The Book of Fate

35

Nico told himself not to ask about the maps. Don’t ask for them, don’t talk about them, don’t bring them up. But as he sat Indian-style in the cab of the flatbed truck… as the olive wood rosary beads swayed from the rearview mirror… he couldn’t help but notice the frayed edge of paper peeking out from the closed glove compartment. Like the crosses he saw in every passing telephone pole and lamppost that lined the darkness of the highway, some things were better left unsaid.

Focusing his attention through the front windshield, he watched as the highway’s bright yellow dividing lines were sucked one by one beneath the truck’s tires.

“You don’t have any maps, do you?” Nico asked.

In the driver’s seat next to him, Edmund Waylon, a rail-thin man hunched like a parenthesis, gripped the wide steering wheel with his palms facing upward. “Check the glove box,” Edmund said as he licked the salt of his sour cream and onion potato chips from the tips of his blond mustache.

Ignoring the scratch of Edmund’s fingernails against the black rubber steering wheel, Nico popped open the glove box. Inside was a pack of tissues, four uncapped pens, a mini-flashlight, and — tucked between a thick manual for the truck and an uneven stack of napkins from fast-food restaurants — a dog-eared map.

Twisting it around as it tumbled open like a damaged accordion, Nico saw the word Michigan printed in the legend box. “Any others?” he asked, clearly disappointed.

“Might be some more in the doghouse,” Edmund said, pointing to the plastic console between his seat and Nico’s. “So you were saying about your momma… she passed when you were little?”

“When I was ten.” Studying the truck’s swaying rosary to bury the image, Nico leaned left in his seat and ran his hand down past the cup holders, to the mesh netting attached to the back of the console. Feeling the tickle of paper, he pulled at least a dozen different maps from the netting.

“Man, losing your momma at ten… that’ll mess you up good. What about your daddy?” Edmund asked. “He passed too?”

“Everyone but my sister,” Nico replied, flipping through the stack of maps. North Carolina, Massachusetts, Maine… It’d been almost twelve hours since he last had his medication. He never felt better in his life.

“Can’t even imagine it,” Edmund said, eyes still on the road. “My daddy’s a sombitch — used to smack all of us… my sisters too… fist closed, knuckles right across the nose — but the day we have to put him in the ground… when a man loses his daddy, it cracks him in two.”

Nico didn’t bother to answer. Georgia, Louisiana, Tennessee, Indiana…

“Whatcha looking for anyway?” Edmund asked with a quick lick of his mustache.

Don’t tell him Washington, Nico insisted.

“Washington,” Nico said, shuffling the maps into a clean pile.

“Which — state or D.C.?”

Tell him state. If he hears otherwise… if he sees the proof of the Masons’ sin… and their nest… The last hour approaches. The Beast is already loosed — communicating, corrupting Wes.

“State,” Nico said as he reached around the console, tucking the maps back into the mesh netting. “Washington State.”

“Yeah, now you’re outta my range. I’m all Northeast corridor and east of Mississippi.” Covering his mustache with his palm and hooking his nose in the groove between his thumb and pointer finger, Edmund slid his hand down, unsuccessfully trying to contain a long-overdue yawn. “Sorry,” he apologized, violently shaking his head to stay awake.

Nico glanced at the football-shaped digital clock glued to the dashboard. It was almost two in the morning.

“Listen, if you still need one of them maps,” Edmund said, “right as we pass I-20 in Florence, there’s one of those Circle ’n Stations with the big magazine sections — they got maps, travel guides, I swear I might’ve even seen an atlas or two. If you want, we can make it our next stop.”

Nico asked the voices what they thought. They couldn’t be more excited.

“Edmund, you’re a fine Christian,” Nico said, staring out at a passing telephone pole. “Your rewards will be bountiful in the end.”