The road hummed under Zoe’s tires, her headlights carving out bright slices of darkness, and then they swept past a black blob on the side of the road. The blob resolved into a person perched on the lip of the concrete wall.
Why would someone be sitting there? She didn’t see her lights bouncing off a car, so why?
Just then, her headlights cut away the last of the shadows, revealing the person as a sooty smudge on the pale concrete, and then the car swept by, and Zoe put the strange momentary impression out of her mind.
From his seat against the side of the road, Walter swore bitterly. For an instant, he’d felt a connection to the driver of those strange metal contraptions, which he could have used to catch a ride for a little while. A weak connection, one that would snap when he got too far from his anchoring place, but it was better than nothing.
He could travel father when someone committed an act of violence one of the crossroads, but that happened more rarely than he liked. This world was so fast paced, and he missed the horses and carriages, though he had to admit that the sleek gleaming lines of these cars had their appeal. It was rare that people held up one of these metal carriages, as he had when he was alive many times. And if one time, his intended victim had fought back and died on the crossroads, he’d thought nothing of it.
Not until he’d died, too, his body failing him from too many fights and too many drinks in a tiny dirty room, and then he’d woken, invisible to all but a few, trapped in the crossroads where he’d claimed a life. And even when the city had grown and the roads changed, he stayed anchored there, except for those few brief moments.
Settling back against the wall, he waited in his eternal twilight world for a bright storm of violence to set him free.