If You’re Driving Tonight…

Grant hated distraction parties.

Not because they were boring.

Quite the opposite.

Distraction parties existed for people who couldn't stand being alone with their own thoughts.

Music pounded through the rented estate.

Liquor flowed like water.

Every room overflowed with people pretending to have a better time than they actually were.

Grant hated the pretending.

Mostly because he was better at it than everyone else.

He stood near the bar with a glass of whiskey he had no intention of finishing and watched Tess work the room.

She was talking to a man old enough to be her father.

Maybe older.

The man laughed.

Tess touched his arm.

The man laughed harder.

Grant rolled his eyes.

Money.

There was always money.

If a man made enough of it, Tess could find him in a crowd from fifty yards away.

The funny thing was she wasn't even after his.

Not directly.

Tess's family had more money than most countries.

Importing.

Exporting.

Investments.

Stocks.

Companies buying companies that bought other companies.

Grant didn't pretend to understand how it all worked.

Only that the Bower family somehow turned numbers into more numbers and got richer every year.

Tess simply enjoyed being near power.

Grant understood that.

Because he enjoyed the exact same thing.

A hand appeared beside him.

Someone stole an ice cube from his drink.

Grant didn't need to look.

"Blaine."

Blaine crunched thoughtfully.

"Grant."

"Why are you here?"

Blaine shrugged.

Neither of them knew the answer.

Grant suspected nobody did.

Blaine wasn't part of the group.

He had simply... appeared one day.

A friend of a friend.

Then a friend of another friend.

Then somehow always there.

At bars.

At parties.

At brunches.

At vacations.

Like a ghost nobody had the energy to remove.

Blaine stared across the room.

"Tess is networking."

"Tess is hunting."

"Same thing."

Grant couldn't argue with that.

Across the room Tess laughed again.

A laugh she only used when somebody important was listening.

Grant hated that laugh.

Mostly because it worked.

The old man looked ready to leave his wife.

Blaine reached to clink glasses.

Grant moved his hand.

"No."

Blaine sighed.

"Fine."

Silence settled between them.

Not awkward.

Just familiar.

Nearby a pair of women argued over canine astrology.

Someone spilled a drink.

A man in a suit attempted to dance.

Failed.

Tried again.

Failed harder.

The entire evening felt exhausting.

Grant checked his watch.

2:17 A.M.

Too late to stay.

Too early to sleep.

The worst hour of any party.

The hour when people started making bad decisions.

A sudden shriek erupted from the living room.

Clint and Sloane stumbled through the crowd.

Sloane was laughing so hard she could barely stand. Her dress working overtime to contain her cleavage.

Clint wasn't helping.

His arm hung around her shoulders while he attempted to walk and flirt simultaneously.

Neither task was going well.

"There he is!" Clint shouted.

Grant closed his eyes.

"There who is?"

"The guy from the library."

Grant opened one eye.

"Which library?"

Clint thought about it.

"The one with your name on it. Blackcroft.”

Sloane dissolved into laughter.

Clint kissed her with more tongue than a butcher shop.

Right there.

Middle of the room.

Without warning.

Without shame.

Without apparently needing oxygen.

Grant looked away.

"You two are disgusting."

"We're adorable."

"You're drunk."

"We're drunk and adorable."

"Fair."

Clint grinned.

Sloane immediately shoved her tongue down his throat again.

Grant regretted looking back.

The front doors opened.

A gust of cool air entered.

Someone new stumbled inside.

A tall man carrying a half-empty bottle of expensive champagne.

The room greeted him like a returning hero.

He raised both hands dramatically.

"Good news!"

But people had already returned to their conversational lives.

He continued anyway.

"My cousin still isn't using his mansion."

That got attention.

The word mansion always got attention.

The man took a long drink.

"Place is sitting empty out in the middle of nowhere."

Now people were listening.

Grant included.

The man pointed vaguely north.

"Thirty rooms. Pool. Movie theater. Tennis courts. Whole thing."

A few whistles rose from the crowd.

The man grinned.

"My cousin bought it during his divorce."

"Which one?" somebody asked.

"Exactly."

Laughter followed.

The man took another drink.

"Anyway. Nobody's there. Nobody checks on it. Nobody cares."

Grant exchanged a glance with Tess.

Across the room she had stopped talking.

She was listening now.

Interested.

Dangerous.

The man shrugged.

"Honestly, if somebody wanted to crash there for a weekend, they'd probably never know. Nobody’s been there since they shot that correctional guard dating show.”

The room erupted into conversation over the TV show.

Grant smiled.

For the first time all night.

Not because of the mansion.

Because opportunity had just walked into the room and announced itself.

Tess reached him before anyone else could.

That alone told Grant how interested she was.

"What did you think?" she asked.

Grant took a sip of whiskey.

"I think drunk people say a lot of stupid things."

"You want to go."

"I didn't say that."

"You want to go."

Grant smiled.

Tess smiled back.

Neither trusted the other's smile.

One of the reasons they worked so well together.

"Thirty rooms," Tess said.

"According to a guy who can barely stand."

"Pool."

"Allegedly."

"Movie theater."

"Allegedly."

"Tennis courts."

Grant looked at her.

"You don't play tennis."

"I could start."

Grant laughed despite himself.

The sound surprised both of them.

Across the room Clint suddenly shouted.

"We're stealing a mansion?"

Several heads turned.

Grant closed his eyes.

"You didn't have to say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like we're committing a felony."

Clint considered the statement.

"Aren't we?"

"Not if nobody notices."

"That's definitely a felony."

Sloane tried to climb into Clint's lap.

The fact they were both standing somehow made the maneuver more impressive.

"Nerd," she told Grant.

Grant pointed at them.

"You two aren't invited."

Clint gasped dramatically.

Sloane looked wounded.

"You can't separate true love."

Grant stared.

The room stared.

Even Blaine stared.

Then Clint shrugged.

"Okay maybe you can."

Sloane punched his shoulder.

"Asshole."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

They immediately began making out again.

Grant looked away.

Blaine appeared beside him.

Again.

Grant had no idea how he did that.

One moment the man wasn't there.

The next he was.

Like an especially depressed magician.

"You guys are actually going?" Blaine asked.

Grant frowned.

"'You guys?'"

Blaine shrugged.

"I assumed I wasn't invited."

Grant opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

The truth was he hadn't thought about Blaine at all.

Nobody really did.

Blaine simply existed.

Like weather.

Or traffic.

Something that happened whether you wanted it to or not.

Tess stepped in immediately.

"Of course you're invited."

Grant looked at her.

Tess smiled.

The smile she used when she wanted something.

"We need another person."

"For what?"

"If there's a gate."

"A gate?"

"Or security."

"It's an abandoned mansion."

"We don't know that. Besides, if it’s locked, Blaine is small enough you guys can pick him up and shove him through a window.”

Grant sighed.

Tess was already planning.

Already imagining problems.

Already assigning solutions.

One of the reasons she would eventually inherit her father's empire.

Assuming she didn't kill somebody first.

"Fine," Grant said.

Blaine blinked.

"Really?"

"Congratulations. You're useful. Go get the address.”

Blaine nodded. As though that made perfect sense. Maybe it did.

A few minutes later, he returned with an address written across a cocktail napkin. By then, the party had reached the pumpkin stage of the evening

People slumped across furniture.

Arguments erupted in distant rooms.

Someone was crying upstairs.

Someone else was vomiting downstairs.

The soundtrack of every successful evening.

Cool air greeted them outside.

The horseshoe driveway curved beneath a cloudless sky.

Grant clicked the key fob.

His Escalade flashed its lights.

Black.

Polished.

Expensive.

Exactly the sort of vehicle that made strangers assume your life was going better than it actually was.

Grant loved it.

Tess climbed into the passenger seat.

Clint and Sloane disappeared into the back.

Already tangled together.

Blaine hesitated beside the vehicle.

"What?"

Blaine pointed upward.

Grant followed his gaze.

The moon hung above the trees.

Bright.

White.

Wrong.

Something about it bothered him.

The feeling vanished immediately.

"Get in the car."

Blaine nodded.

The moment passed.

A minute later the engine rumbled to life.

Grant pulled onto the road.

The mansion existed somewhere beyond the darkness.

Thirty rooms.

A pool.

A theater.

A weekend the nobodies of this world fantasized about.

For the first time all night, Grant was actually looking forward to something.

The radio switched on automatically.

Static hissed through the speakers.

Then a cheerful voice emerged.

"...and if you're still awake at this ungodly hour, first of all, seek professional help..."

Clint laughed.

"...secondly, police continue searching for the suspect connected to multiple disappearances across three counties..."

Grant turned onto the highway.

The city lights began shrinking behind them.

"...authorities are urging residents not to travel alone tonight..."

A burst of static interrupted the broadcast.

For just a moment, another voice seemed to bleed through.

Calm.

Distant.

Almost amused.

"Stay on the road."

The static vanished.

The DJ continued talking as though nothing had happened.

Nobody in the Escalade reacted.

Not even Grant.

The highway stretched endlessly before them.

The city disappeared faster than Grant expected.

One moment streetlights lined the highway.

The next they were gone.

Dark fields opened on both sides of the road.

The occasional farmhouse appeared in the distance.

Then vanished again.

Grant didn't mind.

The farther they drove, the less likely they were to encounter security guards.

Or neighbors.

Or anyone likely to object to five strangers spending the weekend in a mansion they didn't own.

Tess sat with her feet on the dashboard.

Scrolling through her phone.

Or trying to.

"This is ridiculous."

Grant glanced over.

"What?"

"No service."

"You're in the middle of nowhere."

"We've been in the middle of nowhere for twenty minutes."

"So?"

"So rich people live out here."

Grant blinked.

"What does that have to do with cell towers?"

"Everything."

She held up the phone.

"No bars."

Grant checked his own.

Nothing.

No signal.

He frowned.

That was unusual.

Not impossible.

Just unusual.

Behind them Clint laughed.

Sloane was lying across the back seat with her head in his lap.

Neither seemed particularly concerned.

"Maybe the government finally shut down the internet."

Tess groaned.

"Please don't start."

"I'm serious."

"You're never serious."

"Jealous?"

The radio crackled.

"...continuing coverage tonight of the ongoing search for a suspect authorities believe may be connected to at least seven disappearances..."

Grant tuned it out immediately.

News existed for people who had time to care.

He wasn't one of them.

The road curved gently.

The trees grew thicker.

Blaine looked up from the rear seat.

"You ever notice how every serial killer gets a nickname?"

Nobody answered.

Blaine continued anyway.

"Like, nobody's looking for Steve."

"What?"

"They don't call him Steve."

Clint nodded thoughtfully.

"That's true."

"They call him The Butcher."

"The Night Stalker."

"The Highway Killer."

“The Tooth Fairy.”

Grant sighed.

“That one sounds made up.”

Blaine pointed.

“They all sound made up.”

Everyone considered this.

Then Sloane started laughing.

Soon Clint joined her.

Grant hated when Blaine accidentally became the funniest person in the car.

Mostly because Blaine never meant to.

The radio crackled again.

"...authorities are asking residents to remain alert and report any suspicious activity..."

Static washed through the speakers.

A voice whispered beneath it.

Too brief to understand.

Grant adjusted the volume.

The signal cleared.

"...especially if traveling after three in the morning."

The DJ laughed.

A strange sound.

Forced.

Nervous.

"As if any sane person is still awake."

Clint raised his hand.

"Rude."

The highway narrowed.

The farther they drove, the older everything looked.

Road signs.

Telephone poles.

Farmhouses.

The modern world seemed to be slowly falling away behind them.

Tess frowned at her phone.

"My GPS is gone."

"What?"

"The map."

Grant looked over.

The screen displayed a blank gray square.

No roads.

No route.

No location.

Nothing.

"Weird."

Blaine checked his own.

"Mine too."

Sloane sat up.

"Seriously?"

Within seconds everyone was staring at a dead map.

Five phones.

Five blank screens.

Grant felt the first real flicker of unease.

Not fear.

Just annoyance.

Technology wasn't supposed to stop working.

Not all at once.

The regular broadcast remained oddly clear.

"...and for anyone heading north tonight..."

Static.

A soft hiss.

Then:

"...keep driving."

The voice sounded different.

Not the DJ.

The words were gone before Grant could decide if he'd actually heard them.

The regular broadcast resumed.

Traffic reports.

Weather.

Advertisements.

Normal.

Completely normal.

A pair of headlights appeared ahead.

Approaching quickly.

Grant moved slightly right.

The vehicle passed.

A panel van.

Old.

White.

Its sides covered by a hand-painted mural.

Grant only caught a glimpse.

Blue trees.

Golden flowers.

Tiny winged figures dancing between the branches.

The artwork looked strangely beautiful in the moonlight.

Then the van was gone.

Disappearing into the darkness behind them.

"Did you see that?" Blaine asked.

"See what?" Grant said.

"The painting."

"What painting?"

"The van."

Grant shrugged.

"It was a van."

Blaine looked back through the rear window.

The road behind them stood empty.

No headlights.

No taillights.

Nothing.

The van had simply vanished into the night.

A few minutes later rain began to fall.

Not much.

Just enough to make the pavement shine.

The highway narrowed again.

Then narrowed some more.

Until it barely felt like a highway at all.

Grant frowned.

"This doesn't look right."

Tess checked her dead phone.

Helpful.

"Maybe we're lost."

"We're not lost."

"We don't have a map."

"We have directions."

"From a drunk guy."

Grant tightened his grip on the wheel.

Behind them Clint yawned.

Sloane was already half asleep.

Blaine stared out the window.

Nobody had a clue where they were.

Nobody wanted to admit it.

And somewhere in the darkness ahead, the road waited.

Patiently.

Leading them exactly where it wanted them to go.

Rain thickened.

Not enough to become a storm.

Just enough to smear the windshield and turn the road into a ribbon of reflected moonlight.

The farther they drove, the quieter everyone became.

Even Clint and Sloane had stopped talking.

The radio filled the silence.

"...temperatures expected to drop throughout the night..."

Grant barely listened.

Something about the road bothered him.

Not the condition.

The feeling.

As though it had been too long since they'd passed another car.

Too long since they'd seen a house.

Too long since they'd seen anything.

Tess sat forward.

"There."

Grant spotted it immediately.

A sign.

Weathered wood.

Half-hidden among weeds.

The lettering had almost disappeared.

MORRISON ESTATE

←

"That's it," Tess said.

Grant smiled.

Finally.

He turned onto the narrow road.

The pavement disappeared almost immediately.

Gravel took its place.

The Escalade bounced slightly.

Clint groaned from the backseat.

"If we get murdered out here I'm haunting all of you."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"You're not."

"Fair."

The road wound through thick woods.

The rain continued.

The dashboard clock read 3:02 A.M.

Blaine stared at it.

Then looked away.

A few minutes later he checked again.

3:01 A.M.

Blaine frowned.

The numbers changed.

3:03.

He blinked.

Maybe he'd imagined it.

The radio crackled.

"...and if you're still traveling tonight..."

Static.

A low hiss.

Then:

"...don't stop."

The regular broadcast resumed.

"...road conditions remain hazardous in some areas..."

Grant adjusted the volume.

The signal sharpened.

Nothing seemed unusual.

Ahead, the trees abruptly ended.

The road climbed toward a wooden overpass.

Grant slowed.

"What the hell?"

Water.

The entire roadway ahead sat beneath several inches of dark water.

Rainwater flowed slowly across the pavement.

Not deep.

Not dangerous.

Just enough.

Grant stopped the Escalade.

For a moment nobody spoke.

Then:

"Great," Tess said.

"Maybe it gets shallower."

"Maybe it gets deeper."

"Helpful."

She folded her arms.

"You got us lost."

"We're not lost."

"We're stopped."

"Temporarily."

"Because we're lost."

Grant gripped the wheel harder.

From the backseat Clint leaned forward.

"Can we vote?"

"No."

"We should vote."

"No."

"We should definitely vote."

Sloane raised her hand.

"I vote we leave."

Clint nodded.

"I also vote we leave."

Blaine looked out the windshield.

The water reflected the moonlight.

Silver.

Still.

Almost beautiful.

"We came this far," he said quietly.

Everyone looked at him.

Blaine immediately seemed to regret speaking.

Grant seized the opportunity.

"Exactly."

Tess sighed.

"Grant."

"We came all this way."

"Grant."

"It's a little water."

"Grant."

"It's fine."

Tess stared at him.

Grant knew that look.

The look that said she knew he was being stubborn.

The look that said she knew he knew.

Unfortunately, Grant hated losing more than he hated being wrong.

Especially in front of other people.

The dashboard clock read 3:07 A.M.

The radio hissed softly.

No music.

No DJ.

Only static.

Then a voice.

Barely audible.

Almost hidden.

"Keep going."

Nobody reacted.

Not because they ignored it.

Because nobody seemed to hear it.

Grant shifted the vehicle into drive.

"Grant."

"We're crossing."

"Grant."

"It's six inches of water."

"How do you know?"

Grant didn't answer.

Because he didn't.

The Escalade rolled forward.

The tires entered the water.

Ripples spread outward.

The vehicle continued climbing.

Slowly.

Steadily.

The water lapped against the running boards.

Then stopped rising.

Grant smiled.

"Told you."

Nobody answered.

The rain vanished.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

One moment rain struck the windshield.

The next it didn't.

The wipers continued moving across dry glass.

Squeak.

Squeak.

Squeak.

Blaine noticed first.

He looked upward.

The clouds were gone.

Moonlight flooded the overpass.

Bright.

White.

Wrong.

"Uh..."

Nobody listened.

Grant focused on the road.

The water remained beneath them.

Silent.

Motionless.

The farther they drove, the quieter everything became.

No insects.

No wind.

No distant traffic.

Nothing.

Only the sound of the Escalade's engine.

Then even that seemed muted.

As though the night itself were holding its breath.

The vehicle crested the overpass.

Grant finally relaxed.

The water crossing was behind them.

The mansion was ahead.

Simple.

Easy.

Exactly as expected.

The dashboard clock flickered.

3:07.

3:42.

3:11.

Then 3:08.

Grant never looked down.

Nobody did.

Except Blaine.

And by the time he checked again, it simply read:

3:09 A.M.

He told himself he must have imagined it.

Ahead, a pair of lights appeared through the trees.

Warm.

Golden.

Distant.

Tess sat upright.

"There."

Grant smiled.

The mansion.

Had to be.

What else could it be?

Relief spread through the vehicle.

The tension dissolved.

They'd found it.

They weren't lost.

The road hadn't beaten them.

The night hadn't beaten them.

Everything was going to be fine.

Grant pressed the accelerator.

The lights grew brighter.

And behind them, unnoticed by any of the five passengers, the water covering the road slowly began to recede.

As though it had never been there at all.

The glow spread between the trees.

Dozens of them.

Scattered among the trees ahead.

Warm gold.

Soft and inviting.

Grant smiled.

"Told you."

Tess leaned forward in her seat.

For the first time in nearly an hour, she looked genuinely relieved.

"Looks occupied."

Grant shrugged.

"Maybe a caretaker."

"Maybe we're screwed."

"Maybe you're dramatic."

Behind them Clint sat up.

Sloane rubbed sleep from her eyes.

"What?"

"I think we're here."

The words immediately improved everyone's mood.

Even Blaine seemed relieved.

The lights drifted lazily through the darkness.

Appearing.

Disappearing.

Moving between the trees.

From a distance they looked exactly like lanterns.

Or windows.

Or porch lights glimpsed through branches.

Exactly the sort of thing exhausted people expected to see.

Grant pressed the accelerator.

The road narrowed.

Trees crowded closer.

The lights multiplied.

Ten became twenty.

Twenty became fifty.

A hundred.

Golden points dancing through the darkness.

Tess frowned.

"That's weird."

"What?"

"The lights."

Grant glanced ahead.

"What about them?"

She hesitated.

The concern disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

"Nothing."

The road curved.

The lights shifted.

Some vanished.

Others appeared.

The effect felt strange.

Almost alive.

Grant ignored it.

The mansion was out there.

Had to be.

Nobody had driven this far for nothing.

The radio crackled.

The DJ's voice returned.

"...for anyone still traveling tonight..."

Static swallowed the broadcast.

A different voice emerged.

Soft.

Calm.

Almost amused.

"Welcome."

The radio went silent.

Not static.

Not interference.

Silence.

The dashboard lights flickered once.

Twice.

Then steadied.

Nobody spoke.

The moment stretched.

Then Clint laughed.

"Well that's not creepy."

Sloane smacked his arm.

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't be that guy."

"What guy?"

"The guy who says something isn't creepy right before it gets creepy."

Grant rolled his eyes.

"You watch too many movies."

The road descended gently.

The trees opened.

Only slightly.

Just enough.

The lights filled the darkness beyond.

Hundreds of them now.

Floating.

Drifting.

Waiting.

Grant never noticed they weren't attached to a house.

Never noticed they hung at different heights.

Never noticed they moved against the wind.

He only saw what he wanted to see.

A destination.

A reward.

Proof he had been right.

The Escalade disappeared into the trees.

Behind them the road faded into darkness.

Ahead, the golden lights gathered at the edge of the Blue Tree Forest.

Watching. Waiting.

Patient as stars.

And somewhere beyond them, beneath a weeping willow tree, Simon smiled.