Fire has its own smell. Did you know that? I’m not talking about the smell of gasoline from the ruptured gas tank or the sickly sweet smell of people cooking. I don’t know how to describe it. But I don’t think it’s the smell of the air burning—not exactly. No, I think that fire itself—the consumer, not the consumed—has a smell all its own.
I remember thinking that as the flames grew nearer on White Creek Bridge. That…and that I hoped I was the only one left alive.
My father had been planning our family vacation for months. He worked as an aeronautical engineer, and aside from a couple of days at Christmas, he only got a chance to take off for vacation about once every three years. This year was extra special, however. He had blocked out two weeks for the four of us to go driving across the country. We weren’t taking an RV, and we were only planning on driving between Ohio and Nevada, but it was still further than I’d ever been and a longer vacation than we’d had since an alleged trip to Canada when I was toddler.
But at sixteen, I was old enough to both dread the trip and be excited by it. I didn’t know how the four of us would fare riding in the family SUV for hours on end, much less staying at a bunch of random motels we found along the way. My father was refusing to have a strict travel itinerary or reservations—he said he needed a few days without plans or structure. That was great in theory, until we wound up with no good options for food or rooms in some back corner of nowhere. Then my parents would start fighting, while I tried to fade into the background and Sharon started bitching about how big a mistake the trip had been.
Sharon was one of the main reasons I was also excited about the trip. She had gone to college two years earlier, and while we were still close, it wasn’t the same. Every time she came back for the summer or a holiday, I could feel the difference in our ages and experiences thickening the air between us. It might sound silly, but I hoped this trip, even if it became an exercise in shared misery, would help make us closer again.
We were on the second day of the trip when Dad first talked about the blue van that was following us.
He had been jolly and relaxed at the start of the trip, not even commenting much on the traffic snarl around Cleveland as we slowed to a crawl in the early afternoon. But by mid-morning on the second day, there was a palpable shift in his mood. He didn’t talk much, and I noticed he kept glancing up at the rearview mirror as though checking something. It wasn’t until after lunch that he puffed out a breath and looked over at Mom.
“I think that same van has been following us for awhile.”
Sitting in the back behind her, I could only see the quick movement of her head as she glanced in his direction and then out the sideview mirror. His voice had been low and casual when he spoke, but hers were barely more than a breathless whisper.
“How long?”
He gave a light shrug. “I first noticed it early this morning. I figured it was just a coincidence—they were just headed the same way we were. But after a few turns, I started paying more attention.” My father paused and glanced in the rearview again before continuing on. “Then we stopped for lunch at the diner. We were in there for, what, an hour or so? But when we leave, that same blue van is behind us again.”
Sharon leaned forward. “Are you serious? We got some fucking creeper following us?” We both turned and glanced back through the rear glass of the car. He was right. The road we were on was a quiet four-lane highway, and while some of it was hilly or filled with turns, this particular stretch was long and flat. It made it easy to see the old blue van following a quarter of a mile behind us.
“What are we going to do?”
It was the sharp note of fear in my mother’s voice that brought my head back around. It’s not that the situation wasn’t strange, possibly even a little concerning, but she sounded and looked as though she was terrified. This woman, who in my memory had never been more than mildly anxious, was visibly shaking as she reached out to touch my father’s forearm.
He glanced at her hand and pulled away slightly, his face hard. “We don’t do anything. We stick to the plan. It’s still probably just a coincidence. And if it’s not, we’ll deal with it as it comes.” He glanced back at me and Sharon. “Got it, girls?”
We both echoed “Yessir”, but Sharon was giving me a look that said she knew something was wrong too. If our parents were that worried, why not call the cops? And what was Dad talking about when he said “stick to the plan”? What plan? I thought the entire point of the trip was that we had no plan.
I felt my stomach rumbling with unease as I glanced back again. The van was still there, and I wasn’t sure how long it would be before we hit another town or stopped for the night. Staring out my window, I tried to get my mind off it, but I kept thinking about Mom and Dad. Right or wrong, they thought something was going on. And they were scared. So was…
I jumped slightly as I felt a hand on mine. Looking over, I saw Sharon smiling at me as she gave my hand a squeeze. She mouthed the words “Try not to worry”, and I nodded as I returned her squeeze. I was still worried, of course, but it was better to feel less alone. And I kept telling myself there was nothing to it anyway. Give it a couple of days, and all I’d feel was slight embarassment that I’d freaked myself out in the first place.
That was the night our mother disappeared.
Dad had gotten us rooms at a small-town motel and told us that they’d meet us in an hour at the restaurant across the road. He hesitated before adding that, while he didn’t think there was anything to the van thing really, we should call if we saw it again. I had seen the van pass by when we’d turned into the motel earlier, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come back again. I almost asked why he didn’t just call 911 if he was still worried about it, but something kept me from the question. Instead, I just nodded and told him we’d let him know if we saw anything suspicious.
When he arrived by himself at the restaurant, I hadn’t thought much of it. At first I assumed that Mom was just being slow and would be over in a minute. And when he said she was tired and laying down, I took him at his word.
Sharon, on the other hand, kept bringing it up during the meal. Asking if we should go check on her. If we should bring her some food. He calmly rebuffed each question, saying that no, it was better to just let her get some rest. But Sharon…she kept asking questions and making comments about it, seeming to grow more upset every time. I didn’t know what the problem was, but it felt like it went deeper than just concern that Mom had a hard day on the road.
We were all crossing back over the highway to the motel when Sharon picked up pace and began heading for our parents’ room. To my surprise, Dad pursued her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around as she reached the sidewalk that ran outside of every door. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but it was clear they were both angry and upset. After a few seconds of back and forth, Sharon stalked off toward our own room while Dad turned and gave me a wave.
“See you in the morning, pumpkin. Call if you need us.”
I tried to talk to Sharon when I got back in the room, but she was laying on the bed with her back to me, and the most I was able to get out of her was a muffled “Leave me the fuck alone.” I knew better than to push it, so I watched some bad cable t.v. before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up to Dad knocking on our door, telling us it was time to get up and get going. I groggily changed clothes and brushed my hair before lugging my backpack out to the car. I was looking around for Mom when our father came out of their room with his bag. His face somber, Dad waved Sharon over before he began.
“Girls, your mom had to leave early this morning. We got word that your Aunt Bethany was in a bad accident and is in the hospital.” He swallowed as his expression grew stricken. “She’s in ICU, and we don’t know how it’s going to turn out quite yet. So your mom took a taxi to the bus station early this morning and is headed back to be with Bethany.” Sharon started to speak and he raised his hand. “I suggested we all just head back, but she knew how long we’d been planning this trip. She said she wanted us to keep going. If things turn around for Beth, she said she might even fly out to meet us in Nevada in a few days.” He stared at Sharon for several moments before turning to me. “That sound okay to you girls?”
Sharon scowled at him. “Not really, no. This hasn’t been the best trip so far, and well, I think we should go home and be with Mom and Aunt Beth.”
I could already see that path quickly becoming long, boring days at a hospital, which Sharon would slowly bail on until she was hardly around for the rest of the summer. And then next summer, maybe she wouldn’t come back home at all. So I spoke up.
“I think we should keep going. Mom can let us know how Aunt Beth is doing, and I know how much you’ve been wanting this trip, Daddy.”
He beamed at me. “That’s true, pumpkin.” Turning, he smiled at Sharon. “Let’s keep going for now, okay? If things don’t get better for our trip or for Beth, we can re-evaluate as we go. How does that sound?”
Sharon looked at him for another moment before dropping her gaze. “Yessir.”
Seemingly satisfied, he threw his bag into the back. “Okay then. Let’s load up and head out.”
I had planned on trying to talk some to Sharon on the ride that day, but when we’d gotten in, Dad asked her to move up front and help him navigate. She’d given me a strange look before getting out and going around to the front passenger seat. I wasn’t sure if she was still upset about whatever they’d argued about last night, was worried about Bethany or Mom heading back alone, or just generally wished she was back with her college friends, but something was off. She barely talked at all except for occasionally giving directions, and whenever I asked her a question, she either ignored me or gave a short, curt response.
After an hour of this, I decided to text Mom and see how she was doing. Maybe she had heard more about Bethany. I’d only met my aunt a handful of times over the years, but she seemed like a sweet woman. And while Sharon and I never talked to her outside of her visits, I knew Mom kept in touch and always seemed excited whenever they got together. Both for her sake and for Mom’s, I hoped she’d be okay.
After thirty minutes of no response after I texted Mom, I decided to try Sharon again. Dad was listening to some radio show, and so I just texted Sharon instead of asking her out loud.
You: Have you heard from Mom? I tried texting her awhile ago and haven’t heard anything.
Sherry Berry: No. I haven’t heard anything.
You: Have you heard anything from Bethany or her kids? I don’t have their numbers.
Sherry Berry: Me either.
Me: What crawled up your ass and died? You’ve been bitchy since last night. Did I do something?
There was no response for several minutes, and despite feeling irritated and worried, I felt myself starting to get hypnotized by the drone of the talk show mixed with the windshield wipers sloughing away sheets of rain as we headed into a summer storm. I jumped when my phone suddenly buzzed again.
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Credits
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