Page 3 of Cruel Legacy

I glance down at the screen and see I’m getting closer to the rest stop. The sun dropped out of the sky when I was talking to Sasha, but even with my headlights on to brighten up the ink black road, I can’t make out any signs or landmarks.

A right, in two miles. Okay, I can do that. I scan the right side of the road, looking for my turnoff.

In a quarter mile, take a right at the fork.

I squint into the darkness and still can’t see where the roads diverge.

In one thousand feet, take a right at the fork.

I’m leaning forward over the steering wheel trying to make out something in the dark, but all I see are the white highway lines in front of me, and trees on my right. I turn down the volume on the radio and slow my speed.

In five hundred feet, take a right at the fork

Take a right at the fork.

I almost miss it. Iguessyou could call the tiny sliver of road, a fork. I cut the wheel sharply, giving the car’s shock absorbers a workout as I bump along the road. I look down at the navigation screen again to make sure I’m on the right path. The little line is as steady as can be. With each bump, I get closer to my destination.

I’m glad the GPS system is confident I’m heading in the right direction, because the poor excuse of the road in front of me has me worried I’m about to run into one of these trees. They’re dense as fuck, no moonlight coming through. I flick on my high beams. I still can’t see more than a few feet in front of me.

I’m driving slower than a student driver, riding the brakes as if a deer might dart out from the trees. I’m not usually this slow, but the car’s a rental and I don’t have money to reimburse my uncle if I get into an accident. I check to make sure the navigation system is still getting a signal. It’s been quiet since I Tokyo drifted onto this road and I’m pretty sure I should have seen the rest stop by now. Maybe I took the wrong turn.

Just as I’m about to turn around and head back the other way, the electronic voice tells me to turn left in half a mile.

I drop my speed, preparing to find another non passable passage through trees. I’m right. The left-hand turn is more like a dusting of gravel thrown along a patch of dirt, in the middle of a forest of trees. I spot a structure in my rear-view mirror. It’s a Rest Area sign with a red “Closed” sticker slapped across it. Good thing I don’t have to pee.

This road is a little better than the last one, and after another ten minutes, I come across a weathered sign telling me Canyon Falls is five miles away. I take another right when the navigation tells me to, and cross an old wooden bridge. It creaks and groans with every thump of the wheels.

I drive over a set of railroad tracks, and past the dilapidated sign that reads Canyon Falls Township, established 1869. The streets are quiet and eerily deserted for a Friday night, which only reinforces my earlier prediction. This place is gonna be the opposite of fun.

I shake the tension out of my hands and shoulders, and crank my radio back up now that I’m on an actual road. I glance down, fiddling with the tuner to find a station, and look back up ten-seconds before a thump hits the car. I slam on the brakes, my heart in my throat, as I briefly lock eyes with the guy who just slid over the hood of the car like some kind of action hero.Where the hell did he come from?

He readjusts his backpack and pulls his hood lower before running off into the trees on my right.

What the hell?

I’m still staring at the tree line, trying to make sense of what happened, when my phone alarm goes off. It’s the alert I set for the time I wanted to arrive at my final destination. The GPS says I’m twelve minutes away from the house.

I’ll be staying on campus at Canyon Falls University. Move in day was on Tuesday, and classes started yesterday, but my aunt and uncle insisted I spend a few days with them so they can help me get settled in my new town and dorm. I rolled my eyes so hard when they said that. I’ve never needed help settling anywhere before.

I can hear Mrs. Sprouts’ voice telling me to stop bringing my negative past into my positive future. “Every day is a new day that something amazing can happen.”

She’s genuinely one of those perennial sunshine types, but I’ve heard her threaten to cut a bitch.

I turn onto the street the GPS has directed me to and slam on my brakes for the second time tonight. This time, it’s because I’m sitting at the bottom of a driveway. At the top of it, there’s a massive gate blocking off a group of houses which can easily take up an entire block in my old neighborhood.

You can’t always trust technology. The roads were deserted and the navigation seemed suspect the last hour of my drive. I felt like one of those penguins in that commercial, wondering if I should just ignore the GPS and follow my instincts. I do a final route check to make sure I’m in the right spot. A big red blinking dot marks the spot, confirming I’m in the right place.

I ease off the brake and creep forward. Good thing there’s a call box since nobody gave me instructions on how to access the gate.

The gate slides open before I even get my window down. I drive the winding road, looking for the house number. Thankfully, it’s not the third house on the left. I’ve seen the movie with that title and don’t need that bad mojo around me.

Pulling to a stop, I gawk up at the mini-mansion in front of me. There’s no other way to describe it. There’s this mansion you can rent for parties in Vegas, that Sasha and I went to once. This house is smaller than that mansion, but way fucking bigger than any normal sized family home I’ve ever seen. I suspected these folks had a few spare dollars in the bank, but to be confronted with this…

I only have to look to the house next door to know they get fancier the further up the hill you go. My phone still doesn’t have a signal. They’re probably on private towers out here.

I don’t care how many miles I just drove. I’m still toying with the idea of fending for myself. This is not my scene. Yeah,fuck this. I’m going back home. Before I can throw the car in reverse, the front door to the house opens. Shit. So much for running. They obviously know I’m here, and with the way they keep opening doors and gates, they seem hella anxious to get me inside. I kill the ignition and climb out of the car, taking my time to grab my duffle bag from the back seat.

When I’ve stalled for as long as I can, I straighten up, sling my bag over my shoulder, and close the car door with a hip bump. I make a point of walking around the front of the car before crossing the driveway to get to the stairs. I count four steps between the ground and the top landing.

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