He could almost taste her fear; it was like a magnet drawing his libido.

“You heard me.”

With a weak laugh, as though she were acting like she got the “joke,” Celeste tightened her grip on the steering wheel until the color drained from her knuckles. Jim had seen the same reaction so many times before. They always fooled themselves into thinking it was some kind of joke. A trick played by a stranger who lacked social grace.

Jim lifted the right leg of his jeans and pulled out his boot knife.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“Just drive, babe.”

“OhmyGod.”

“What did you expect picking up a total stranger on the side of the road? Geesh, you’re lucky I’m not some kind of psychotic killer.”

She swallowed audibly, her grip still tight on the steering wheel.

“I just want to have a little fun, and if you cooperate daddy’s car won’t get so much as a scratch on it. Who knows? You might not, either.”

She took the next curve even slower than the last.

“You can go the speed limit. Ahead about four or five miles is an access road off to the right. Take it.”

Jim’s left hand took the knife and he touched it to the thing binding her hair. It was a frilly, aqua-colored hair band. She jerked as he sliced into it, nearly causing him to cut her scalp.

“Careful, I don’t want to hurt you.” Yet.

He sliced through the band and her hair burst free. With his left hand, he worked the hair loose. It fell to her shoulders and looked much better.

“How could you think with your hair pulled so tight?”

She said nothing.

“Hair that beautiful shouldn’t be bound.”

Silence. Her face was the level of fear they always had just before they broke into tears and started pleading for their lives. The feminine face of terror was ravishing. Especially when they had such pretty eyes. Sometimes he removed an eye and held it in his mouth so he could fondle it with his tongue. There was nothing quite like a victim seeing Jim’s lips part only to find herself staring into her other eye.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No, I just want to have you for a little while. Enjoy you. Then you can go on your way.”

“How do you know about this road ahead? Have you been there before? With other women?”

“Just drive.”

Jim slipped the knife between two buttons on her blouse. With a quick motion, he popped them off.

“You’re going to kill me.”

There were tears dripping from her eyes. Tears were good. They were inevitable.

He couldn’t wait to get her to the secluded spot he had used just last night. Of course, his previous victim wasn’t there any longer. He seldom left victims where he killed them. Why make things easier on the authorities?

Jim cut open her bra. Small breasts were freed, but the terror on her face was so distracting. Her breath hitched when she felt the blade trace the contour of her right nipple.

“Cold blade, warm heart,” he whispered.

Celeste was driving faster now. About a mile ahead, just before another curve, was the access road. Jim’s heart beat a frantic rhythm at the thought of getting her out of the car.

“It’s up there on the right, do you see it?” Jim asked.

“Yeah.”

“Slow down a little. If you pass it up, I’ll cut your face. You don’t want a scar for the rest of your life, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Daddy has the money to get a little scar fixed, so I’ll have to make it really nasty,” Jim said as he ran the blade lightly down the side of her face.

“Think daddy would have the money to fix a gash that goes clear to the bone?”

“You do this a lot,” she told him, her tears now ended.

“Enough to know what women don’t like.”

Sometimes a woman got this strange notion that if she did what he wanted and presented herself as being cooperative he might be easier on her. Celeste had gotten to this point rather quickly; Jim had expected a little more pleading, perhaps the offer of daddy’s money.

Jim scooted close to her and cupped her left breast with his right hand as he held the knife to her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

That was a new one.

“Thank you?” Jim asked.

“For giving me the courage.”

“What? Slow down, you’re going to pass the turn-off, bitch!”

Jim grabbed her smooth leg and lifted her foot from the accelerator. She slammed it back down and turned the steering wheel to the left. The car shot across the southbound lane and then off the shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing!”

The car barely missed a portion of guardrail that started before the curve. It shot off the edge of the cliff unhindered.

The ocean loomed large. Jim’s heart seized in his chest as if it knew the futility of continuing to beat. He glanced at Celeste, suddenly knowing he’d hitched a ride with the wrong girl—one who’d been contemplating suicide.

Celeste smiled.