Miranda (sarx:one)

"I don’t want you seeing him anymore!” Veins pulsed at Harold’s temples as they always did during the verbal duels between he and his daughter, Miranda. "I don’t trust him.”

"You don’t even know him!" Miranda volleyed back across the dinner table, her volume matching his. Her green eyes flashed and her auburn hair fluttered as she gestured incredulously at her father’s stubbornness.

Father and daughter were inextricably linked genetically by fiery red hair and equally fiery tempers. Harold's red hair began to fade into blondish grey not long after turning thirty, but his temperament had yet to flicker or fade. These dinner time battles had become stock in trade some time soon after Miranda reached puberty.

"There’s just something suspicious about the whole thing!"

"Dad!" She rolled her eyes and flailed her arms in exasperation. "You always think that something’s suspicious!"

"Then you tell me why a twenty three-year-old is dating a sixteen-year-old!"

Miranda stopped, wounded. She looked to her mother, Susanne, who was bringing a platter of roast beef to the table. Susanne grinned feebly, feeling helpless in the midst of the tempest.

With no support from her mother, Miranda turned back to her father. "What?! You don’t think anyone could love me? Well, Wayne does! And as a matter of fact, he wants to marry me!"

The absurdity had reached critical mass in Harold‘s mind and he launched one of the cliches, for which he was notorious. "Over my dead body!" He pounded his fist on the table as punctuation, rattling china and silverware.

"Harold," Susanne reached for his hand. "Let’s be civil. Just calm down."

"I will not calm down! This is my house and if she’s under my roof..."

"So, that‘s an option?" Miranda pushed away from the table and stood up defiantly, "I’m leaving."

Harold pointed across the table to Miranda. "Sit back down young lady!"

"Forget it. This is bullshit." Miranda flung the door open, exited and slammed it behind her.

Harold sat wide-eyed and slack-jawed; his index finger still extended at her empty chair. Slowly he retracted his arm, bowed and put his head in his hands.

"Shit."


______________


Miranda, sobbing, fumbled for the keys to her VW Bug. She found the key, opened the door and slinked down into the seat. She stared for a moment at her house before turning the ignition. The engine rumbled to life.

A voice crept into her thinking. "Well, that was certainly unpleasant."

Miranda turned with a start to find a familiar face in her passenger seat. "Crap. You scared me. What are you doing here?"

"Hitchhiking. Do you mind?" He reached for her stereo and clicked the button. A serpentine voice poured from the speakers.

"...Step into the street by sundown. Step into your last goodbye. You’re a target just by living. Twenty dollars will make you die..."

"You actually going to drive this thing? Or are we going to just sit here and watch the lawn grow?"

"Shut up," Miranda threw the car into first and stomped the accelerator. The car shot down the street.

"So, another fight with your dad?"

"Damn it! Is there anything you don’t know about?"

"I know about most things when they happen. Sometimes I know about them before they happen."

He watched Miranda shift uncomfortably in her seat. He waited for her to respond, knowing that she wouldn’t, and then spoke with hitting a nerve in mind.

"It’s always so sad when a parent kicks a child out."

He struck the intended nerve and she lashed out. "He didn’t kick me out! I left!"

"Oh sure." He spoke with feigned sympathy. "Of course, you walked out on your own. Showed some guts, it did. But he wanted you out. Wouldn’t have said that otherwise." He watched her peripherally as he stared at the passing road. "Damn shame."

"What? It was just a fight. It happens all the time. My dad still loves me..."

"Yeah, sure. If that helps you sleep. At least you’ve still got Wayne. At least he won’t turn you away."


______________



"End of the line." Miranda announced to her passenger as she pulled the car into the parking lot of Wayne’s apartment complex. "Don’t be here when I get back." She exited the car and slammed the door without waiting for an answer.

Miranda knocked on Wayne’s door, her left hand mindlessly twirling a lock of her auburn hair. The door opened partially to reveal Wayne wrapped in a towel, his face covered in shaving cream.

"Miranda? What are you doing here?"

Miranda’s lips quivered as a tear ran down her cheek. "My dad and I had another fight. So, I left."

Wayne pulled the door open and Miranda slid past him.

"I gotta be at work in fifteen minutes, but you can hang out here while I’m gone." He went back to the bathroom. "Hungry?"

"A little. I left in the middle of dinner."

"There’s some pizza left in the fridge. Help yourself. So what was the fight about this time?"

"He doesn’t like me seeing you." She grabbed the pizza box and carried it to the coffee table.

"That argument again?"

"Yeah," she said taking a bite. "You should’ve seen him this time. He was furious when I told him about us getting married."

"What?!" Wayne jerked and nicked his chin. "Shit!" He dropped the razor and spun to the doorway. "You told him what?"

"I told him about us getting married."

"Where in the hell did you get that idea?"

"I...I thought...I mean...well we...I just thought..."

"You thought wrong then. I like hanging out with you. You’re cute. But c’mon, marriage?"

The slice of pizza slid out of Miranda’s hand and landed face down on the carpet. She sat there for a moment with her mouth agape. "But Wayne, we’ve been...you know."

Wayne laughed. "You’re serious, aren’t you?" He stopped hoping that she’d break a smile and tell him it was just a joke. No such luck. "Oh shit Miranda. I’m sorry that you got the wrong idea but..."

"Fine! Forget it!" Miranda sprung to her feet. "I don’t care! Just leave me alone!" Her final few words were muffled as the door snapped closed between them.

Wayne stood dumbfounded, staring at the door. "Holy crap."

Miranda ran from the apartment building, yanked her car door open and threw herself into the seat. She laid her head on the steering wheel. "I’m so stupid."

"Didn‘t go well?" The passenger seat was still occupied.

"Are you still here?"

"Of course. Didn’t go well?"

Miranda started the car and jerked the gearshift into reverse. "No, it didn’t go well."

"So, where to now?"

Miranda turned to face her passenger. "I don’t know. Got any suggestions?"

"Have you ever known me to not have a suggestion?" The corners of his mouth curled up into a feral smile. He crossed his arms at his chest, laid his head back and closed his eyes. "Just drive."


______________

There was silence for several miles. Miranda stared blankly at the road over her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. She drove as if on autopilot, the car winding its way along the cliff which towered above her favorite stretch of beach. It was where she liked to go and think. The sun cast a reddish fiery glow across the landscape as it descended into a watery horizon. The sand on the beach looked like burning embers. I’m in hell, Miranda thought.

She had nearly forgotten about her passenger. He had yet to move from his earlier position. His eyes fluttered madly beneath their lids and occasionally, and almost imperceptibly, the tip of his tongue would part his lips, wet them and slip back inside.

The fluttering under his eyelids stopped suddenly. He wet his lips one final time. "So, how are you feeling?"

His voice startled Miranda, yet she was somehow comforted that she wasn’t alone. Without taking her gaze from the road ahead, she whispered her answer: "Empty." A beat. "I have nothing left. No one to give to. No one to give to me."

He opened his eyes and faced her. "Sadly, you’re right. From the ones whom you have given the most love, you have received the most pain. You have no one on whom you can rely. A life like yours is very sad."

"Sarx." She spoke his name for the first time. It felt foreign and dangerous on her tongue. She turned toward him, pleading with her eyes. "What do I do now?"

His cunning smile faded and his eyes burned sober and clear. "I think you know the answer."

Understanding and fear flashed across Miranda’s face and then melted into a look of determination. "I guess I do."

She turned back to face the road which traced its precarious path above the beach and its burning sands. Miranda bore down on her grip on the steering wheel and shoved the accelerator pedal to the floor. The car lurched forward.

Sarx shifted his eyes to Miranda who met his gaze. He nodded and she mimicked his affirmation.

"There you go."

Miranda pulled the wheel slightly to the left and then, with every ounce of will within her, she yanked the wheel to the right. The VW’s back end swerved wildly, its tires spitting gravel across the road. The hood of the car shoved through the minimal barricade, prying a pathway wide enough for the car. The back tires left the edge of the terrain and the car soared for a moment before being pulled to its descent.

The car snagged on the jagged face of the cliff and flipped end over end until it smashed into rocks below. There was a second of silence abruptly followed by an explosion. The blast sprayed glass and metal across the beach. Pieces of burning car fell into the water.


From the mangled barricade several hundred feet above the blaze, Sarx stood watching over the bank of the cliff. He closed his eyes and listened. No screams. He smiled and turned away from the cliff to face the road. A lone pair of headlights was creeping up the hill toward him. He planted his feet on the black tire marks and stuck out his thumb. The oncoming car slowed and stopped next to Sarx.

The driver of the car lowered his window and leaned over the passenger seat.

"Where you headed...oh, hi. It’s you. " The young man sat back up and flicked the button to unlock the door. "Come on."

Sarx opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

The young man smiled despite his exhausted appearance. "Funny meeting you out here."

"Yeah. Funny." Sarx pulled the door closed. "So, having a good day?"

"Not really."

Sarx glanced back to the broken guardrail. His tongue darted out and moistened his lips.

"Good," he whispered. "Good."