cer
Erick Poladov
© Erick Poladov, 2023
ISBN 978-5-0060-9882-4
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
NOTE
The values of all quantities, including speed and distance, are reflected in the metric system, since this novel is intended for a wide range of readers, most of whom live in countries that use the metric system of measures.
PROLOGUE
In the absolute darkness of the night a roar of the engine increased, driving the speedometer needle as far as possible from zero. The Dodge Challenger was cutting through the air at a speed of two hundred thirty-five kilometers per hour. In black, its body was lost on the road. The headlights emitted an unnatural reddish glow. They didn’t light the road. The headlights were intended for something else. These were the eyes of the Racer, whose hands, hidden under black leather gloves, tightly grasped the steering wheel. He had infernal control in his power, capable of turning Dodge into a beast chasing souls. This beast flew quickly, and there was no car that could hide from it.
It was a hot summer in two thousand and one. The night gave a faint breath of coolness. But that night the Racer intended to lower the temperature to the point at which the blood stops circulating, and before that it accelerates throughout the body after the heart begins to work at its limit. Soon the whole of Heartstone will feel this temperature, and the sultry heat will no longer seem so exhausting. A provincial town two hundred kilometers northwest of Austin received a stranger driving around the streets under the dim light of street lamps.
After finishing her shift, Vivienne Ham, a twenty-nine-year-old waitress at a local restaurant, walked along the sidewalk towards the intersection. She folded her hands in front of her and cringed slightly, rubbing her shoulders. The sharply colder air added to the accumulated fatigue. She wanted to get home as soon as possible and wrap herself in a warm blanket. She had already approached the zebra crossing and began to cross to the other side, but after taking a few steps, Vivienne froze right between the stripes in the middle of the road and cast a gaze to her left. On the other side of the intersection the light was red, and under the traffic light there was a black car with scarlet headlights. Vivienne understood that there was nothing strange in the fact that at such a late time someone was still moving along the streets of Heartstone. But this car caused her internal discomfort. She could hear the faint rumble of an engine. At the traffic lights, yellow was added to red, and a second later they went out and green turned on. Immediately the rumble of the engine became louder and the Dodge started moving. Vivienne reflexively grabbed the straps of her purse hanging over her shoulder with both hands, letting out an intermittent scream. The girl’s eyelids opened wider than ever, making it seem as if her eyeballs were about to crawl out of their sockets. The Dodge turned left, quickly disappearing from sight. Vivienne’s ears heard the fading sound of a car moving away and the sounds of her own breathing, which became faster along with her heart beating against her ribs.
Unlike Vivienne Ham, twenty-four-year-old Conchita Sugarman was in no hurry to go home. The working day had long ended, but she was in no hurry to close the pharmacy. She was waiting for her boyfriend to arrive and be free. There were parents, grandmother and younger sister at home. Here no one bothered her. Conchita has already prepared the best contraceptives available, which would not spoil the thrill of sensations, but at the same time would give peace of mind in the face of the fear of receiving a surprise greater than any jackpot. She stood on the street not far from the entrance, finishing her cigarette and looking around the night street. Suddenly the roar of a running engine began to be heard from somewhere. Conchita knew this driving style, which boiled down to not giving a damn about medians, traffic lights and speed limits. Yes, it was Freddie Rogers. He was only two years older, but in terms of mental maturity he was much inferior to Conchita, and she was aware of this, although she did not expect much from this relationship. As a pharmacist, she understood one thing: there is an organism that requires the exchange of fluids and this need must be satisfied. Freddie was a more than tolerable option for a relationship without the commitment of marriage. Conchita did not count on a bright future with him. Before him, she already had two, and each time it was an affair with no plans for the future. Freddie parked in front of the pharmacy, performing a spectacular drift, which he thought added to the coolness. Conchita was not impressed by such show-offs. Her only reaction to the drift of the green ’78 Mustang was that she hurried to close the front door, since she had just washed the floor. The cloud of dust rose so strong and thick that Conchita did not even notice how Freddie smacked the air, directing his lips in her direction.
– Come on quickly, before the family starts calling – Conchita urged, putting out the cigarette under the sole of her sandal.
– I’m already running, my peach.
Peach, strawberry, baby, cherry, candy, sweetie. Freddie used these words so often that Conchita thought several times that Freddie had simply forgotten her name.
Conchita closed the door from the inside, after which they attacked each other. Freddie’s lips pressed to Conchita’s neck, and Conchita’s eyes to the window. She looked somewhere into emptiness, into the unknown, because her thoughts were occupied by Freddy’s touch. But then her eyes took in something specific. She thought that someone had come for some medicine and decided to stay on task. Conchita was sure that he would stand a little longer and turn back. But the Dodge continued to park in the parking lot right next to the Mustang. The scarlet headlights began to stress Conchita and she began to push Freddie away with her hands.
– Wait.
– What’s the matter?
Conchita nodded towards the window.
– Some kind of pervert? – she asked with some trembling in her voice, without taking her eyes off the scarlet glow of the headlights.
– Wait here – Freddie said and headed towards the door. He turned the lock twice and went out into the street, but after a couple of steps he froze when an incredibly loud roar was heard from under the hood of the Dodge. The car started moving and drove away. Freddie stood for some time, following the dwindling taillights of the Dodge with his eyes.
Conchita was still not against continuing, but Freddie was no longer able to finish what he started, no matter how hard he tried, and he responded to Conchita’s offer about Viagra with a decisive refusal.
Forty-seven-year-old construction worker Elmo Fisher, who led a crew of five, stayed late on site to calculate the amount of paint for each room after they adjusted the layout at the owner’s request. He had eaten one hot dog and drunk one cup of coffee all day, so Elmo looked fucked. He was not interested in anything other than dinner and a soft bed so he could pass out until tomorrow morning. Even behind the wheel of his working van, worn over the years, Elmo doubted that his eyes would not close until he got home. His eyelids seemed to be tied to steel weights. After some thought, he got out and knelt down in front of the open door to do as many push-ups as he could manage, then returned to the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
Elmo started off with a strong feeling that he needed to press on the gas until the drowsiness subsided. Ten minutes should have been enough for him to get home, and there he could leave the car outside the garage, just to quickly have dinner and go to bed.
But before Elmo had time to drive onto the asphalt, a car rushed along the road. He immediately hurried to the stranger, who, half a kilometer later, stopped at a red traffic light. Elmo drove a little forward to make sure once again that he wasn’t imagining things. The stranger actually had his headlights off. He got out of the van, walked up to the Dodge and knocked on the heavily tinted window. The glass didn’t go down. Then Elmo stood in front of the bumper opposite the windshield, gestured to the headlights and shouted a little louder:
– Moron, turn on the headlights!
Then the headlights came on, but the light was like red spotlights. The traffic light turned green and the Dodge began to drive. Elmo stepped aside, following the unfamiliar car with his eyes. The driver’s seat window