When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

Clear Harbor, Maine November 29, 2016 Traffic was virtually nonexistent as Christine pulled onto the highway. Good riddance, she thought as the Rover’s headlights swept past the dirty remnants of yesterday’s snowfall mounded around the guardrail. She didn’t know where she was headed. She only knew there wouldn’t be snow on the ground when she got there. What she needed was a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, preferably one where they’d never heard of Stephen Ludlow, where she could lay low and take stock of what remained of her life. If only such a place existed. It didn’t of course. The Examiner had seen to that. But with a few days head start, she might be able to disappear until the fervor died down—or some new bit of schadenfreude captured the world’s attention. In the meantime, she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and Clear Harbor. The only question was how far she’d be able to go before fatigue and the reality of what she’d done finally caught up with her. Two hours later, she had her answer. Her eyes had begun playing tricks on her several miles back, and more than once, she’d found herself mesmerized by the strobe effect of the highway’s broken white lines. She had no idea where she was when she finally stopped for gas, but she was glad for the chance to stretch her legs. She took a chance on the ladies’ room, which reeked of bleach and cherry air freshener, then bought a pair of bottled waters and several packs of Nabs. This wasn’t her ...

Pleasure from watching the pain of another