“Ready, love?” Lance asked, hoping to sever the bad thoughts his wife no doubt suffered when she stared too long at her own reflection. He succeeded. With a little gasp, she snapped out of the staring contest and briskly gathered her purse and coat.
“Ready to go,” she abruptly affirmed, hoping to negate any suspicions he might have as to her emotional well-being. And before he could say another word, she flew gracefully out of the room and down the corridor to the hallway at the front door.
The night was foul. Above them the clouds muffled the shouts of the weather titans and wrapped the electric streaks in a blue static charge. Rain poured down and turned their walkway into a brook. Sylvia skipped over the water as if it would keep her shoes dry at all, with Lance simply walking behind her to hold the large umbrella over her head. “Wait, Sylla, wait!” he hollered as she moved swiftly from under the cover of the brolly.
“Hurry, slow poke!” she teased and reached for the car door, but her husband would not be mocked for his slow stride. He pressed the immobilizer of their vehicle, locking all the doors before she could open it.
“No man who owns a remote control needs to rush,” he bragged with a laugh.
“Open the door!” she insisted, trying not to laugh with him. “My hair will be a mess,” she warned. “And they will think you are a negligent husband and therefore a bad doctor, see?”
The doors clicked open just as she was really starting to worry about her hair and make-up being ruined, and Sylvia jumped into the car with a cry of relief. Soon after, Lance got in and started the car.
“If we don’t leave now, we’ll really be late,” he remarked, peering through the windows at the dark and unrelenting clouds.
“We’ll make it way before, darling. It is only 8 p.m. now,” Sylvia said.
“Aye, but with this weather it’s going to be fucking slow going. I tell you, slooowww goin’. Not to mention the Glasgow traffic once we hit civilization.”
“True,” she sighed, flicking down the passenger seat mirror to fix her runny mascara. “Just don’t drive too fast. They’re not important enough to get us killed in a car accident or something.”
The reverse lights looked like beaming stars through the downpour as Lance maneuvered their BMW out of the small street and onto a main road to get them started on their two-hour journey to Glasgow’s elite cocktail party, hosted by the Scottish Premier Medical Society. Finally, after careful work during the car’s incessant turning and braking, Sylvia managed to correct her messy face and looked pretty once more.
Much as Lance did not want to take the A82 at the split of the two available routes, he simply could not afford the longer route, as it would make them late. He had to take the dreaded main road that lead past Paisley, where his wife had been kept by her abductors before she was moved to, of all places, their destination: Glasgow. It pained him, but he didn’t wish to bring it up. Sylvia had not been on this road since she’d been in the company of the evil people who’d made her believe that she’d never see her family again.
Maybe she’ll think nothing of it if I don’t explain why I took this route. Maybe she’ll understand, Lance thought to himself as they travelled towards the Trossachs National Park. But his hands were clutching the wheel so tightly that his fingers went numb.
“What is wrong, love?” she asked suddenly.
“Nothing,” he said casually. “Why?”
“You look tense. Are you worried that I would relive my trip with that bitch? It is the same road, after all,” Sylvia asked. She spoke so nonchalantly that Lance was almost relieved, but it was not supposed to be easy for her, and that left him concerned.
“To be frank, I was actually worried about that,” he confessed, stretching his fingers a bit.
“Well don’t, alright?” she said, rubbing his thigh to comfort him. “I’m fine. This road will always be here. I can’t avoid it for the rest of my life, you know? All I can do is tell myself that I’m driving it with you, and not with her.”
“So, now this road is not scary anymore?” he asked.
“Nope. Now it is just a road and I am with my hubby, not some psycho bitch. It’s a matter of directing fear at that which I have reason to fear,” she theorized dreamily. “I can’t be afraid of a road. The road did not hurt me or starve me or cuss me out, right?”
Amazed, Lance stared at his wife in admiration. “You know, Sylla, that’s a very cool way of looking at it. And it is beautifully logical.”
“Why thank you, Doctor,” she smiled. “God, my hair has a mind of its own. You left the doors locked for too long. I think the water spoiled my style.”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed light heartedly. “It was the water. Of course.”
She ignored his insinuation and drew down the little mirror again, desperate to get the coils back into the two locks of hair she’d left untied to frame her face. “Holy shi…!” she exclaimed irately and turned in her seat to look back. “Can you believe this idiot with his lights? I can’t see a bloody thing in the mirror.”
Lance glanced up at his rearview mirror. The piercing headlights of the car behind them illuminated his eyes and blinded him momentarily. “Good God! What is he driving? A lighthouse on wheels?”
“Slow down, love, let him pass,” she suggested.
“I’m already driving too slow to make the party on time, darling,” he argued. “I’m not going to let this asshole make us late. I’ll just give him some of his own medicine.”
Lance adjusted his mirror to reflect the trailing car’s beams directly back at it. “Just what the doctor ordered, tosser!” Lance sneered. The car slowed down after the driver clearly suffered a glare in the eyes and then stayed a safe distance behind.
“Probably Welsh,” Sylvia joked. “He probably didn’t realize his high beams were on.”
“Geez, how could he not notice those bloody lights searing the paint off my car?” Lance gasped, evoking a fit of laughter from his wife.
Aldlochlay had just released them as they travelled south in silence.
“I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised at the meager traffic tonight, even for a Thursday,” Lance remarked as they sped down the A82.
“Listen darling, could you slow down a bit?” Sylvia implored, directing her victim face at him. “I am getting scared.”
“It’s alright, love,” Lance smiled.
“No, really. The rain is coming down much harder here, and I think the lack of traffic at least affords us time to slow down, don’t you think?”.
Lance could not argue. She had a valid point. Being blinded by the car behind them would only exacerbate things on the wet road if Lance maintained his maniacal speed. He had to concede that Sylvia’s request was not unfounded. He slowed down considerably.
“Happy?” he asked her.
“Aye, thanks,” she smiled. “Much better on my nerves.”
“And your hair seems to have recovered too,” he laughed.
“Lance!” she shouted suddenly as her make-up mirror revealed the horror of the car on their tail speeding frantically forward. In a moment of clarity, she assumed the car hadn’t seen Lance apply the brakes and couldn’t reduce its speed in time on the soaking road.
“Jesus!” Lance grunted as he watched the lights grow larger, coming at them way too fast to avoid a collision. All they could do was brace themselves. Instinctively Lance put out his arm in front of his wife to bar her from the impact. Like a flash of dragged lightning, the piercing headlights behind them bolted to the side. The car behind them had swerved slightly, but connected with their right backlight, sending the BMW into a volatile spin upon the slippery tarmac.