Elysium: Book Six of The Liminality

Chapter 8: Missing

This deep into Spring, twilight persisted. Karla needed a good walk, so she didn't bother to hitch a ride just yet. She followed the A82 along the north bank of the River Ness. It was mostly open fields and hedgerows.

The street lights were just beginning to flick on when she reached the beginning of the loch. She kept walking but listened for cars coming up behind her. Without even looking at them she thrust a thumb, feeling like a fisherman trawling for kindness. Her first catch was a portly fellow with shifty eyes.

"So where are you headed, darlin'?"

It was always a bad sign when a middle-aged man did not begin the inquiry with a scolding. Normally, she would get an earful about how a young girl like her should not be hitchhiking in the middle of the night out in the middle of nowhere. This fish was not a keeper.

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere you'd like."

His eyes wandered. His leer twisted.

"I'm afraid not. Thank you very much, though, for the offer."

"Don't go sticking out your thumb if you don't want a ride."

"I do. Just not with you."

He spat out his window.

"Suit yourself. Slut!"

He laughed and sped away. She sensed that he was not so much a serious threat as he was character-deficient. A ride with him would led to awkwardness and unpleasantries, but she had handled worse blokes. The night was young. She could afford to be selective.

The next few cars, passed her without stopping, but that was par for the course. The rusted lorry that came along next was quite familiar and this one indeed turned out to be a keeper.

It was driven by none other than Derek Cherrington, one of Mrs. Ambrose's neighbors, who ran an apple orchard up the valley. She indeed endured his gentle chiding the entire way to the village, but she didn't mind. That sort of noise was music compared to fending off the advances of some middle-aged pervert. It was not the first time he had driven her home.

"What are you thinking girl? Saturday's a pub night. There's tons of men and boys out and about not in their right minds."

"I can handle myself just fine. Thank you very much."

"Yes, but can you handle a carload of drunken fiends? You see it in the tabloids all the time. Women your age taken and dumped by the side of the road."

"I'm careful of who I ride with."

"You're assuming they'll give you a choice in the matter. You have to realize how vulnerable you are."

"I can run pretty fast and fight pretty mean."

"Why bother? Just have Mary give me a call next time you need a ride back. I'm in town most evenings and even when I'm not, I'd be glad to go out and fetch you."

"Thank you Mr. Cherrington, but I hardly ever go into town these days. Tonight was just a fluke. I'm usually just doing errands with Mrs. A. and coming right back with her."

"With her boyfriend. But his brother has a car, so no worries."

Mr. Cherrington pulled all of the way into the long drive and dropped her off right by the front door, keeping his headlights on her until she was safely inside. Karla waved and mouthed a thank you before she closed the door.

She found Mrs. Ambrose sitting in the den, crocheting a sweater, reading glasses perched down her nose. Her eyebrows rose as Karla entered.

"You by yourself? Where's Isobel?"