The Last Ride by Carl Alves

This is my story The Last Ride, which first appeared in Demon Minds magazine.

THE LAST RIDE

By Carl Alves

“So where ya heading, partner?” Tim Meade asked from the driver’s side of his worn Dodge Durango.
“North,” the hitchhiker replied.
Tim had picked him up a mile down the road. “Don’t say much do you?”
“Not unless I have reason to.” The hitchhiker wore a red flannel shirt and dark jeans, and spoke in a low monotone.
Tim downshifted the Durango to pick up speed as he pulled onto the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. “That’s fine by me. Lots of people just talk and talk and talk. Most don’t even say shit.”
The hitchhiker nodded.
“Lucky for you, I reckon, that I’m heading towards Syracuse.” Tim picked up speed. “I have to see my brother-in-law Ray. Lookin’ to buy a tractor and some other farm equipment from him. Ray’s well intentioned and all, but let me tell ya, he’s a dumbass. I don’t imagine you’ll be runnin’ into Ray any time soon, so I can’t see the harm in telling you.”
The hitchhiker remained expressionless.
“So anyway, Ray had himself a modest little farm out there near Syracuse. Had some chickens and cattle, grew potatoes, squash, and had an apple grove. Nothin’ great, mind ya, but enough to earn a living. Like I mentioned before, Ray ain’t very bright and to make matters worse, he’s a dreamer. So he decides that he’s gonna give up farming and take some course on computers. I told my sister Betty to dump him. You know what I’m saying, partner.”
The hitchhiker nodded and put his brown leather travel bag on the floor by his feet.
“So old Ray decides to sell his farm. Now the farm, that’s something you can build and do something with. It’s something you can call your own. Not these computers. He wasn’t a great farmer, but at least he could earn himself a living.”
Tim glanced at the hitchhiker, who looked stone-faced.
“So you never told me your name there, partner.”
“Ron. Ron Cray.”
Tim smiled. “Now I got a name to attach to the face. Yeah, I could use myself some more farm equipment. I got some that’s about dying on me. Reckon I can get myself a good deal from Ray, seeing how’s were kin and all.”
They hardly spoke for the next hour. Tim crossed the New York State border and spotted an exit with signs for a gas station and a Wendy’s. “I need gas. If you want some grub, you can get some over there.”
“Sure,” Cray said.
“So what line of work are you in, Ron? Still don’t know much about you, partner.”
“I’m a collector.” For the first time, Cray cracked a smile.
“Well, what kind of items do you collect?” Tim asked.
“Rare items. Teeth, eyeballs, a spleen here and there.”
Tim’s brows arched as he looked at Cray. “Well, that’s some pretty peculiar shit.”
He turned onto the exit and stopped at the turning lane at a traffic light.
“Normally, I wouldn’t tell someone that,” Cray said. “But seeing as how I’m going to kill you, I figured it wouldn’t hurt. “
Tim turned as a knife with a nine-inch blade descended toward his right leg. He stared in disbelief as the buck knife sunk into his leg, cutting down to the bone.
Cray’s eyes flashed with excitement.
Tim screamed in agony. He hadn’t felt this much pain since taking a bullet in ‘Nam. Blood erupted from his leg. Within seconds, his pants were colored crimson. How could this be happening? Just trying to help this partner out.
Tim tried to open his door, but Cray grabbed his left arm. Cray removed the knife that had been buried in his leg.
“What the fuck!” Tim turned toward the passenger side. Losing too much blood. Probably got an artery. He reached out with his hands in an attempt to fend off his attacker. As he came forward, Cray buried the buck knife into his throat, causing Meade to choke on his own blood.
Meade fell forward, convulsing. Ron dragged the dead man’s body into the passenger’s side. As the traffic light turned green, he walked around to the driver’s side. There were still no other cars on this desolate road, and therefore no witnesses.
Ron stepped into the driver’s side and put the Durango into gear. Covered in blood, he smiled and stared at the dead man sitting next to him. He would have to clean himself before moving on. Before he did, he would add to his collection from the deceased, his final gift to the world.
***

Ron Cray held his thumb out on Church Road. He was outside of Binghamton, New York. He had just added to his collection. It was a family of four driving in a Dodge Caravan. They had made the mistake of trying to help.
Ron’s body count was now up to nine in the past week. He had been picked up four times since he started his journey in Havertown, Pennsylvania. Those who gave him a ride, must have thought him to be quiet and well-intentioned, since he said little.
When he told Tim Meade that he was a collector, he was not lying. He had been since he was a child. It started off innocently enough. He collected stamps and shells, items that many people collected. His father had beat him unmercifully after finding out about his doll collection. Ron had to complete that one in secret. He graduated to collecting insects, but that only whet his appetite. He then collected animal parts, taking a leg or a paw or a tail from different animals he killed. Before long, he discovered he enjoyed crushing the animals in his hands as much as he enjoyed collecting.
When animals were not enough, he collected human parts. He purchased some body parts from mail order catalogs, but that did not give him satisfaction, so he killed people and use them to add to his collection. After a kill, he would take an ear, a nose, a tongue or other body part, pack it up, and ship it to his home address immediately.
He lived alone in his house, which was like a museum featuring his collections. He had a collection of rare coins prominently displayed in his living room. His more private ones that could get him in trouble with the law were in his basement.
Ron walked for a half-hour before two physically fit men in their early thirties picked him up. Ron smiled, and settled into the back seat of their PT Cruiser.
Mike, who was driving, and Keon, who sat in the passenger’s side, tried to engage him in conversation, but Ron did not participate. Eventually, they talked to each other, as if he were not there.
Forty minutes after they had picked him up, Ron noticed something interesting. Based on the way they interacted, Ron surmised that they were lovers. At one point they briefly held hands, but quickly retracted. He had nothing against that lifestyle, but it would make this kill more intriguing. While they chatted, he thought of the possibilities.
“So what do you do for a living?” Mike asked.
“I’m a collector.” Ron’s heart beat quickened and blood rushed to his face. That was the point of no return where he knew he would have to kill them.
It happened on Bay Hill Road. Ron had been waiting for the right moment when the car stopped. They were at a traffic light and there were no other cars at the intersection. He pulled out a thin rope from his traveling bag. From the back seat of the car, he reached forward and slipped the rope over Keon’s throat. Ron had to calm himself since he nearly shook with excitement. Two more victims to collect.
Keon’s arms and legs thrashed.
Mike turned around, his face contorted. “What the hell’s going on?”
Ron’s eyes lit when he saw the fear on Mike’s face.
“H…help me,” Keon said.
As Mike tried to grab him, Ron pulled the rope tighter, and crouched back into his seat so that Mike couldn’t reach him. Meanwhile, Keon continued to thrash as he tried to break free. Mike abandoned his attempt to get to Ron and grabbed strangling his lover. But he could not break Ron’s strong hold, and Keon’s face turned deep purple.
“You son of a bitch!” Mike sunk his teeth into Ron’s hand.
Ron growled, but would not let go until Keon stopped thrashing.
Mike sobbed. “You bastard,” he said between tears. Mike scrambled in attempt to exit the car, but Ron grabbed Mike’s right arm. With his free hand, he brought the buck knife in a sweeping arc that descended into Mike’s shoulder.
Mike’s scream was cut short when Cray grabbed his hair and pulled his head toward him. With his right hand, he sliced Mike’s throat with the buck knife.
Mike slumped to the side. His head was next to his partner’s. Ron closed his eyes and smiled. Taking the life of his victims was a sheer thrill ride. It filled him with energy. But the time after the kill was even better. He felt at peace with himself and the world. He felt serenity.
Mike and Keon had to be properly displayed, so he sat Mike up on the back seat of the car. He then let Keon’s head rest gently on Mike’s shoulder, and placed Mike’s hand on the back of Keon’s head. Too bad he didn’t have a camera. This was a precious moment that should be recorded.
A car drove in his direction, spoiling the moment. He collected an ear from each of them before making a hasty exit.
***
As Ron Cray stood on Crandall St. in Utica, New York trying to thumb his next ride, he wondered how long this trip would continue. His chances of being caught increased with each time he collected a victim. But he couldn’t stop. With each life he claimed, his compulsion grew stronger.
After unsuccessfully attempting to catch a ride for fifteen minutes, he found an easy mark, a short, balding man driving a Chevy Impala. Ron smiled as the car pulled over.
The man opened the door. “Howdy, fella. Jay Cretian’s the name.” He extended his hand and Ron shook it. “What’s your name there, pal?”
“Ron Cray.”
“It’s good to meet you. So where are you heading?”
“West,” Ron replied.
“How convenient. I’m heading towards Ohio. I’m going to cut across the state, so you can ride with me as far west as Ohio. Then I’ll have to let you go. You know how it is. Can’t wait to see my wife and kids. I’m on my way back from a business trip. It was real productive, let me tell you. I scored some excellent clients.”
“Yeah, me too,” Ron muttered under his breath.
“What did you say there, Ron?”
Cray did not reply.
“The sky looks like it’s darkening. Fortunately for you I arrived now, or you might have gotten soaked. Looks like your traveling pretty light. I don’t see an umbrella on you. It’s always good to carry one. One time I was walking into work, and out of nowhere it just starts raining. And I’m not talking about a little piddle-paddle rain. I’m talking about hammering rain. Thunder and lightning, too. So I noticed just ahead of me a man dressed in a blue suit. He was a director at my company. I run over and give him my umbrella and we walked to the entrance. He was real appreciative. I even landed a job interview out of it. So it pays to be prepared.”
A half-hour later, Jay continued with his endless droning conversation. “That was the last time I went to that restaurant. I mean, come on, how long do you have to wait to get your meal. And they brought out the entrée before they brought out the appetizer. The waitress who took our order, I mean there had to be something wrong with her. A person can’t be that stupid. So, they brought the main course out and I’m like where’s the appetizer. I ordered the Buffalo wings. Another waitress comes over to the table and says that it’s been sitting on the counter. So how long was it sitting there? Then the restaurant manager comes out and says that they’ll reheat the appetizer. They go ahead and do that while we start eating. After all, I’m hungry at this point. And then they bring the appetizer out.”
“Tough break,” Ron said.
“So we eat the meal. All this time I’m telling my wife they better take care of us on this. I’m looking for some kind of break here. Like maybe don’t charge for the appetizer or something, free drinks, I mean throw me a bone. I get the bill and nothing. No sort of discount, not even like a half off your next visit. So I tell my wife screw it. We’re not coming back. And it’s a shame because the food was pretty good.”
Ron didn’t say anything, content to soak up what he could about this man’s life. Finding out about his victims helped decide how they would die.
Fifteen minutes later, Jay had hardly taken a breath. “I told my wife Sally that there’s no way your mother is staying with us. I don’t care that her basement’s flooded. Every time she comes over, the woman drives me nuts with her constant nagging. Mother-in-laws, don’t you just want to kill them some times. I mean seriously.”
An hour into the ride, Ron slowly opened his leather carrying bag. The time was drawing near and he wanted to be ready. He removed the sheathing that covered his trusted buck knife.
When they were stopped at a traffic light prior to getting on Route 56, Ron reached into his bag and grabbed the knife.
Jay said, “You know that’s a really nice bag you got there. I have a similar one. I use it when I go fishing. Are you into fishing? There’s a lake nearby us that I like to go with my daughter Alexis. My oldest son Bobby really isn’t into it, but for some reason my daughter is. You just can’t figure certain things like that…”
Ron quickly put away the bag since he could no longer surprise Jay. He gritted his teeth. This was taking too long. He considered abandoning his plans, but Jay would make a great addition to his collection.
For a few minutes, Jay was actually silent. He had an alarmed look on his face. “Did you hear that? Oh no. Not again.” Jay shook his head. “I think I got another flat. This is the second time in a couple weeks. I’m going to have to pull over and take a look. It never fails.”
Jay slowed down and drove the car deep into the side of the road.
“I have to check this out,” Jay said. “I’ll be a minute.”
“Take your time.” This was the opportunity Ron had been waiting for.
Jay exited the car as Ron grabbed his duffel bag. Just as he opened it and reached for his buck knife, Jay knocked on the passenger side window. Ron opened the door. “What’s going on?”
“I need a little help,” replied Jay.
“Well, I’m not really handy with cars, but we’ll see what we can do.” Ron exited the Impala. He zipped up his bag and carried it with him
Jay handed him a tire iron. “Can you undo these lug nuts?”
Ron bent down to loosen the nuts. His senses were alerted when he saw the tire was not flat. He looked up and Jay swung a crowbar that connected on his forehead sending him to the dirt. Ron tasted his own blood.
Jay dropped the crowbar and struggled as he dragged Ron’s body into the woods.
Ron was dazed and immobile. Before he regained his senses, Jay smashed his ribs with the crowbar.
Ron’s body surged with pain. He felt like a bundle of nerve endings. In the back of his mind a voice told him it couldn’t end like this. He still had more collecting to do. Another swing caused his ribs to crack. It felt like an explosion inside.
“So you probably figured I wouldn’t do this to you. But you see, there’s something wrong in my normal life. And every once in a while, I’m just about ready to snap.” Jay crushed Ron’s jaw with the crowbar. “You see things just start to accumulate and I get so angry and frustrated. I don’t want to take it out on my family. I love them, after all. I don’t want to go crazy at work. They might fire me, and then what will I do to maintain my normal lifestyle. So what does a guy like me do to get rid of all of this anger?” Another swing and more bones broke. “A few years back I decided to take a trip. You know, just drive around by myself. Nothing but solitude. And then, on my first trip, I picked up unsuspecting hitchhikers like yourself. Well, one thing led to another and here we are. We’re all better off really. Well, maybe not you, but the rest of us are.”
Jay Cretian smashed him on the head with the crowbar. “That feels much better.”