Gospel music drifted through the car speakers, a choir of voices praising salvation while Faith and Madison sat entombed in silence. The driver's side door rattled with each bump in the desolate dirt road, a persistent metallic reminder of things falling apart. The car rumbled beneath them like a living creature, hungry and discontent.
Between them, in the cup holder typically reserved for coffee or soda, sat a plastic jug labeled "HOLY WATER" in Faith's precise handwriting. Madison had watched her mother fill it at church last Sunday, had seen the reverence with which Faith approached the font. As if water blessed by a small-town pastor could ward off whatever darkness Faith perceived around them.
Faith shivered suddenly and reached for the air conditioner knob, her fingers hesitating when she realized it was already off. The chill in the car had nothing to do with mechanized air.
"Oh, it's already off," Faith said.
Madison responded with a sigh that contained multitudes—boredom, frustration, resignation, and beneath it all, a current of fear she would never acknowledge.
"That's an interesting perfume," Faith said, her voice artificially bright. "It has a natural, somewhat woodsy scent. I like it."
Madison snickered, then shook her head dismissively. The "woodsy scent" was weed smoke barely masked by cheap perfume. Faith's inability to recognize it was either willful ignorance or genuine naivety—Madison couldn't decide which was worse.
"Come on, Maddy. Work with me," Faith pleaded, her voice softening. "You know I love you. Give things a chance, you'll see there's a good life for you here... with me."
Madison stared out the window at the endless plains. The landscape matched her internal state: flat, barren, with nothing to break the monotony except occasional patches of scrub and the distant promise of something beyond the horizon.
"Oh, yeah. Living our best life," she said. "We can winter in France this year."
The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife. Faith's knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel. Madison had aimed for a soft spot and hit her target.
"It's the best life we can afford," Faith replied, her voice tight. "Your father isn't exactly generous with financial support."
Faith's knuckles grew whiter, the bones pressing against her skin as if trying to break free. "He has yacht payments, expensive steaks to eat, and whores to fly around the—"
Faith bit her tongue, literally, teeth coming down on the soft flesh. Madison caught the flash of pain that crossed her mother's face and felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and guilt.
Madison stole a glance at Faith, then quickly diverted her gaze out the passenger window. The landscape offered no comfort, no distraction—just the same emptiness stretching to infinity.
"Anyways... We pray and allow God to protect and provide for us," Faith said, her voice recovering its practiced piety.
"Faith, I get it, just—" Madison began, but stopped when she noticed her mother's expression.
Faith stared straight ahead, her eyes slightly dilated as she drifted into her thoughts. The thousand-yard stare that had become increasingly common over the past few months. These moments scared Madison more than Faith's anger or her sermons. During these brief dissociations, Faith seemed to access some place Madison couldn't follow, some dark interior room.
"No, you don't get it!" Faith said suddenly, her voice unnaturally loud in the confined space. "I care so much about you. One day, you'll realize it."
"One day, you'll realize that you... you go too far," Madison replied, the words emerging softer than intended.
Madison looked at Faith, who remained lost in that distant stare. The gospel singers reached a crescendo on the radio, voices lifting in ecstatic harmony that contrasted sharply with the tension in the car.
"I don't go far enough," Faith said, her voice hollow. "I'm your mother. I'd do anything for you. You hear me Madison!? Anythi—"
A resounding horn blared, loud and sustained, cutting through Faith's declaration.
"Faith!" Madison shouted.
Faith had overshot a stop sign, oblivious to the world outside her mind. She slammed on the brakes, and the car lurched to a halt mere inches from a collision with a red Cadillac—the same red Cadillac—which zoomed past her hood and continued down the highway.
Erik. Madison's heart hammered in her chest, adrenaline flooding her system. Had he recognized Faith's car? Had he seen her in the passenger seat? The questions piled up, each more panicked than the last.
Madison stared out the front window in disbelief while Faith's face registered shock, then rapidly morphed into gratitude.
"Thank you, God, for—" Faith began.
Madison's disbelief transformed into disgust, cutting through her panic about Erik. "Really? God? I saved you!"
She couldn't bear another second in the car with Faith's delusions. Madison yanked the door handle and abruptly exited, slamming the door shut behind her. The sound was satisfyingly final.
The bus stop stood like an abandoned watchtower, worn and forgotten, where the highway intersected with the dirt road—a weathered bench beneath a rusted metal awning. It looked like it had been abandoned for years, forgotten by time and transportation authorities alike.
Faith's car sat at the stop sign as Madison walked towards the bus stop, her strides purposeful despite having no destination in mind. Anywhere was better than that car, with its holy water and gospel music and Faith's increasingly disturbing behavior.
A distance from the crossroads, the red Cadillac pulled to the side of the road. The engine revved, a predatory growl that carried across the empty landscape.
Unease flooded Madison's body as she glanced from Faith to the red Cadillac and back to Faith. She was caught between two dangers, neither fully understood.
In the car, Faith leaned forward, squinting at the distant Cadillac. "What's that guy's problem?" she asked.
The red Cadillac roared to life, its engine snarling before it peeled off, kicking up a cloud of dust that lingered in the air like a fading threat.
Madison felt anger rising in her throat. "Just go," she said, the words tight and urgent.
Faith inched the car forward, oblivious to the approaching school bus until its horn blared. She slammed on the brakes again, narrowly avoiding a collision as the large yellow vehicle passed in front of her.
Madison glared at Faith through the windshield. "What's your problem!?" she shouted, though she knew Faith couldn't hear her.
The school bus honked again as it stopped at the bench. Without a second thought, Madison stormed toward it. She had no idea where it was going, but it offered escape—from Faith, from this crossroads that suddenly felt too symbolic of her life.
She boarded the bus without looking back.
Faith watched the bus pull away, her daughter's silhouette visible through the tinted windows. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision until the bus became just a yellow smudge on the horizon. She blinked, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek. It hung from her jaw for a moment before falling, a tiny splash on her worn jeans that quickly darkened the fabric and then disappeared, as if it had never existed at all.
Chapter 10