Oedipus Wrecks

NYC Midnight 2009 Short Story Challenge

Heat 5

Genre: Horror

Subject: Bus Stop

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OEDIPUS WRECKS

Passengers aboard a Greyhound bus traveling from Edmonton to Winnipeg fled a gruesome scene on Wednesday night as a fellow passenger violently attacked and killed another man. Witnesses claim the aggressor stabbed the victim multiple times before severing his head then brandishing it through a window at the horrified onlookers. Authorities have not released the names of those involved, but confirm that a full investigation is underway.

- Portage La Prairie Gazette 

"Why did you do it, Lye?"

"What do you think, Dr. Mitchell?"

Silence in the room except for the whirring of a ceiling fan. Dr. Mitchell leaning back in a chair, his carefully parted blonde hair unmoved by the overhead breeze, his long torso erect. Jason Lye leaning his wide frame across the table, one hand drawing invisible patterns on the polished surface, the chains connecting his handcuffs scraping together.

"Why did you do it, Lye?"

click. click. click. The fan's cord bouncing erratically.

"Can I have another cigarette? It all started with a cigarette, you know."

Dr. Mitchell removing a cigarette, standing, walking, opening a window, walking sitting, waiting.

"It started with a cigarette," Lye repeats, gesturing with his unlit sixth digit. "A cigarette and a story."

Alyssa Hammond's first customer at the Greyhound ticket counter in North Battleford arrived on her third day of work. A second coat of pink lipstick recently reapplied, she straightened her back as a wide-shouldered man appeared in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, sir," she smiled, glancing at the oversized clock on the wall. "How can I help you?"

"I'm headed down to Winnipeg—when's the next bus coming through?"

"Winnipeg?" she chirped.

"Yes, ma'am."

Alyssa pulled out the schedule, touching the page with a fleshy finger.

"There's a bus coming through from Edmonton in an hour and…" She looked from the oversized clock to the timetable and back again. "It leaves at 3:43."

"An hour and twenty-seven minutes," he grinned, pulling out a money-clip.

Alyssa blushed. The man paid for the ticket and walked outside. He sat on a bench, the silhouette of his thick torso tattooed on the clouded glass.

At 4 o'clock a bus pulled into the parking lot. Alyssa watched the man's shadow recede through the window, catching a glimpse of his broad back as he boarded the bus. She absently removed a tube of lipstick from her purse and traced her layered lips with the stick of colored wax.

"OK Lye, so why did you do it?"

"Do you have a light, Mitch?"

Dr. Mitchell pushing an invisible hair from his brow, reaching into his pocket, handing over a lighter with a lanky limb. Jason Lye smiling, nodding his head, lighting the cigarette.

"A cigarette and a story?"

"Hmm?"

"You said it started with a cigarette and a story."

"I did?" Lye mocks, smoke bleeding from his mouth.

"Go on, then."

Samantha Benet fell asleep as soon as the bus left Edmonton. She hadn't slept the previous night, instead watching for the broken headlight of Cody's truck.

The seat cushions were tattered, worn from years of fidgeting fingers and accidental spills, but as the bus pulled away from the station, Samantha could only think of sleep. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried the right side of her face against the window, and closed her eyes.

There was a man in the seat beside her when she awoke. His head lolled from side to side in a precarious doze, thick arms folded across his wide chest. Samantha turned back to the window. Ribbed fields of grain, interspersed with cattle pastures and the occasional farmhouse. Flat grasslands stretched into the distance, swaying below a clear summer sky. An afternoon thunderstorm flirted with the horizon.

"You've got fifteen minutes to go stretch out, folks," the bus driver called down the rows of seats after pulling into a rest stop. "Please be back here by 5:45."

Samantha arched her back and reached into the bag at her feet for a pack of cigarettes.

"Can I bum one of those?" The man beside her asked, his voice still gruff from sleep.

"Sure," she said without turning to face him.

They stepped off the bus into the early evening sun. A few passengers walked over to a lone diner, ambling stiffly across the otherwise empty parking lot.

"You need a light too?"

"Please."

Samantha pulled out a blue lighter. She tested it once then handed it to the man with her knuckles. His hands dwarfed the tiny device.

"Thanks," he nodded and wiped his brow. "I didn't think it got so muggy up here."

Samantha shrugged, glancing at the man without turning to face him. "What do you expect for July?"

"Not much, I guess." He exhaled deeply. "You heading down to Winnipeg?"

"That's the plan."

"Vacation?"

"More like relocation."

The man bobbed his head as if he understood. He leaned his wide frame against a concrete wall, shifting his weight to one foot and bending the other. The drooping sun slanted onto his face, his skin glistened with perspiration. The man shielded his brow from the glare with one hand and looked back to Samantha.

"And that?" He asked, gesturing at her cheek with the cigarette.

Samantha reached up to her face, tenderly touching the rust colored bruise that stretched around her right eye. She looked at the man directly. His brow was creased and his eyes narrowed with concern.

"Haven't you ever heard of minding your own business?"

"Haven't you heard of the kindness of strangers?"

"Actually, no."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," he said, holding in a plume of smoke. "And I'm sorry about your old man," he added, exhaling slowly.

Samantha tossed her half-finished cigarette to the ground. "My boyfriend, actually."

Again, the man nodded as if he understood. "He's a bad man. Men are evil, you know."

"Oh really? How reassuring," she smirked. "So what does that make you? The devil?"

The man paused, considering the question. "No," he finally replied.

"No, what?" Samantha scoffed.

"I'm a guardian angel."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Whatever, man."

"What's the story then, Lye?"

Jason Lye resting his muscled arm across the table, flicking the filter of his cigarette, watching the spray of ash.

"Lye?"

"I'm getting there, doc. Don't worry."

Back on the bus, Samantha nestled into the window. She watched the man finish his cigarette and stretch out his legs. He was handsome—tall and thick, with a long, narrow nose and a mess of auburn hair. His posture held none of the assertiveness she so feared in Cody.

"Do you need another one, Lye?"

Jason Lye staring out the open window. The fan churning the humidity from outside. Dr. Mitchell waiting. Jason Lye's dark eyes searching, a question poised on his tongue.

"What do you want to ask, Lye?"

Silence.

"Did I ever tell you that my old man used to beat up my mom?"

"No, Jason, you haven't told me that." Dr. Mitchell says, leaning forward.

"Well he did. Used to beat the shit out of her when he was drunk—a standard story, I guess."

"It isn't uncommon, but that doesn't make it acceptable," Dr. Mitchell says soothingly. "Did you ever try to protect her, Jason? Confront him about it?"

Jason Lye smiling, nodding, looking up at the sky through the window. "Yes."

The man returned to the seat beside Samantha without a word, gently setting his large frame down.

"Are you hungry?" She asked conciliatorily, offering a package of pretzels from the bag at her feet.

"I am, actually. Thank you."

Samantha watched as he fished through the bag, selecting only the unbroken pieces. A smile flickered on her lips. "You sure are picky."

"My mother used to say that," he half-whispered.

The driver turned on the engine as a lone figure raced across the pavement toward the bus. Samantha's eyes swelled with panic as a man mounted the stairs.

"What's the matter?"

A man with a ponytail boarded the bus carrying a Styrofoam coffee cup. He did not look at Samantha as she slumped into the seat.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing…I just thought I recognized him," she sighed.

"Why did you do it, Lye?"

Two men walked up to the Greyhound ticket counter, as Alyssa was packing up to leave. She recognized the shorter of the two as Sheriff Tinley, but didn't know the lean, well-groomed man beside him.

"Evening, miss," the sheriff greeted her with a stiff nod. "Have you had anyone come through here today?"

"Just one—my first customer, actually."

"What did he look like?"

"Big guy. He was headed down to Winnipeg."

"When was that?"

"A few hours ago." Alyssa looked at the oversized clock. It read 8 o'clock. "He left at 3:43."

"How many stops does it make?" The unfamiliar man asked, brushing a lock of blonde hair from his brow.

"Oh gee, sir, I'm afraid I don't know, but they're supposed to arrive in the morning."

"When?"

"It's a fifteen, sixteen hour trip…so…" Alyssa glanced at the clock helplessly.

The two men looked at each other. "Best make sure there's a welcome committee when he arrives," Sheriff Tinley said. "There's a pay phone outside."

Without a word, the slim man walked out into the night. Alyssa stared after him, her hands suspended as if holding someone back. "What's happening, Sheriff? Who is that?"

"Some doctor for mental patients. One of his kooks broke out and he's been trying to hunt him down for days."

"There must be a mistake, then. The man who bought the ticket didn't look crazy to me—he was very polite actually."

"You can't always tell with people like that. Judging from the look on the doctor's face, you just described the man he's after."

"Are you sure he was crazy?"

Sheriff Tinley glanced around the empty room and leaned close to Alyssa. "Apparently he got institutionalized after he killed his own brother. Something about mistaking him with his father—can't tell one man from another or something."

"Last cigarette?"

"Last cigarette."

Samantha's eyelids flickered close as it grew dark outside. She didn't notice that the man beside her had gone to the back of the bus until a piercing scream filled the air. Samantha turned to see what had happened, but a rush of people suddenly stood from their seats and began pouring into the aisle.

"Pull over! Pull over!" Someone yelled. "He's got a knife!"

More screaming and scrambling. Samantha pushed forward as the bus stopped on the side of the freeway. Passengers grabbed at one another and the screaming continued—shrill and panicked.

Once outside, Samantha looked for her seat companion. Two men clamored to hold the folding door closed and an older woman passed out on the ground.

"What's happening?" Another woman pleaded. "Who has a knife?"

"I don't know!" Samantha responded, surveying the terrified crowd.

The driver had thrown his body against the folding door along with the two men. A teenage girl, not much younger than Samantha, looked around in helpless confusion. Another woman fanned her collapsed companion, screaming for help at no one in particular. A man held a crying boy in his arms.

"I don't know what happened! He was just sleeping and then that big guy came up with the knife. And the blood!"

"Who did? What man?" Demanded one of the men blockading the door.

"The big guy sitting up front. He just came and stabbed him, and…"

A muffled sound echoed from the bus, as if someone were beating a bag of flour with a baseball bat. No voices could be heard.

"What's happening?" The teenage girl asked. "Are we going to die?"

A broad figure slowly stood up in the back window, a misshapen lump in his hands. For a moment Samantha thought she saw Cody's lifeless face staring at her through the glass.

"You're safe now, mom," the man yelled through the glass, reaching toward Samantha.

"Why did you do it, Lye? What happened on that bus?"

Jason Lye touching his lips with a finger, closing his eyes. The fan pulsing through the damp air. In the distance, the dull rumble of a mid-summer thunderstorm.

"I killed my old man."