The Parked Car

"Someone needs to get out and push," I sigh, revving the engine again.

"Fuck that. It's cold as hell," Rick argues, zipping up his coat for emphasis.

"Be a man for once in your life, Rick," Em says, kicking the back of his seat.

"That's rich coming from the self-proclaimed feminist! Why don't you get out and push?"

"Because I'm holding the cake."

Every year, for Mom's sake, we pick up her favorite chocolate whip cake from the deli. This year, they added a little string of fondant Christmas lights spiraling around the border.

Christmas is Mom's most anticipated event of the year, and she expects her children to arrive promptly with cake in hand. Our distant family members will be arriving soon, ready to praise Mom on her immaculate decorations and fresh pine trees. She'll kill us if we're late again, and we've already disappointed her enough as it is.

Rick's always had a problem being punctual, and Emily just likes to make things difficult for our conservative mother. Last year they were both late, leaving me alone to take mother's bagering. That's why I offered to drive everyone to Mom's country estate.

"Why doesn't Miss Perfect get out and push?" Em suggests.

"Because this is my car."

I can't see her eyes in the dark, but I know they're rolling back.

"Fine, whatever," she says, handing the cake up to Rick. "I need a cigarette break anyway."

She gets out of the car and lights up. We can see the red burn at the tip of the stick, which leaves her face orange.

Rick opens his door and leans out. "Don't smoke near the car!"

Emily flips him off but walks down the road a ways, the light growing paler with each step.

"You really should try to be nicer to her, Rick. She's still just a teenager," I say, jabbing his side. "Besides, you were way worse at her age."

He chuckles and leans back in his seat. "Remember when Mom caught me kissing Mike Prestin? She went so pale, I thought she was choking."

Our poor mother. She thought being gay meant a one-way ticket to Hell. Good thing we never took her seriously, or else all three of her children would be condemned.

I laugh and look in the rear-view mirror. I cannot spot the red glow of Emily's cigarette. I scan the surrounding trees and spot movement a long way down the road.

"Where is she going?"

I squint. There's a sharp fluttering in my heart. I put my hand on the door handle, but before I can open it, there is a hard pounding on the window. I jump and Em laughs.

"Man, you should have seen your faces!"

I put my hand over my chest, then I tell her to start pushing. This time I can see her eyes clearly as they roll.

She goes to the bumper and is able to push the car slowly, inch by inch down the pavement. I try the ignition again. It barks but doesn't roar to life.

"You assholes are heavy!" Em yells.

I look back in the rear-view mirror. Emily's head is down as she uses her whole body to move the car. From over the top of her head, I see a hint of movement from down the road.

"I wonder what Mike is up to these days," Rick says with a dramatic sigh.

"I wonder what his sister is up to."

Rick crinkles the plastic of the cake cover as he laughs.

Sneaking around behind Mom's back was about the only thing that kept us sane back in the day. Well, I guess I'm still sneaking around. Rick and Emily are both out and semi-proud, much to Mom's horror.

She considers me her ally. Mom is always whining about how I'm the only one of her children she can really trust. Her golden child. I don't know how I'm ever going to tell her. Wait. When did the car stop moving?

I look back and see nothing but the haze of black. Emily has wandered off again.

"Where did she go?" I whisper to Rick. My hands tremble over the door handle.

"Probably another cigarette break?" He says quietly, scanning the road. "I'll go out and check. Here."

He hands me the cake, and the plastic screeches as I settle it onto my lap.

"Yo, Em! Where are you!" He calls. From the mirror, I can catch a glimpse of the movement, like a ghost or a heavy gust of wind, flickering on the dark road.

Rick begins walking toward it, but he hesitates. I can barely see the outline of his body. But I can tell he is shivering.

He walks back to the car, but he keeps his head turned back.

"Do you have a flashlight or anything?" he asks.

"No..."

"How can you not have a flashlight?"

"I don't know, I just don't, okay."

"Jesus Christ, you're supposed to have an emergency kit, everyone knows that!"

"Stop yelling at me! You don't see Em at all? Where the hell is she?"

"Now you're yelling!"

There's a trembling of wind that pushes through the trees. Rick swears under his breath and clutches at the collar of his jacket.

"She wouldn't have gone far. I mean, her vampire aesthetic aside, I don't think she'd actually want to venture far out into the dark."

Rick jumps up and down, psyching himself up. He shuts the car door and storms off toward the movement down the road. The cake bounces on my lap as I watch him disappear into the dark.

I lean my head back and try to focus on the sound of his boots. I can hear them faintly clicking at the heel as it touches the pavement. The clicks soon grow soft and are replaced by the press of wind against the car.

I breathe in, but cannot hold my breath for long. I count to ten. Then to twenty. Then, I hear nothing at all, not the wind, the plastic creaking, or the constant echo of my mother's criticisms that, before now, always rang in the back of my mind.

I throw the cake into the passenger seat, and the frosting smudges against the container. Then I step out into the cold. The wind has vanished, but I still put my coat under my chin, like a child tucking herself under her blanket.

I take a few steps down the road and stop.

"Em?"

I take another step and strain to listen as the invasive humming of silence settles into my ears.

"Rick?"

The movement stirs before me. The fog ahead cuts into the dark.

Then, a voice. Something sweet and lingering interrupts the hum. I step closer and lift my hand to the gray. My fingers are warmed, as if by a gentle fire.

All at once, I forget the sound of my mother's voice. I cannot even recall what language she used to cut her children apart.

The heat grows.

I take another step, wanting nothing more than to be swaddled by this warmth.

My foot makes contact with something I cannot see.

I lean down and find a pile of soot, bone, and the metal heels of my brother.

I turn to run, but my skin erupts.

A hot, molten black envelops my body. My skin peels from the muscle.

I scream, but not a sound emerges from my melting lungs.

I crumple to the pavement.

The black returns.