Michael Newton

The city swallows stars.
At sundown, when the neon comes alive, it washes out the sky in shades of orange, like the reflections from a distant forest fire.
The highways teem with headlights, flowing like a swarm of white-hot embers from the larger conflagration, blown along by winds that hum with horse power.
The moon is visible above, of course, but otherwise a man can stand downtown all night, eyes on the sky and see…precisely nothing.
Only when you leave the city lights behind you do the heavens come alive.
The desert has a velvet darkness all its own, where ancient predatorsand prey enact a timeless drama every night, between the hours of dusk and dawn.
Coyotes serenade the moon, out there, but otherwise the desert dwellers give no thought to the unearthly light show overhead.
It takes a human eye and mind to pick out Ursa Major, Scorpio, the Lion-to appreciate the Milky Way.
The driver of the old black Dodge cares nothing for the stars tonight.
His mind is on the four-lane blacktop bleached by headlights and the woman seated next to him.
The woman most of all, in fact.
He is peculiarly aware of her-her scent, her silence, and her body language.
Huddled up against the door, almost beyond his reach, it would be no great trick for her to fling it open and spill out into the rushing darkness on the shoulder of the road.
But she will not do that.
He knows her secrets, knows the woman better than she knows herself.
She knows his secrets, too.
It is a problem he must deal with soon.
The Dodge rolls south along the Freeway, cloching off a steadt sixty-five.
He watches the speedometer and rearview mirror, careful now to speed thus invite a traffic stop.
The woman might the break her silence if confronted with a badge and uniform, but he cannot afford to take that chance.
He has already raped her twice, the recent memory enough to stir him now, when he should have his mind on other things.
Considering his record, tha means hard time if it goes to trial.
he harbors no illusions about prison and has no intention of returning toa  cage.
he would prefer to die, but there is no good reason it should come to that.
Not if he plays his cards right by covering his tracks.
Of course, the woman has to die.
It troubles him, but there is no other alternative.
Her promises of silence if he lets her for are pitiful, transparent lies.
He doesn’t blame her for it given the circumstances.
He has lied to her as well, from the beginning-and most recently, with his assurance that he means to let her live.
She clings to the false promise, praying that he keeps his word.
false hope, as much as any fear of broken bones, prevents her leaping from the car.

By: Michael Newton