Static Between Stations

A story about a troubled man

Gazing out the windshield, he could see a satellite dish pointing straight up into the speckled dark coat of the night sky. The window was rolled down halfway to let in the brisk zephyr of an autumn New Mexico night. Dust devils were scattered aimlessly throughout the desert, shifting and relocating the sands. It was nearly midnight, and the consistent hums of the air and his car became accompanied by the thunderous roar of a jet engine above. He found it quite peculiar that any passenger flights would be passing over this isolated section of the desert at this hour, seeing as how most nights you can only hear a passing breeze and the ringing in your ears. A withering postcard sat upon the dashboard, he’d taken a trip to New York several years prior, the only time he’d ever left the desert. Now a dimming memory was all that remained,  he always figured he would have more time, he could leave New Mexico whenever he wanted. The clocks kept ticking, sands continued to fill the hourglass, and still he hadn’t left. He was on the verge of giving up entirely, but it wasn’t so bad here, he was accustomed to it. He regained awareness of his surroundings, the glow of neon light filled the pitch black void of the desert, he was pulling into one of the many modest towns strewn about the southwest. The car came to a halt at a gas station, it seemed to be the only one for miles about, his tank was running a bit low and now seemed to be the only chance he would get to refill. He didn’t trust the tow truck drivers around here, he’d rather fix his own problems. As he leaned idly against the cold cement wall of the gas station, his vision became clouded by a vivid white light, his knees became weak, the world spun around him though his feet were planted still, he fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

Scenes of his death swam through his mind. He could see himself laying mangled on the ground, every ounce of life slowly departing his frail being. It made no sense, he still retained control of all his senses, he was very much within the realm of the living, or maybe he ended up somewhere in between. Either way, he found it a tad strange that he looked upon himself in this manner, he must have taken the form of some type of phantasmagorical being. Wherever he was, the laws of reality were bent, he was free here. The thought came to him that it may be the afterlife, perhaps he would meet God here. At that moment, he turned around to find another face staring back at him. This was clearly another person, but they seemed to have no distinct features, as though every part of their face were default. “You are here for a reason. You have sinned, but you may be granted another chance,” the face said, “assuming you obey the rules laid out for you. You should feel lucky, not many are granted an opportunity such as this.” In a panic, he tried to escape the face, running as quickly as his lack of strength and stamina would allow, but before he could cover any real ground, he was lifted from where he stood and pulled through the air like a plastic bag back to where he started, above his own bloodied remains. “Well now, that wasn’t very kind of you. I tried giving you a chance and you disobeyed, petty mortal creature. You must feel flustered, I understand. I was in your position too at one point. I’ll let you go this time, but when we meet again, things will not end the same way.” The voice spoke with a low baritone that echoed throughout the vicinity, it instilled a sense of fear like he had never known. “Alright you putrid swine, I’ll send you back but know that my voice will haunt you until the day you die. We will meet again, and I will show you no mercy next time.” Everything went black in an instant, and he fell to his knees.

It seemed like an ordinary day when he awoke, the New Mexico sun still beat down on the vast plains of sand. He peered in the window of the gas station, snow fell on the television, an employee must have been watching some kind of nature documentary. Refusing to believe the memories that were slowly returning to him, he opened the door of the car he had driven here, turned the key in the ignition, and started up the engine. Nothing seemed real, he couldn’t tell anymore. Lost inside his own head, he was barely able to focus on the road. He drove out of town, he needed to escape, he needed to get as far away from this as he could, but in the back of his mind he knew it would haunt him wherever he went. He crossed the Arizona state line, he had an uncle outside Tucson, they hadn’t spoken in many years, but he had nowhere else to turn. His uncle was a heavy drinker, served in the military, traditional values. He remembered a bible proudly displayed on a shelf in the entranceway. He was deep in the desert, couldn’t find a station playing anything, he could’ve turned the radio off but he decided to let the static fill his ears, he figured it was better than being accompanied solely by the sound of the engine running and the tires hitting the road. He swore he could hear voices talking to him. “Why fight it?” one of them said, speaking in faint whisper between the ambience of radio static. He wanted to dismiss them as simply delusions, but in his heart he knew something was wrong. After what seemed like hours, he arrived at his destination. In place of the cabin he was positive belonged to his uncle stood a pile of ash and rubble. He could barely react, and simply sat there in awe, how had he not heard anything about this? His uncle was nowhere to be seen, and a sense of dread slowly started filling his chest like an anchor weighing him down. Looking back on it now, it would have been wisest to contact authorities right then and there, but his better judgement was clouded, his mind was poisoned. He decided to take a walk, he could feel a change in the temperate desert air, something wasn’t right here, and he would find out what it was. A tavern appeared before him, a worn wooden door was eclipsed by a stone arch. He didn’t always yearn for places like this, but he would rather ask around here than wander aimlessly about an unfamiliar town. The interior of the bar had a surprisingly high ceiling. There weren’t many patrons inside, but the sound of laughter and talk overtop of faint music filled the space. He sat at the bar and order a scotch on ice, after the fever dream he’d spent the last 24 hours living, he figured a wave of alcohol could calm his nerves. Hell, he certainly couldn’t feel any worse. He was so trapped inside his own head he hadn’t noticed the man sitting beside him. He looked to be in his mid-60’s, balding head of hair with a grey beard, wearing a coveralls he likely hadn’t changed out of from the work day. They exchanged glances, before the old man spoke up. “You been ‘round here long?” His voice had a thick rasp to it, and it was evident he probably damaged it somehow, drinking or smoking most likely. Despite a lack of response, the old man continued. “Well, in any case, we don’t always take kindly to people like you.” He had no idea what the old man could be referring to, there was nothing to his knowledge that could’ve caused discrimination about him. “I know who your uncle was, and I know who you are. You must have some nerve coming back here.” What was this psycho talking about? He hadn’t done anything wrong in his life. He felt a rising sense of urgency inside him, and before he could act on it his vision went black, and he passed out.

When he awoke, the first thing he felt was the texture of blood between his fingers. Chairs, which were perfectly even when he entered, were chaotically scattered upon the floor. The body of the old man lay in front of him. There were stab wounds in his stomach and near his throat, either one of these on their own may not have been fatal, but the combined blood loss and internal damage was enough to end the poor bloke’s life. He stared in complete shock at the lifeless corpse before him, he had no earthly idea what happened during his state of unconsciousness. He then looked down to find a broken bottle in his hand, smashed from the bottom, with sizeable bloodstains on it. It was at this moment he became aware of the bright red and blue lights flashing outside the establishment. The weight of his actions were slowly realized. This was the end of his life. He had nothing left to go on for. A worthless existence cut short by an action he didn’t even control. He didn’t want to live anymore, he would never make it wherever they would take him. The thought of stabbing himself crossed his mind, at the very same moment that the door creaked open. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he didn’t have the willpower to check out early like this. He surrendered to the authorities. From the back of the police car, handcuffs tightly gripping his wrists, looking out at the sun setting over the Arizona mountains, he heard the soft sound of static coming from the dashboard.