Thunder boomed overhead in the massive sea of unrelenting storm clouds. Electricity was in the air chasing off the blackness of night. Rain plummeted down to the ground below. Amidst the storm stood Jeff Spire, around him tomb stones cast eerie shadows in the brief moments of violent light. Barley audible was the faint sound of a crows laughing cry. It was most likely seeking shelter from the storm in the near by willow tree to his left. Laughing at him for being caught in the storm with only an umbrella to shield him from the wet and the cold. The umbrella wasn’t much help anyways. His blond mid-length straight hair dripped water down his face. Or maybe they’re tears he thought. He wiped away some of the water near his eye and tasted it. Not tears.
It would seem as if his journey no longer sadden him and had become an obsession. The wind whipped his over coat every which way. It had become heavy with water turning the dark green almost black. His jeans and shoes were water logged as well. But still he stood there reflecting inwardly. The headstone he gazed at was white marble and as new as the fresh turned earth beneath it. “One month today.” He whispered quietly to himself. Turning around on his heel he weaved in and out of the markers. The rain eased and little rivulets formed in the grass. Mist sought to reclaim the graveyard and crept out of the shadows only to coil around his feet. He walked down an ancient stone staircase to the base and entrance of the graveyard. A taxi was waiting for him.
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The taxi driver had watched the man heading towards him. He’d been sitting there for thirteen minutes already and was starting to become impatient. Picking a man up in a cemetery at night, let alone in this massive spring thunderstorm was enough to put him on edge. He sat there, nose tip to the glass squinting through the raindrops and mist. Then he saw him. He walked out of the darkness as if it was home to him, slowly and thoughtfully. He was as white as a ghost (the driver wished he had a better analogy) soaked the bone, skinny and small. Great, why do I always get the weirdo’s? He opened the back door.
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Jeff climbed into the taxi for some reason he mentally noted the taxi number: twenty three. The interior of the cabin was a sick, thick combination of smells, smoke, sausage, urine, and spearmint. He tried not to gag as he did his seatbelt up.
“Where are ya headed?” the driver asked.
“The Kingsmen Hotel.” Jeff answered not looking at him but instead squeezing the water from his hair. The driver opened his glove box; he seemed to take special care taking out his map. The driver was a short fellow, hew could just manage to see over the dash board. He wore a white t-shirt with pit and various other grease stains. It wasn’t quite big enough for him and stopped half and inch before his pants. His hair was long black-grey and tied in a pony tale. His goatee however was entirely grey. He kept eyeing his rear view mirror staring at him.
“What?” Jeff said coldly
“Nothing.” His eyes abruptly went back to the road.
However it didn’t last long. The man was obviously nervous.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He mumbled. He must talk when he’s uncomfortable Jeff thought. “You have the money right?”
“Yes.” Jeff said making sure he caught the driver’s eyes in the mirror.
The driver turned around and showed him a colt 45.” Show me!”
Jeff’s heart skipped a beat. Fear raced through him as he started to fumble for his wallet. He showed the driver a fifty. ”Se….see?” The driver lowered the gun.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled,” you coming from that cemetery reall….”
He wasn’t watching the road and they had sped into an intersection.
There was the sound of crunching metal on metal. It rang in Jeff’s ears. Glass shattered in all directions, a fairly big piece stuck in his cheek. Pain shot though his right arm and he cried out. He heard a yep from the driver and saw him bash his head on the steering wheel then the roof as the taxi flipped upside down. Then everything went quite.
The driver lay there unconscious or dead.
Subject: Genealogy 
Wed Jun 20, 2007 3:39 pm
