Page 2 of Finders Reapers

How long had I been missing?

It wasn’t like I could just go missing. Someone had to have seensomething.

Tires screeched against the asphalt as the Mustang span in the road and made its way back towards me.

I considered running, but my own lack of emotional reaction stopped me in my tracks. My heartbeat should have been pattering, but my chest was silent. My stomach should have been flipping, but I was oddly calm. Like I was watching the situation as a member of the audience instead of experiencing it.

The Mustang skidded to a stop about ten yards from my feet. The window rolled down to reveal a man with messy dark hair that curled around his ears, aviator sunglasses obscured his face, but he had a few days worth of facial scruff.

I couldn’t see anything in the reflection of his sunglasses, but I felt his disapproving glare, even if I couldn’t see his eyes.

“There you are.” His voice was deep and raspy, with the hint of an accent. “Get in. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

That didn’t bode well for me.

My feet remained rooted to the spot.

“I do not have all day.” He called out, his accent growing heavier. Slavic. Brusque. Possibly Russian, his words sharp and to the point.

The car crept forward until I was close enough to reach out and poke the driver if I wanted to.

The man flicked a cigarette butt out of the window.

My lip curled in distaste. “You shouldn’t litter.”

The man ignored me and reached for his glove box, and I really hoped he wasn’t going to pull a gun.

He held up his phone, flashing a strange picture on the screen. Some kind of rune.

“We do this the easy way or the hard way.” He threatened.

I had no idea what he was talking about. “Look, I’ve been walking for a while, and I need to get back to the Strip. I don’t know how I got here, but I’d appreciate it if you could get me back to the city or let me use your phone.”

The man ignored my rambling and lifted his phone again. “If I have to use this spell, it will not be pleasant for you.”

I didn’t want to point out that magic didn’t exist. I’d heard that people with schizophrenia didn’t like it when you pointed out their delusions.

“You’ll take me to the city if I get in your car?” I hated how hopeful I sounded as I shifted from foot to foot.

The man tilted his head down and glanced up at me over the rim of his sunglasses. His eyes were the color of Coca-Cola on a sunny day. “Just get in the car,wisp.”

My feminist foremothers were probably rolling in their graves, but I trudged to the passenger side door.

My hand passed through the door when I reached for the car's handle.

My entire world tilted. “What the hell is wrong with your car door?” I bristled.

The man grunted but said nothing.

I reached forward again and passed through the car door entirely. I fell into the seat but managed to settle quickly. I couldn’t feel the leather seats or the aircon even though I could hear it running.

The stranger revved his engine and did another fishtail before setting off on the Mojave Road at a dangerous speed.

I reached forward to grip the center console, but my hands passed right through. I let out a shriek, but my voice was lost in the roar of the engine.

After a moment passed, and when I realized I wasn’t going to die, I turned back to Sunglasses.

“Can I borrow your cellphone?” I asked.

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