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Fiction Short Story

by Michael Graves

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Salvation

The night that William Branson drove home from a call in Indianapolis, the last thing on his mind was picking up chicks. Or hitchhikers. He had a longstanding rule about hitchhikers. They stayed on the road, and he stayed in his car.

Getting off to late starts seemed to be a rule of thumb lately, and that day had been no exception. With over a hundred miles to go before Cleveland, he drove right into the teeth of a midsummer thunderstorm. The wipers could barely keep up. Peering through the fogged windows, the white lines were but a faint glimmer to Bill’s burning eyes. He decided he’d give it a couple more miles, and if it didn’t ease up a bit, he’d find a diner and grab some hot coffee, a slice of apple pie and wait it out.

When he saw the figure standing by the side of the road, thumb extended in the traditional appeal for a ride, his first impulse was to drive on by. Then, an image of another couple he once saw huddled in the rain flashed into his mind. He’d driven off without helping those people, and he still felt guilty whenever he thought of those two.

"Ah, hell!" he said aloud to the image of the hitchhiker in his rearview mirror. He pulled over and backed up. "This is going to mess up my upholstery something fierce!"

The stranded traveler scampered up to the passenger door and jumped in.

"Thanks for stopping," she said, pulling back the hood of her poncho. Shit, he thought. It’s a she. Worse yet, it was a she that looked like she was several months short of reaching her fifteenth birthday. Even with her dripping black hair plastered to her face, Bill could see that the girl was incredibly beautiful. This kind of hitchhiker could get a guy in trouble whether he did anything or not.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

"Anywhere but here."

"I know this isn’t any of my business," Bill continued. "But you wouldn’t be running away from home, would you?"

"You’re right. It’s none of your business."

Bill shut up and drove, immediately scanning for the next exit where he could pull over and let her off. He hated being a bastard, but there was no way in hell he’d chance having this little girl cry rape and take him for everything he had.

His expression must have given him away, because the next thing the girl said was, "Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I appreciate the ride and all, but I just don’t want to have to tell my life story in order to get it." A few more uncomfortable moments passed and she said, "And don’t worry. I’m not going to go telling everybody that you raped me or anything like that."

Great. Not only was she jailbait, she was a mind reader, too.

"Unless you do," she said timidly. "You wouldn’t do something like that, would you? I mean, you’re not a…a…" She let the thought trail off.

"No!" he snapped. "I’m not a rapist or a child molester or a murderer. I thought I was being a nice guy by giving you a ride."

"I’m sorry," she said. "I’ll shut up."

The rain didn’t let up at all. If anything, it got even worse. Bill watched for signs of the next exit that would have a gas station and diner.

***

When Melinda Jacobs first saw the car pull over for her, her immediate reaction was intense relief. Finally, someone cared! That reaction was followed almost instantly by fear. What if this guy turned out to be worse than the one who dumped her off in this miserable place? Her last benefactor had only gone about a mile down the road before he pulled over to the side beneath an overpass and start pawing at her. He’d almost gotten her blouse off before she managed to get the car door open and yank herself out of his grasp. She ran off, and for a minute it looked like he was going to try and chase her down. Apparently he decided she wasn’t worth the effort. He’d driven off, leaving her behind.

That was before the storm hit. In three hours, not one car had looked like the driver even thought about stopping for her. Then the winds picked up. Behind the wind came the first cascade of rain, and before she could get her poncho out of her pack and over her shoulders, she was drenched. The rain pelted her so hard the drops actually stung the skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the man who’d picked her up. For an old guy, he wasn’t bad-looking. He was probably in his fifties, but he seemed to be pretty fit. The expensive suit he was wearing fit him perfectly. Along with the silver hair at his temples, he presented a very elegant and sophisticated presence.

Mentally, she kicked herself for reacting to him the way she did. She shouldn’t have gotten so defensive when he asked her if she was running away. Especially since that’s exactly what she was doing. But what the hell would he know about a step-dad who thought that by marrying her mom, he got two lays for the price of one? What would he know about an around-the-world being part of the price of a new pair of shoes?

He was going to drop her off at the next exit. She could tell by the intense way that he studied each freeway sign they passed. In a way, it was kind of hard to blame him. It wasn’t like she’d gotten off to the most wonderful start.

She supposed she should be grateful for the few extra miles he’d put between her and the pervert her mother had married. What was really scary was that her poor mom thought the world of that jackass. If ignorance were really bliss, then Mom had to be the happiest woman in the world. She was completely oblivious to everything that was going on around her.

***

Finally, a billboard advertised that there was a Flying-J Truck Stop at the next exit. In two more miles, Bill could wrap his hands around a hot mug of coffee and wait out the storm. He was still trying to decide what to do about the girl. She seemed to be a nice enough kid. But if it turned out she was under sixteen, her parents could have him up on half a dozen different charges before he had time to pay the check. He pulled in to a stop in front of the restaurant and turned off the engine.

"I guess this is where I get off," she said. "Right?"

A dozen conflicting thoughts cascaded though Bill’s head in an instant. He couldn’t just turn her out into the night like that. If this were his daughter sitting across from a total stranger, he would want to know that she was sitting across from a stranger who would not hurt her in any way. Turning her out into the night on a night like this, God alone knew how many miles from home, would hurt her.

"When’s the last time you had anything to eat?" he asked.

"I’m fine," she replied sullenly.

"I don’t recall asking how you were. You look fine. I asked when you last ate."

"Yesterday."

"Come on in with me and I’ll buy you some dinner."

"Look!" she snapped. "I don’t want your charity, and I don’t want your fucking pity! All I wanted was a ride, and you gave me that. I’ll be on my way now."

"That isn’t necessary," he said. He couldn’t help but notice that she looked him right in the eye when she talked to him. That was rare in anyone. It certainly wasn’t the type of behavior he expected out of a young girl on the run. More than ever, he was convinced that she was a girl in trouble.

"Maybe I’m not offering you charity. Maybe I just don’t like eating alone and would like some company."

"Bullshit."

"Okay, damn it. I feel sorry for you. Just looking at you is enough to make me want to cry. Is that what you wanted to hear? You feel better now?" He stared at her, and she locked right back onto his gaze. "Now please join me for some dinner. It’s my treat."

Her face plainly gave away how desperately she wanted to take him up on his offer. So what was stopping her? Was it pride? Was she afraid of him? Bill would have bet money it was a little bit of both.

"One of these days, you’ll be in a position to pass the favor on to someone else, and we’ll be even. How’s that sound?"

She glanced over at the restaurant, taking in the people on the other side of the windows, hazy from the falling rain and water rippling down the glass. He could see her caving in.

"How’s a steak sound?"

"Awful. I’m a vegetarian."

That figured.

"Well, then you’ll be happy to know that the Flying-J has one of the nicest salad bars you’ve ever seen. Now come on. What do you say?"

He had her. She opened the car door and looked at him expectantly. For only the briefest of moments, he imagined that he saw a smile flicker on the edges of her mouth. He smiled back and got out of the car. Inside the entranceway to the restaurant, Bill shed his jacket, shaking off as much of the rain as possible. The girl tugged the poncho up over her head, and in doing so, her shirt pulled up a little too far. Bill got himself a free shot of young beauty. He felt himself flushing as he turned his head away. She had the kind of body a guy would have to see to believe and an impressive amount of it had just revealed itself to Bill. It was like being kicked in the groin.

The waiter who served them reminded Bill of a comedian he used to like. For some reason, he couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but the waiter was almost as funny.

"What’d you guys do?" he asked in amazement. "Drive up here in a goldfish bowl?"

"Isn’t it great?" Bill answered. "And this is just from sprinting from the car to the front door." A shiver washed over his entire body.

"I’ll bet you’d just love a cup of nice hot coffee, wouldn’t you?"

"You bet!"

"How about you, Miss? Your dad here let you drink coffee, or would like something else? Hot chocolate, maybe?"

"He’s not my dad," the girl answered. Bill could swear he could see chips of ice follow the words out of her mouth. He definitely did see the lightning bolts that flashed from her eyes. "And I would love a cup of coffee. Black. No sugar."

"Okay," said the waiter. He pantomimed a zipping motion across his lips. "Dennis is now shutting up. I’ll be right back with your drinks. You nice people just look over the menu, and I’ll take your order when I get back."

"I just want the salad bar," the girl said.

"Okay. The plates are over there. Just help yourself."

Dennis came back with two steaming mugs while the girl filled her plate. Bill ordered his usual steak dinner and asked for a large orange juice on the side. She brought back a heaping plate of salad and a bowl of soup.

He waited until she was settled before he spoke. "So is it all right if I ask you your name? Or am I being too personal?"

"Sally," she said. And stuffed a forkful of lettuce and ranch dressing into her mouth. She glanced away from his gaze, and this time, he knew she was lying.

"Bill Branson," he replied. He didn’t offer to shake her hand the way he usually did when meeting someone for the first time.

"So," he continued slowly. "I’m going to go out on a really thin limb here and offer my two cents worth. You can take it or leave it. But please don’t get angry and walk away, okay?" She just glared at him over the fork poised at her mouth.

And all he could think was, she’s so damned beautiful! It was only a small measure of relief that he felt like a dirty old man for thinking it.

"You ran away from home because things weren’t going the way you’d like at home. Somehow, you figured that on the other end of the freeway, there’d be this magical place where your problems would all go away." He stopped and took a sip of his coffee.

"One problem," he said, "is that there isn’t an other end to the freeway. The road just keeps on going and going and going. The other problem is that most of your problems are inside. Where you go, they go."

"There’s one problem that better not follow me wherever I go. Not if it wants to keep breathing, anyway." Bill didn’t exactly like the sinister tone that colored her voice at that moment.

"They say it’s easier to tell your secrets to a perfect stranger. Somebody who doesn’t know you is far less likely to pass judgment on you." There had been a couple of times in Bill’s life he’d found that to be true. "You want to give it a try?"

"I want to eat my salad."

Bill got a momentary reprieve when Dennis brought his steak dinner and the juice. "Here you go," said the waiter. "One squallin’ calf, just like you asked. Can I get you folks anything else?" Both Bill and the girl shook their heads, and Dennis walked away. Bill scooted the orange juice over to her side of the table.

"Figured as long as you were standing out in that downpour, it’d probably be a good idea to get some vitamin C down you."

She looked from the juice to Bill, and her eyes had taken back the open and unguarded expression they’d had earlier. Add to the mix a touch of gratitude. In one long series of swigs, she downed the entire glass.

"Whoa!" said Bill. "I guess we were thirsty. Want another?" She just shook her head.

He gave it another shot. "I know you think I’m being a nosy old bastard here," he said. "But I’m scared to death something’s going to happen to you out there. Do you have any idea where you’re going? What you’ll do when you get there? I realize things might have been bad at home, but were they bad enough to risk dying to leave behind?"

Tears flowed like a mountain spring. She didn’t sob and her shoulders didn’t shake. In fact, she didn’t make a sound. Two glistening streaks, one highlighting each cheek, were the only indication that she was crying. She began to talk.

***

Melinda had no idea why she was giving her secrets away to a stranger.

But before she knew it, she told him everything. The man sat silently while she talked about a father who she had loved so much it hurt. The stranger’s expression didn’t waver when she told him about the funeral after a sixteen-wheeler had crushed her dad's car so badly that his body had to be cut out. He listened in silence as she described what it was like seeing her father lowered into the ground in a coffin that had remained sealed throughout the visiting hours and funeral.

Then she told him all about the man her mother had chosen to take her dead father’s place. Nobody would ever suspect him of being abusive, because he never yelled and he never hit her. He merely used her as his personal sexual toilet and threatened to kill her if she opened her mouth to anyone. Except to him, of course, and then he didn’t want her talking.

And no, she concluded, she didn’t know where she was going or what she would do when she got there. Not once during her tirade did he interrupt. When she was done, he took a bite of his steak and chewed thoughtfully. He washed it down with the last swig of coffee in his cup.

"What we need to do here," he said, "is get you back home where you belong. And get that son of a bitch locked up in jail where he belongs. And if you’re willing, I might just know how you could go about doing just that."

They finished their meal in silence. After all, what was he supposed to say to her after hearing a story like that? And how did she follow up an act like that? Still, Melinda caught him looking at her once in a while. There seemed to be a strange look in his eye. At first, she thought it was sadness. Then she thought about a boy back at school. His name was Tommy and he’d had the biggest crush on her. Followed her around like a little puppy. And she’d seen that look in his eye. Suddenly, she knew how she could repay his kindness.

***

"That rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up any time soon," she said. "I don’t think you should be driving in weather like that."

"What I should be doing and what I’ve got to do are all too frequently two different things. First thing I think we should do is to get you some help."

"And just what do you have in mind?"

"Every city I know has a Women’s Crisis Center of some sort where people in your situation can go until they get things straightened out. We need to get you settled in with one of those, and let your mother know where you’re at. But there’s one thing I want to ask you, and you need to tell me the truth."

"What’s that?"

"Are you willing to file charges against this asshole? And before you answer that, I want you to keep in mind that they’re going to drag every one of your worst memories out into the open and parade them around for everyone to see. The first thing his lawyers are going to do is to try and paint you as a conniving little liar. They’ll try to make you out as the criminal. Their story will be that you’re only out to get him because you’re jealous that he took your father’s place. If that fails, they’ll try to make you look like a seductress. You started it all and he only went along with it for fun."

Her expression flicked back and forth between terror and rage.

"But if you let him get away with it—if he walks away from here like nothing ever happened—you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life. From the sounds of things, this guy didn’t marry your mother because he liked her. He married her to get to you. Once you’re gone, he’ll dump her and move on to the next desperate middle-aged woman with a hot babe for a daughter. You see what I’m saying here?"

He could see that she did.

"I need to think about this for a while," she said. "I’m scared. I don’t know what to do."

"That’s very understandable," he replied. "You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. But I don’t really think time is a commodity you have to spare right now."

***

Everything the man said made perfect sense to Melinda. She understood that letting her stepfather get away with what he’d been doing was a bad thing, but she just wasn’t ready to deal with it so late at night. She wanted sleep, and she wanted to sleep in a warm, dry place. The last two nights had been spent shivering under a bridge or tucked into a doorway of a closed business. She was willing to do whatever it took to be warm tonight.

Whatever it took.

And besides, she owed Bill a big favor anyway.

"Can I tell you in the morning?" she asked timidly. "They’ve got a really nice motel here and maybe the storm will be over by morning. I promise you’ll sleep very well tonight."

For the first time in several days, Melinda almost laughed. Watching Bill’s face was enough to crack anyone up. First he looked blank. He actually didn’t realize what she was suggesting. Then the most exquisite look of shock she’d ever seen crossed his face.

The poor guy turned beet red. Never had she seen a guy get embarrassed when a girl came onto him. Any of the guys she knew would have been so turned on they would have climbed over the table to get at her.

His final expression was the one she would always remember. Pure sorrow.

That was the one expression she didn’t understand.

***

Melinda had gauged Bill’s thoughts pretty accurately. At first it hadn’t occurred to him what she was getting at. It had been many years since he’d considered himself to be a prime catch for a woman. In fact, if he was completely truthful with himself, he’d never had those illusions about himself. He’d been lucky to find his first wife, Emily. After she’d left, there’d never been another. When her message did finally make its way through his thick skull and into his brain where he could muddle through its meaning, he was indeed shocked. This girl would have been young enough to be the youngest of his six kids, had he ever had any.

But it wasn’t her he was shocked at. He was shocked at himself. He hated himself because he wanted to take her up on her offer. How did that old saying go? She offered her honor. He honored her offer. And all that night it was honor and offer. She was absolutely beautiful. And her body was something to die for. She was incredibly desirable. Most importantly, she was easily available.

All he had to do was nod his head and go pay for the room. That night would be one he would always remember. Once again he could feel the sensation of soft and tender young flesh beneath the fingertips. He could experience firsthand how sweet, firm nipples tasted to the lips. He wanted her so badly, it hurt.

It would be a night he would remember, all right. A night of infamy and shame. The sex would be wonderful for him and awful for her. The part he would never forget would be the night he committed statutory rape with a girl he didn’t even know—a little girl who trusted him. The flush was the result of his acute embarrassment.

No matter how badly he wanted to say yes, to do so would be moral suicide. He had no choice but to decline her amazing offer. In doing so, he figured he was going to hurt her feelings. That could have been his daughter sitting across from him. And he knew how he would feel if the man his daughter was talking to on a night like this took her hand and led her off to the motel.

***

The kindly looking man in the expensive suit stood up, pulled a twenty and a ten out of his wallet and threw them on the table. She knew the meal couldn’t have cost more than twenty bucks. He reached over and took her by the hand.

He smiled.

She stood, and the two of them sprinted through the rain to the motel. The girl trembled a little as the man filled out the forms. The man behind the counter gave Bill two keys. Why were there two of them, she wondered? They only needed one room!

He turned and handed her one.

"You’ll be in room 237," he said. "I’ll be right next door if you need anything. Anything except that!" She knew exactly what he meant.

"You don’t need to sleep with me to get me to help you," he said. "From the sounds of things, you’ve had more than your share of dirty old men running their hands over you. I don’t want my image popping into your head every time you think of them."

They both slept well that night. The next morning a state policeman came at their bidding and took notes while he listened to her story. Since she lived in the next state over, it was going to take a little coordinating between jurisdictions. But since she was willing to press charges and testify against her stepfather, the trooper assured her that he would be in custody before she arrived back home. There was a battered women’s center where she could stay until things were straightened out. A female office escorted Melinda to a squad car and that was the last Bill saw of her. The trooper turned to him.

"That was a hell of a thing you did there, Mister Branson. Not too many guys would have taken care of her like that."

"I guess that’s why I had to make sure I was the last guy she met on her little journey," Bill answered. "I didn’t figure the next one would."

"You’re a good man, you know that?"

"Yeah, well. If you knew me better, you probably wouldn’t say that. Most of my friends will tell you I’m a vicious son of a bitch."

"Somehow I find that impossible to believe."

Bill got in his car and was twenty miles down the road before he realized he hadn’t called his office to let them know that he was going to be very late.

Copyright © 2004 Michael Graves

About the Author
Michael Graves is the author of a series of books designed to help people become computer hardware and network technicians. His latest, The Complete Guide to Networking and Network+, has been adopted for use by a number of high schools and colleges as a textbook. When not writing, Mr. Graves is either making photos with his 90-year-old 5x7 view camera, untangling his fly line from the trees overhead or watching baseball with his son, Christopher. The Hitchhiker's Guide to Salvation is his first published fiction.