Full Circle

Word Count: 5,407

It was early in the fall of 1989 as the first hint of the green of the trees transforming into their autumn colors became apparent, I set out on the long, arduous trek between South Carolina and Texas. My ex-wife and I shared joint custody of our only son, but I rarely got the chance to see him. The distance made any sort of regular visits impossible. The plan was for me to drive to Texas, and then my son and I were to fly back to South Carolina. At the end of our two-month visit, I would fly him back, pick up my truck, and drive back home to the east coast. 

By trade I worked as a creative writer. Among the works I had published were mystery novels, fantasy novels, and horror short stories. In such a profession, I enjoyed the freedom to decide when I worked and when I did not. I sent off my last manuscript a few days before my trip, and my next one was not due for several months. 

I cleared more time on my schedule than the length of my visit with my son. I wanted to take a scenic drive through the secluded roads of the forested country. I planned to take a drive through the Appalachian Mountains until I reached Alabama. From there I intended to cross West through the Southern states. During all of my past visits with my boy, I took the interstate highways the entire way to San Antonio. I thought this time a pleasant drive through the mountains would do me some good. 

The sun rose fresh and bright as I set off on my way. Because the orange light blazed so intensely, I turned my rearview mirror toward the ceiling to deflect the blinding glare from my face. Once the dazzlingly bright sun rose above the rear windshield window, I returned the mirror to its proper place allowing me to glance safely back to the traffic behind me. 

The morning air was rather chilly, probably no more than 50 degrees, but I preferred to leave the heater off as I drove. The air outside would warm up soon enough and the crisp, cold morning invigorated me. I wore a thick flannel hunting shirt, which I could remove in a few hours when the heat of the day arrived. 

Breakfast came in the form of two crumbling biscuit and greasy sausage sandwiches and paper cup full of bitter coffee from a fast-food joint. I did not stop to eat; I ate as I drove. My hope was to find a good place to stop to bed down before nighttime fell. Before long, I found the mountain road for which I was watching that I needed to take to get to the scenic highway. For a state highway, the road was exceedingly narrow, and there was virtually no shoulder on either side. One lane ran against the nearly vertical mountain face while the side of the rode on which I drove bordered an 80 degree angle drop through a forest of pine trees. 

By my calculations, if I followed along this highway, I should reach the Southern tip of the Appalachians in Northern Alabama in a matter of four to five days. I really looked forward to this drive for some time, but thanks to the windy roads, I stopped to relieve my bladder quite frequently. The large cup of coffee I picked up the last time I stopped to refill the gas tank probably did not help, but it did keep me focused and awake. 

The meandering drive provided an outstandingly splendid scenic view. I spent the first two nights of my trip camping out in my tent. Being an avid outdoorsman, I always kept camping gear in the toolbox of my truck. In spending a fair amount of my time secluded with nature; I found a lot of inspiration for my stories in the wilderness and the imagined mysteries it contained. I imagined how much my boy would enjoy this. He liked the outdoors almost as much as I did. Perhaps we would do some camping during his visit. 

On the third night I drove late into the evening. I wanted to try to make good time, so I drove until I began to doze. Setting up my tent quickly, I climbed swiftly in and went to sleep. I drove longer than I should have. It was not safe to be driving these windy mountain roads while I was so sleepy. Only minutes after crawling into my sleeping bag, I was sound asleep. 

I woke up an hour before the sun would rise above the horizon. Something woke me up. It sounded like loud whispering, but it was nothing but garble. I figured it must be some sort of insect or bird. Just to be safe, I climbed out of my tent and took a look around. The whispering continued, but it became very faint. I knew it was some kind of animal but did not know what, so I went to my truck and took my pistol out of the glove box. Climbing back into my tent, I set my pistol next to my pillow and drifted back into my dreams. 

When I finally rose for the day, it was about three hours past dawn. I packed up quickly and got back on the road. I could not get the sound of that whispering out of my head. I rationalized it as a nocturnal animal, but something deep inside me told me different. I wanted to get as far from this area as quickly as I could. 

I took pleasure in the secluded drive. Many years passed since the last time I spent time in the mountains. I forgot how magnificent everything looked from this altitude. I drove a while after the sun went away for the night. I decided I would find an inn and stay there until morning. I needed a place to shower and shave. Two nights in the wilderness left me quite dirty. 

I let myself get in too much of a hurry. If I was driving the speed limit, I may have avoided the tragic events that were about to unfold before me. A man in torn and filthy clothes staggered out from nowhere and limped right out in front of my truck. I was not paying clear attention; I did not have time to react. I had nowhere to turn or move out of the man’s way. If I swerved I would either hit one side of the nearly vertical mountain face to my left or go careening over the other side of the mountain. With my right foot, I pressed down on the breaks with every bit of strength I could conjure. Unfortunately, that was not enough to prevent the events I was about to set into motion.  My breaks locked and the oversized truck began to skid straight ahead. For a fraction of a second I saw into the man’s eyes, and I saw my own impending demise in there. Somehow in his eyes I seemed to feel my own death. I clipped the fellow hard with the right front fender of my large pick-up truck. 

My heart stopped as dazzling sparks of light overtook my vision. I jerked the parking brake and hastily ran back to help the man I  hit, if he could be helped. Vertigo nearly overtook me when I realized I just pushed the man off the side of the cliff. My head spun an I nearly lost my balance and plummeted down after him. I wanted to vomit. I looked around for an hour, calling out for the man. I got no reply. I realized my only option was to run. The man was dead, and there was no point in me spending years in prison for it. 

Jumping back in my truck, I got out of there like a bolt of lightning. I could not believe what I just did. I killed a man, and now I was running. There was nothing I could do though. He stepped right out in front of me. It was either him or me, and I had a son in San Antonio waiting for his father to go get him. 

No one would ever find the body there. That man would decompose and be eaten by wild animals long before anyone found him. That was my hope. As long as he was not a local, I should be in the clear. Who would even think to look for the body of a drifter? 

I passed a few scenic parkways, but I did not want to stop until I was back to an interstate highway and far from here. Almost two hours passed, but I still did not find a major highway. I passed several scenic parkways, but it was not until now I felt a bit safer. I finally pulled over so I could assess the damage to my truck. What little blood there was on my truck spattered along the side. I easily washed that away with a few bottles of water. The denting was minimal. I expected more structural damage than this. Apparently, I did not hit the man very hard. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

I continued driving, looking for a way to get out of the mountains and to a major highway. After hours of driving, I wondered if any such exit existed. Eventually I found a small mountain hotel and pulled over for the night. I was exhausted from the stress and anxiety, and I reached the point of struggling not to fall asleep. I simply could not continue any further.  

A nice gentleman, probably in his mid-fifty’s, checked me in and gave me the room key. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I adjourned to a small bar right next to the motel. I hoped a drink or a few would help soothe my frazzled nerves. 

It was a rugged little tavern with a cozy atmosphere. The lighting was fairly dim and soft which helped put me at ease a bit. I was rather surprised when I saw the hotel manager was the bartender as well. I shared a few kind words with the man, trying to hide the guilt and paranoia plaguing my thoughts. I was on my second drink when a few other people entered the bar. Two scruffy men with long hair and beards walked in with a rather attractive woman. She had a natural beauty all the make-up in the world could not improve. I caught myself staring at her. I turned back around to the bartender and hoped I did not offend the men. 

After my fourth shot of bourbon, I decided to head back to my room to attempt to ge some sleep. I walked in, closed the door, and shed all of my clothes. Right then I heard three gunshots ring out in the night. Grabbing the sheet off of the bed, I covered my lower self and ran outside. 

The two men and the beautiful woman ran out of the bar and jumped into an old navy-blue sedan. In their hurry, the tires spun and pelted the front wall of the bar with chunks of gravel. I threw my pants back on and ran to the bar. I yelled the whole way hoping some other patrons could help me. I ran through the front door of the small pub to find the bartender lying over the bar dead. Blood covered the countertop and dripped on one of the bar stools with an audible tap. The cash register was pulled from the counter and smashed on the ground. All of the money was apparently gone. The three even searched the dead man’s pocket for valuables. 

No one else was checked into the hotel. The bartender was the only employee there. I needed to make a quick decision. I already tried to cover up one murder, now I was considering ignoring a second. If the authorities arrived, they may notice the damage to my front fender and put two-and-two together. I could not take that chance. I quickly gathered my clothes, jumped in my truck, and got the hell out of there. 

I cursed myself because I did not pay attention to which direction the sedan went as they hastily exited the scene. I obviously wanted to go the opposite direction, but I did not know which direction that was. I took a chance and continued on my way South. All I wanted was a peaceful, serene drive. Instead, this trip was turning into my worst nightmare. God knows who I hit. I was a murderer who fled the scene of another murder. 

Panic pressured me to drive as hastily as I could. I had to calm myself and keep the speedometer at a safe level. My heart tried to pound its way out of my chest, and there was not much I could tell myself to help me calm down. Anxiety and fear filled every nerve from head to toe. I desperately wanted to get out of these mountains and out of this state. 

I tried not to think of what would happen if I got caught. I would surely spend the rest of my life in an Alabama backwoods prison. I could not let my boy grow up without his father. It was an accident. The man staggered right out in front of me, and I did not have time to react. I even stopped to check on him, to try to help him. There was nothing I could do. If the impact with my car did not kill him, the fall definitely did. 

Absorbed in my thoughts, I barely noticed the dark blue sedan parked at one of the scenic views. My heart leapt into my throat when I recognized the car as the one I saw fleeing the hotel. When I passed, I could not see if there was anyone inside or not. I prayed they abandoned their vehicle for another or set off on foot into the mountain forest. 

I drove several more miles and thought I was in the clear. Only a few minutes later I saw headlights quickly winding along the road behind me. I hoped it was only another late night traveler, but my gut told me otherwise. I knew it was the murdering thieves from the bar. 

I increased my pace, but I was unfamiliar with the windy road. I knew if I drove too fast, I could easily run off the side of the mountain. Despite my haste, I saw the headlights of that dark blue getaway car closing in on me. Within five minutes, the heavy steel vehicle was upon me. 

The sedan approached closer and closer until it was only a few feet distant from my rear bumper. I already set into a panic even before the horn began to blow. Over and over the driver of the sedan honked the horn instilling within me dread and fear for my own life. I was probably the only person who could identify the murders, and they wanted to kill me before I could do so. 

They did not know I was a murderer as well. I had no more of a desire to encounter the authorities than did they. I desperately wanted to get away. I could not report them for fear of being found out as well. I wished I could make them understand this, but I was sure they wanted me dead. They did not care about my own troubles. With me dead, there were no other witnesses to their violent crime. 

The road began to straighten. I pressed harder on the gas pedal increasing my speed as much as I could. I was terrified of running off the narrow mountain road, but I feared the trio following me even more. With us now on a straight way, the car behind me began to ram my rear bumper. I did not know if they were trying to stop me, kill me, or simply run me off the side of the road. 

Up ahead of me, I saw a fork in the road. I had no idea which way to go and no time to think about it. Reacting without thinking, I continued straight. This led me onto the left fork in the road. To my relief, my pursuers did not react quickly enough and ended up on the right fork. 

My heart filled with despair when the paved road ended and a gravel road took its place. Obviously I was no longer on the main road. The rough road bumped and bounced my truck. I could hear the rocks hitting the side panels. The paint job on my new truck was destroyed, but that was the least of my worries. 

I let the irregular road lead me deeper into the mountains. I was afraid of getting lost, but I was more afraid my pursuers would return. I drove for thirty minutes through the jagged mountain path before I finally stopped. I had no idea where I was. I did not know if this road would dead end deep in the wooded mountains or return me to a paved drive. 

Turning off the truck, I climbed down to the floorboard and removed the fuses for my break lights and tail lights. If the trio did follow me, I would not give them tail lights to use as a beacon. The headlights had to stay on; the night was too dark for me to navigate without them. The further I proceeded, the more I was sure that I was heading toward a dead end. The road grew progressively narrower and the overhanging foliage grew ever denser. 

I breathed a sigh of relief as I came to an intersecting road. This road was gravel as well, but it looked more worn and heavily used. The sense of reassurance faded quickly as I realized I had no idea which way to turn. The windy gravel road made so many twists and turns. I did not know what direction I was going. I stopped to try to regain my bearings. 

Turning off the headlights, I turned off the truck and grabbed the flashlight from under the seat. I took my pistol out of the glove box along with a small box of bullets. My head spun with fear, confusion, and anxiety. I prayed that the three murder-thieves did not know this area. I hoped beyond all hope they were from out of town and not locals. As far as I knew, they could be just about anywhere. 

I knew some of the constellations like Orion and Scorpio. If I could find these, I might just figure out where to go. The walls of the mountain, not to mention the heavily congested trees, made it almost impossible to determine North from South. My fear of becoming lost in this rocky wilderness intensified. I nearly jumped out of my own skin when a voice greeted me from behind. 

“You lost?” the voice asked politely. 

I snapped around to find myself face to face with a large man. His facial features, hair and eyes did not betray the origin of his heritage. He easily stood eight inches taller than me. The peculiar man was getting on in years, but he still looked healthy and strong. He dressed in jeans and a denim jacket. Feathers and beads were woven into his slightly graying hair. A large, aged deerskin bag hung from his shoulder; the large satchel hung down to his hip. 

“Y-yes I am as a matter of fact,” I replied when I finally stopped gawking at the man. “I turned off on this road by accident. Now I can’t figure out what to do.” 

“You cannot go back,” he said. It was as if he knew more than he possibly could. “There are too many paths behind you. It is too easy to get lost that way.” 

I sensed a creepy aura about the man. He did not look at me; he looked through me. My soul cowered in guilt and shame. 

“Which way should I go?” I asked the tall stranger. 

“Which way calls to you?” he replied cryptically. 

I did not have the patients for this one with nature crap. I wanted to get back to a main road, preferably one heading in the opposite direction of that sedan. I knew I would get no help if I became belligerent. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to calm myself. 

Several minutes passed without either of us saying anything. There was an eerie stillness to the air. No breeze blew across my sweaty face or tickled my short hair. I saw no clouds in the sky. It was like the air suddenly decided to take a break. 

When I began to speak, the man silenced me by pressing one strong finger to my lips. He cupped his other hand around his ear. A few more awkward minutes passed, and then I noticed something very unnatural. To my left, I heard the crickets, frogs, and nocturnal birds creating a hypnotic song. To my right, I heard nothing. In front of me, the growth became increasingly thicker. There was no way going forward was an option. 

I did not know what to say, and I stepped backward toward my car. The aging man smiled, and I could not help but think he somehow manipulated the animals of the night. He made me very uncomfortable, and I began to climb back into the truck. The man spoke to me again. 

“Every action a man takes affects every action he takes in the future,” he said. It was almost like he was delivering some sort of prophecy. 

I desperately wanted to leave, to put as much distance between the sedan and me as quickly as possible. Still, something made me stand there. I felt like the man had more to say to me. 

“If a man does not determine his destiny, it will be determined for him,” he said in a monotone voice. “Is a man truly lost if he does not wish to be found?” 

“All things come full circle,” he finished. With that statement, the man turned to walk away. 

“What do I do?” I asked as if the man was a fortune teller. 

“Yin and Yang my friend. What comes around goes around,” he called loudly as he continued to walk into the dense forest. “However you sow, thus shall you reap.” 

A few steps after he disappeared from view he yelled out one last thing. “Go; follow the path you have chosen. 

The man never appeared or acted aggressive. I did not think I had to fear any danger from him. Even so, there was something about his mere presence that terrified me until my bones grew cold. It was as if a cloud of doom hung around the man. 

I found myself full of doubt. Did the nocturnal sounds beacon me or warn me away? Initially I was sure I should go to the left, but now I wondered if the silence meant safety. I wished I never encountered that man. I felt one way meant safety while the other meant death. 

I was parked there for a while. If that sedan did backtrack, they could be on me soon. I decided to go with my first instinct. Turning on my parking lights, I turned to the left. So long as I drove slowly enough, the dim light of the parking lights were sufficient. Turning on my headlights was the last thing I wanted to do. 

I crept along that backwoods road for miles. Several times I saw other trails, possibly other roads. I ignored all of these and continued to follow the road I chose. I was in a deep valley when my truck ran out of gas. The engine sputtered, clanked and finally stalled. I took my flashlight and pistol, along with my first aid and roadside kits, and then set off on foot. 

With the full moon hidden behind the mountains, it was intensely dark in the deep valley. It was a long way to the top of the road. I could barely see the road beneath my feet, and I stumbled on rocks, roots or other foliage and nearly fell several times. Regardless, I walked without the use of my flashlight. I was too afraid of drawing the wrong attention. 

By the time I reached the top of the road, my legs burned with cramps. The steep walk took my breath and caused a sharp pain in my side. The climb exhausted me. I wished I took better care of myself. I did not think I could make it much further on foot. I had to find some means of transportation. 

At the top of the road, I again had the benefit of the bright light of the moon. The mountain leveled here, and I could see a fair distance in front of me. The road was virtually devoid of growth, but no tracks were visible to indicate regular use. 

My whole body was on fire. Fatigue overtook me and I had to rest. I finally resigned to the fact I could go no further and wandered off the road. I walked about two hundred feet through the heavy undergrowth and found a small clearing. I collapsed. I could not stay awake. Absolute fatigue forced me into a deep sleep. 

When I awoke, I did not have any sense of passed time. It was still dark, but the moon’s orbit removed it from the night sky. 

Through the woods, leading away from the road, I saw what looked like the light of a window. I walked in that direction, but because of the absent moon, I had no choice but to use my flashlight. The undergrowth separating me from the house was quite dense. I was very hungry and wished I had something to eat. My body was weak because I had not eaten in almost two days. 

I thought it an unfortunate turn of luck when the underbrush became thick with thorns. The sharp talons tore at my skin and clothing, but I was not going to let that stop me from reaching that house. I suddenly realized the thorns tearing at me were wild blackberries. The thorny plants were a mixed blessing. 

I stopped and picked every berry I could find. They were tart, but satiated my hunger and soothed my parched throat. I did not continue on until I ate several handfuls of the dark berries. Feeling somewhat better, I continued to push my way through the brush and to the house. I briefly forgot about the torturous pain wracking my body. 

I spotted a white pick-up truck parked beside the house. I did not see any other vehicles, especially not a dark blue sedan. I hoped the owner of the house might give me a ride, or better yet give me some gasoline for my own truck. I finally emerged from the unforgiving shrubbery and came out about fifty yards from the house. A light on the opposite side produced a halo like effect making me comfortably feel I finally found safety. 

Approaching the house, I alerted a chained dog which instantly began barking. The shock filled my eyes with sparks, and I nearly fell to my back. A light over the back porch of the house turned on and a man stepped out. Confusion overtook me when I saw the man’s face. It was, without a doubt, the bartender and hotel manager. That was impossible; I saw the man lying dead only hours earlier. 

“Oh thank God,” I cried. “You-you’ve got to help me. They’re going to kill us both.” 

A shot blasted in the silence of the night. Initially I thought the trio in the sedan caught me, but then I realized the bartender stood in the door aiming a rifle at me. 

“Get out of here you damn thief,” he yelled only seconds before another shot cracked the night air. 

The bullet hit the ground only a few feet in front of me. Dirt and fragments pelted my body adding to my agony. 

“You don’t understand,” I tried to reason with the bartender. 

“Understand this,” he said as he let a third shot fly. 

The shock set my ear to ringing with a piercing shriek. The bullet passed only inches from my head. This was no warning shot. The bartender tried to shoot me but missed. He was not going to give me a chance to explain, so I ran. 

I could not go back the way I came. A floodlight now illuminated the area, and I could not pass through the thorn bushes with any speed. My best option was to run to the side of the house. As he fumbled to reload his firearm, I shot my revolver twice as I frantically dove into the white truck. I saw keys hanging in the ignition and thought I finally caught a break. 

I cranked the engine and floored the gas. Several more shots rang out behind me. I heard one hit the truck and another shattered the side view mirror. 

I frantically tore down the road as fast as the truck would go. I heard the gravel pelting the underside and inner fenders of the truck like an angry hail. Soon the gravel road gave way to pavement, and I felt like I was home free. In my zeal, I did not realize I was driving in the dead center of the road. I did not see the oncoming car soon enough. I tried to move to the side, but I clipped it hard on the driver’s side. 

I hit the brakes, which set me into a spin. The force threw me out of the truck to slam down onto the hard pavement. I welcomed the new pain when I watched the truck spin off the road and roll down the slope of the steep mountain. 

I looked back to the other car and saw it teetering on the edge. The front of the car pointed directly at me, and the headlights blinded me. I stepped toward the vehicle and felt a crippling pain in my belly. Looking down, I saw the bartender did not miss. The shot I heard hit the truck passed through and got me as well. I was losing blood fast. If I did not get help now, I was going to die. 

I forced myself forward. I had to help the people in that car, and hopefully they could help me. I dropped my first aid kit, flashlight, and roadside kit when I ran from the bartender. I was almost on the vehicle before I could see it without the headlights glaring me in the face, and I recognized it instantly. I stood there swaying from the loss of blood. I looked at the dark blue sedan with its three passengers. 

They tried to get out, but any small movement they made slid the car ever-so-slightly over the edge. They pleaded with me to help, to do something to weigh down the car so they could escape. My body was growing numb. I lost a lot of blood and I knew I was about to die. 

“Sure,” I said as I placed my foot on the grill of the car. “Have you ever heard of yin-yang?” I asked. I never got an answer, because I used what energy I had to give that sedan the little help in needed to go over the side. All I could hear were their death screams as the sedan rolled down the mountain. 

Reveling in my revenge, I did not see the shiny black pick-up truck round the sharp curve. I glanced up and, only for a brief moment, I saw myself behind the wheel of my undamaged truck. 

The last thing I heard was screeching tires as the breaks of the vehicle suddenly locked. I felt something, but I became so disoriented, I could not say what happened. I felt the rush of cold air for a moment before I came to a stop when I became impaled on a tree trunk. I saw a face up above me looking down the hill. Eventually the headlights drove out of view. 

“Don’t worry,” I said as darkness overtook me. “Everything comes full circle.”

 Copyright 2021 ©