Until You Break

Mallory

The heat rolled off the moving truck’s hood where I stood in the street. It felt like a Death Star at my back—everything suddenly a bad omen. My dad called out from under it.

“Well, Sparkplug, looks like it was just a loose fuel line.”

“A loose fuel line?” I bent down and pulled my hair into my hands to keep it from dragging on the ground as I looked under the carriage.

“Hand me those zip-ties.” He pointed blindly to his little toolbox that he carried with him for checkups.

“Are you sure this isn’t the universe telling me to just stay here with you?”

With a throaty laugh, my father slid himself from under the vessel that held my life on its back, and smiled up at me. “Mal, you know nothing is making you move in with that ding-bat boyfriend of yours.” He groaned while he hoisted and dusted himself off. There was a smudge of grease and dirt on his cheek, my hand twitched to rub it off with my sleeve.

But I couldn’t, not in the thin cardigan Carleen gave me last year for mine and Taylor’s anniversary. It was a dark cream color that was supposed to bring out my skin tone. I didn’t see it, the color was so hard to keep clean and “fresh.” I just smiled at my dad and pointed to his cheek.

“Got a little something there.”

“It’s my war paint.” He chuckled.

I could feel my insides twisting and pulling sharp. I was going to miss him so fucking much. I don’t want to go…

My eyes turned to the shop at my back. The one we lived above.

The small one-bedroom loft apartment Franklin Jones built for the manager was something the contractor told him not to include, but my father insisted. He wanted someone to watch over the shop while it was closed. Some of the clients’ cars were worth more than our old house. But after we fell on hard times, Pop’s moved us here. Being thirteen and living over a restoration shop wasn’t the easiest of moves, but it was what kept a roof over my head and food in my belly.

My dad slept in the recliner and gave me the only room. Now that room was his. We spent the last week fixing my old bed to be suitable for him, his knees couldn’t take the low frame I picked out, but after some welding and a cool pickup truck bed frame? Yeah, Pop’s had a badass room. It looked more like a truck parked in there, there was a projector that I installed so he could watch his shows like a drive-in theater. The ceiling even looked like the night sky.

Totally not jealous of his room. Maybe a little bit.

“So it’s not too late to unpack and just take over my old room again?” The squeak in my voice reminded me of a bad car belt. A little deodorant wasn’t going to fix this.

“Sparkplug, I’ll carry the boxes in myself if you really want to stay. This is your life and no one can make the decisions for you.” He gripped my arm and smeared the grease on the end of my sleeve anyway. It was a piece of my dad that would never wash out, Carleen could just shove it.

“I think that I might—“ I didn’t get to finish before the crunch of the gravel at the end of the shop’s long drive pulled my gaze from Pop’s pinched brows to the white Subaru. Speak of the devil and she shall appear…

“Mallory Jones! Look at you!” Her voice was light and airy as Carleen nearly broke her ankle stepping onto the gravel and not the paved entrance way for the shop.

“Hey Kiddo.” Mark pulled me into a big hug then passed me over to his wife, Carleen. “Frank.” He held his hand out to Pops. They met back in high school and were friends ever since.

“Mark.” Frank grunted. Man speak. I shook my head, a soft smile on my lips.

“Oh honey, you ruined the cardigan.” Excuse me? I opened my mouth to tell her it wasn’t ruined, that stains happened but she just plowed over me, my nerves had me on edge. Everything felt personal and I took it a little closer to heart than I should have.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just get you another one later. They have a new line out anyway and there is this sky blue one that will look beautiful with your eyes.” Carleen rubbed my arms like I was cold. Maybe I was.

“Ready to hit the road?” Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders and smiled at me.

“I can’t—“ I was cut off before I could even explain what was happening.

“Oh come now, I know you two have had your ups and downs but Taylor is serious about you and this is going to be the best thing for you two.” Carleen cooed.

“True, he told us last night that he couldn’t wait to see you.” Mark kissed Carleen’s temple. They’d always been there. Sometimes before I even knew I needed them.

“But if you want to change your mind, you can, Sparkplug.” Pop’s comforting voice wrapped around me.

“This is the logical next step, moving in together is always scary at first.” Mark followed up. “But this will be good for the two of you. It will strengthen your bond before marriage.”

I felt my shoulders soften. They were right, couples moved in together all the time. In fact, we were behind most couples our age. Some of the girls in my classes have lived with more than one boyfriend by now. I was still living with Pops above the shop and taking courses at the local college trying to get my master’s degree.

“I can’t leave tonight anyway. I have tried calling Taylor but it just goes to voicemail.” I looked at my phone again, seven calls all to his mailbox.

“Oh,” Carleen lifted her hands. “I have an address for you. Taylor gave it to us last night when we talked to him, said that his phone would be in his locker.” She hooked her arm into mine and pulled me to her Outback.

“You talked to him last night?” Why didn’t he answer my calls then?

“Not really, it was long enough to make sure we got the address. He was on a stakeout, he was chosen by a detective to work on a case involving a gang.” She beamed, the pride in her voice was enough to make me smile too. Taylor always wanted to be the youngest detective on the force, his goal was to make it before the end of his first year.

“You know, Honey, this is going to be a wonderful chance for you to build the new you. You’ve always been more than just the mechanic’s daughter. This is your chance to let people see that. We love Frank, you know that, but I see you drowning in his shadow. You’re a beautiful girl who never had a chance to truly bloom.” Carleen’s voice was soft, her delicate fingers pushed back the strains behind my ear. The look in her eyes was one I often wondered if my mother would have given me. Losing her at a young age wasn’t as hard on me as it was my father, I never met her. I was only a few weeks old.

“Be the stunning woman that I know is under the overalls, imagine how stunning you would be walking into a room where the you, the you I see, can shine brightly with Taylor. He is so proud of you. You’ve always been comfortable blending in with him. What if you let yourself stand out instead?” She chuckled that airy kind of laugh that made my stomach twist. Something in me bristled, but I smoothed it down the way I always did when Pops and Carleen disagreed without meaning to. Pops used to say Mom could rebuild a carburetor in a dress.

I wasn’t sure when that stopped being enough. It was how she looked out for me. I knew that.

“I’ll try. I promise. Less overalls and more dresses.” I needed to try the other side. Try to be the one who could be elegant in formal wear, walk the walk, talk the talk. The supportive girlfriend a detective needed.

I’m not saying that the truck was haunted. But the truck was haunted. There was this annoying tap-tap-tap. Then nothing. It was so small at first, I assumed it was the bad highway roads over the bridges.

I was stuck behind this asshole with a trailer filled with trimmings and branches. Ten miles under the speed limit…

In Texas.

In the fast lane.

“Come on dude, move it.” I gripped the wheel until my fingers went numb, then I tried to merge into the middle lane to get around him. Some girl in a sports car pushed me back behind this guy.

“Oh, Come ON!” I cried in the cab. My voice bounced off the empty space around me and I felt more alone than I had when I pulled away from home.

Home.

Where my dad was probably listening to the shop settle for the night. At least he doesn’t have to deal with fucking traffic.

The trailer jumped and I had to slow down as he took the middle lane and damn near collided with a minivan. The mom was throwing what I thought was cereal at her windshield, her mouth said she had the vocabulary of a sailor.

“Note to self: Do. Not. Cut her off. I choose life.” With a shake of my head I focused on getting up to speed, well maybe a little faster than I should have.

Hey.

It was the fast lane for a reason.

It was about fifteen miles later, the tap-tap returned. It was louder and I could feel it under my feet.

“In four miles, merge left onto Highway 190.” The GPS pulled my thoughts from the ghost knocking on the undercarriage and back to the hell-raiser minivan dodging cars like she was running from Nicholas Angel.

Traffic split and I joined the flow, finally, I felt the knot in my chest loosen. I took a breath and switched on the radio just so the silence didn’t eat me alive. The radio was awful, none of my favorites were programed on the rental, I should have remembered that before I left. The stations jumped from one to the next as I repeatedly hit scan. One was playing a decent mix of 80’s and 90’s.

Perfect.

I let my fingers tap along with the drums as I watched Hell-raiser take three lanes to hit her exit. I wondered if she always drove like that or if she was in a hurry to get to wherever.

Thunk-Thunk-Thunk

Thunk-Thunk

“No…” I hit the 4-ways and slowed the truck, limping to the side of the road. Thing about Texas and highways is no one cares if you’re in trouble. You need to get out of the way fast or end up in pieces. We were more like Mad Max levels of travel and less like… well, the rest of the world.

“Watch it, Asshat!” I growled as I hopped out of the cab, my flats sank into the mud. “Shit…” That was going to take forever to clean. My shoes were covered up to the toes in mud and whatever road debris collected on the edge.

I ran my hand down the wall of the truck as I leaned over to see what was causing me such a headache.

“Ma’am?” A sharp male voice startled me. “Everything alright?”

He was highway patrol—clean-shaven, watching me like I might shatter.

“Looks like a stick in my drive shaft.”

“Need help?” He glanced under but didn’t come closer.

“Nah.” I shook off my cardigan and put it in the cab, grabbed my holy roadside-kit and walked back to where the wooden poltergeist waited for me.

“I’ll block traffic then.” He moved back to his cruiser and turned on the lights so traffic would move or, if they were nice, slow down.

The space between me and the branch was just far enough that I was going to have to lay on the ground. Great. Luckily, with a little shimmy and a yank, It came free—but not before I heard the sound of my dress tear. I tossed the stick off, far enough it would be out of the way of other vehicles, brushed off as much of the mud as I could. I was filthy.

I nodded to the cop. He returned it.

Then we went our separate ways.

The blinding sun had already settled behind the hills and valley of Central Texas. What little heat collected on the ground cooled by the time I climbed back into the rolling death trap. I’m sure these were designed to thin the population, don’t have the proof though.

The drive wasn’t any easier the further away from home, away from Pops and his declining health. I checked the ETA on the GPS.

Eight minutes until I got there.

Eight minutes until everything finally started.