Zacharia Renaude walked along Eller’s Corner Rd. He announced to the three boys who waited in front of the gym that his mother was picking him up. They pretended that they cared, one of them even said, ‘Don’t forget what happened to Patrice.’ Nevertheless they all climbed into Jimmy Sorenson’s mom’s Escalade’ leaving him in the school parking lot. Zach felt a twinge of guilt as he shouldered his backpack and started to walk towards home.
Just that morning, about to jump from the car in front of the school, Zach’s mother decided they needed to talk. His hand was actually on the door handle when he heard the clicks at each of the four doors. He pretended not to notice and pulled up his door’s lock release. He was not surprised when, as he pulled on the door handle, there was a muffled ‘kha-lunk’ sound. Zach smiled at the door. His mother pretended to be reading something on her phone. Normally they would play the ‘unlock-the-door’ game until one or both was giggling; however, on this occasion, the stream of kids walking past the car was beginning to dwindle. It was increasingly likely that some kid would take notice. Zacharia Renaude was not a fan of being the center of attention.
“Ma-ahm! Cut it out!” He knew enough not to look over at her. She was one of the few people he could tolerate direct eye contact with, and even then, only if it was a good reason, like asking why they were moving out of the city or if he had to be on the Little League team every year.
“I can keep this up all morning, kiddo.” Dru Renaude continued to stare at her phone, but a slight up-turning at one corner of her mouth provided all the information the boy in the passenger seat required.
Zach sat back in his seat and stared mostly out the windshield. He knew from a lifetime of experience that when his mother wanted to talk to him, like it or not, she would talk.
“Be sure you get a ride home with one of your little friends today. I’ll be on a conference call from 2:00 to god-knows-when. Promise?” She looked up from her phone. Zach looked directly into her eyes, a rarity in and of itself. “Aiight?”
Like a crystal growing in speeded-up-nature-film-time, one corner of Zach’s mouth twitched and then the motion spread across his face. The smile broke free and he laughed, “Aiight!” His hand rose in an enthusiastic if not overly authentic gang sign, as out-of-place in the German luxury car as a bowling ball in a bassinet.
It was a two-mile walk home, but felt like less with the un-seasonably mild weather. Corn fields, farm stands and the occasional new house bracketed the single lane road. The new houses were always set back, way off the road. The fields and farm stands weren’t.
Zacharia Renaude looked up from the road in front of his feet to the space slightly behind his left shoulder.
He was surprised by the voice, then by the car, and then not so surprised by either. It was an Aston Martin DB11, whispering along 5 mph, like the low growl of a wolf finding a scent. It wasn’t like the boy was paying attention to the road behind him, or, for that matter, the road in front of him.
The car that lagged behind him as he walked, was black. Totally black. There was not a single piece of chrome anywhere on the car. It was to Zach Renuade, a black-on-black bad-assed automobile.
Despite being four years shy of a learners permit, and something of a shy and quiet eight grader, he nevertheless was growing up male in 21st Century America. That meant he knew that, given the opportunity, he could slip behind the wheel of the car and make the world take notice. Were someone to suggest that all he need do is give up his soul in exchange for the car keys, Zach, and too many other boys of that age, would have said, ‘Where do I sign?’
In a sense, that unspoken deal had already been struck, albeit in much less obvious terms than those portrayed in movies and fairy tales. One of the greatest advancements in sales and marketing, (or, for that matter, the eternal battle between God and Satan for the souls of Man), was the ‘opt out of a sale’ clause. The individual was required to cancel the deal, in order to not sell. In less enlightened times, a man, (women being curiously absent in tales of soul bartering), desperate enough was required to seek out the devil in order to make a deal.
The car came abreast of Zach, which brought a smile to his face. His very facile imagination threw up a scene of a ten cylinder engine red-lining, muffler screaming as the car fought to catch up with the boy in the khaki pants and gum sole kung fu shoes as he walked down the road. The voice coming out of the passenger side window made him think of both Patrick Stewart and the guy who did the commercials for the sandwich meats. “Sorry, man. I work with ya mom. I shoulda said that first. Don’t want to, like scare you sounding like a … not that you looked scared, but you know.”
Zach worried his mother at times. He was quiet when most boys his age made the most noise, which is to say, whenever possible. He was calm when most of his friends were clearly excited or fearful, the distinction not always easily discerned.
He recognized the man in the car as someone having something to do with his mother’s real estate business. He was almost her boss, but not really. He didn’t work in her office. But whenever he showed up, her mood always changed. Not in a good way.
“So, you need a ride home, or what?” There was something in the man’s voice that had Zach’s eyebrows mirror his smile. There was an extra something to his tone that seemed to make it harder to see the guy’s face behind the wheel. The boy decided that, while he was supposed to be respectful and polite to adults and the people his mother worked with, he was not going to get into the car.
In Zach’s head the voice that always wanted him to be like other kids and not be such a weirdo, piped up, ‘Stop being such a dweeb, the guy works with your mother. Like he’s really gonna kidnap you or something.’
He turned towards the car as the dark-tinted window sank into the door, ‘Tick Tock’ from Peter Pan came to mind. He didn’t even wonder why, accustomed to a capacity to make associations faster than he could follow. Zach was certain that if he took the time, he could discover the connections between a very cool car and a very old fairy tale character. Instead, he put his hand into the pocket and pressed a sequence that caused his phone to ring.
Zach pulled the phone out of his pocket and said, “Hello? Yeah nothin. Just outside.” He resumed walking, turning his head as often happens when speaking on the phone. “No. I won’t forget. Hold on….” He noticed that the car had not kept pace with him and was now about twenty feet back the way he came.
Zach looked at the windshield of the exotic car. The face of the driver came out of the darkness of the interior, as if the lights of the dashboard suddenly rose in illumination. There was a smile on the man’s face that made the darkness in his eyes look like desperate sadness. Zach immediately thought of a picture he saw of a starved wolf in a cage. In the photo was a woman feeding the wolf through the bars of the enclosure. The wolf looked towards the woman and the woman was watching the wolf’s face. Both seemed poised for something to happen.
Without warning, the car stopped slightly back down the road. The driver put it in reverse and backed into a turn. More frightening than anything Zach had witnessed since he became aware of the car, was how the driver chose to turn around. Being a single lane country road, the obvious approach would be to back up while turning as far as the pavement allowed and then forward with an opposite turn on the wheel. Given that the cornfields came right to the edge of Eller’s Corner road, it would probably take a couple of reverse-turn-forward-turns in order to get the car facing the opposite direction.
The driver turned the wheels slightly and drove into the cornfield, autumn-stumble of stalks still marking the rows. Clearly not concerned with getting back on the road as quickly as possible, the car accelerated in a shallow curve across the field, dust and dirt thrown up behind as the powerful engine began to roar. With an angry squeal, the tires found the macadam road and the black car disappeared down the road.
Zach watched, the hair on his neck rising like a group of boys at their first dance, slowly at first and then all at once.