Riders on the Storm, part 2
Bizarre whistling snapped me back to attention. I snuck a sideways glance at him, unable to stand more than that. His frighteningly alert eyes gleamed with crazed glee as he began to pick up the tempo.
When would he just pass out and end both of our misery? He had been driving for eighteen hours straight and most of that had been spent guzzling down whatever alcohol he could get his hands on.
We hadn’t spoken one word to each other the entire drive. Not even the slightest hint as to why, after three years of not hearing from him, he should show up at my pre-calc class, taking out the teacher who had just given me a D minus, as he held me at gun point.
Not that anything could explain it; just something would have been better than the empty silence.
That was until the whistling began, making me long for the silence again. It was easier to convince yourself you weren’t riding with a lunatic.