Now leaving Ficland Heights said a little green sign on the side of the road. A couple miles down, another sign informed me that we had 52 more miles to go before Point Blanche. Marli hadn’t said more than a couple words since we’d left WFCY, so I turned on the radio. Nothing but static, so I switched it off.

It started to rain. Big, fat droplets landing like the tears of God himself on the front windshield, making it nigh impossible to see. “Shit,” I said, realizing our voyage would be cut short tonight. I started looking for a place to stop.

There had been a car behind us for a good ten minutes now. I was getting suspicious. It was probably nothing, but still…

Up ahead I saw the bright neon glow of “The Raines Motel” accompanied by an inviting “vacancy” sign.

“Wish we had Mess’ umbrella right now,” I said, trying to shed some humor on the situation. Marli didn’t seem to appreciate the irony.

“Welcome,” said April (the night clerk). We booked a room for the night.

So did the man from the other car.