Pray for the Devil

Part 1: The Strange Brains-2

"I don't know Melanie," Farley offered, "You don't know me."

"Should I be afraid of you?" she asked innocently, the smile waning temporarily.

"Well... no, but you don't even know my name."

"OK, what's your name then?" she asked holding out her hand for a shake.

Reeling from the suddenness and peculiarity of the situation, he almost forgot the answer. "Uh, Andrew. Andrew Farley."

"Well, hello, Andrew Farley. It's nice to meet you." She reached down and took his hand, which was resting on the center console. "My name is Melanie Calloway."

By now the shorter man had approached the car. "Melanie," he called in, "Remember what we said about splitting up."

She turned to him, serious now, "I know, Jeff. That's why we have to do it this way. We won't be long. I promise."

"Wait." Farley furrowed his brow in confusion, "You trust me enough to ride with me, but not that I'll bring the gas back if I go alone?" By now the tall man had made his way through the trees, apparently to fetch the gas cans.

As if caught in a white lie, her smile diminished somewhat and she lowered her eyes. "Just making sure," she said quietly.

The tall man approached with the five gallon gas cans, frowning. "Should I put these in your trunk?"

"Yeah, sure... I guess," Farley replied.

"For the last time, Mar... er, Melanie. I think you should stay here with us."

"I'll be fine, Matthew. I have a sense of these things. I know he's safe." She looked away from Matthew back at Farley, and smiled again. "Right?"

He could feel her appraising his six foot frame, wavy, almost curly black hair and muscular physique, although not as muscular at forty five years old as it used to be.

Farley gave an insincere smile in return. Somehow "safe" didn't sound like a compliment. Besides, Mar... er, Melanie, are you safe?

As he pulled back onto the highway, he reminded himself to keep an eye on her hands. The clothes she wore hugged her form, betraying no suspicious bulges, only the good ones. But an experienced assassin or carjacker could easily conceal a hunting knife under a sweatshirt or straight-legged jeans. These troubling thoughts prompted an outburst that surprised even him. "What the hell and I doing!?"

"What's the matter?" she cried, her smile gone.

"This is nuts. Every rule of the road ends with a warning never to pick up hitch-hikers or get into a car with a stranger, and yet here we are thumbing our noses at common sense."

"I know," she sighed, relaxing again. "It just feels ok, doesn't it? I know you have nothing to fear from me, and I sense I have nothing to fear from you."

Farley changed the subject to another that had been weighing on him for several minutes. "How do two vehicles run out of gas at the same time?"

"They didn't. We lied. Winnie ran out. The pick-up still has a couple of gallons in it."

Farley shook his head in disbelief. "Then why do you need me? Why didn't one of you just take the pick-up, drive the twenty miles or so to Lumberville and get the gas yourselves?"

"Because..." and now she stared at him as if trying to decide how much to reveal, "we all decided it was... safer not to be separated."

"Safer!? But you're separated now... is it safer to get into a car with a stranger?"

"Slightly... yes. We didn't think we should separate the vehicles, either."

"Why? Who's after you? Are you drug runners? Did you steal from the Mafia? What?" What am I getting myself into, he wondered, and considered making a u-turn at the next highway patrol crossing.

Melanie tilted her head back against the seat, "If you stay with us tonight, we'll explain everything. We're not criminals, I'll say that much."

"That's comforting," Farley said sourly.

"And we're not running from... anybody, either."

"Well, I have an itinerary I like to stick to, and this little diversion has already put me well off schedule, so I'll help you get your gas, and then be on my way."

He heard her sniff and suddenly realized she was crying. "Everybody's in such a hurry," she said. "I thought you were the one." After a pause she added. "We really need your help."

They rode the last ten minutes in silence and quickly found a gas station in the truck stop town of Lumberville. Farley topped off his own tank before filling the cans. When the credit card receipt dropped he thought of another question and tapped on her window. "Um... do you have any money?"

She bolted upright, "Oh...no," she said sheepishly. "But we do back at the rest stop. One of the boys will pay you."

Her words lacked sincerity, so Farley prepared himself to be stiffed. As he started the engine an attendant passed the car, looked in at Melanie and gave the thumbs up. "Lucky man," he heard him say.

"I can't thank you enough," she repeated as they neared their meeting point. "You were very gracious to give your time for us." But her smile had disappeared, replaced by sadness.

"I'm glad to be of some help," he muttered, as they whizzed past the rest stop to the next turn around about a mile beyond.

"It's silly, I know," her voice trembled, "but it hurts to say goodbye, even to someone I just met. I mean... once you leave we'll never see each other again."

Boy, she is good, he thought. If there were any promise of greater intimacy, he might reconsider. But then he quickly banished the impulse which had caused so many of his recent troubles. Besides, rather than a seductress, this sounded more like the cry of a little girl.

He must have lost track of his speed, because another eighteen wheeler pulled up to within a few feet of his rear bumper before sounding the horn and storming past in the left lane. For a second Farley braced for impact and what would surely be a spectacular gas-fed explosion. By the time they pulled into the rest stop, his soaring pulse had eased.

Relief covered the faces of the three men, who stood between the Winnebago and pick-up. They waved as the Volvo pulled alongside.

"This should get you to Lumberville, at least," Farley announced, fighting the urge but surrendering to the view offered by Melanie as she swung open the door and rose from her seat.

"Thank you, brother," Matthew said as he lifted the cans from the trunk. "I wish we had some money to give you..."

"Shush!" Melanie whispered.

"You mean you don't have any money, either?"

A long pause followed. None of them seemed to know what to say. Finally, Matthew spoke again, "Nope. We're strapped of cash and our credit cards are charged to the max."

"How far do you think you're going to get on ten gallons of gas?"

"We don't know. As far as the next rest stop, I guess."

"All four of you are out of money?"

"Five, actually. There's another one in the trailer."

"Please stay," Melanie leaned in suddenly. She had taken off her sweatshirt and unbuttoned the top of the flannel blouse beneath, revealing an enticing cleavage. But her expression read shame, embarrassment, as if she anticipated the effect, but did not approve of it. "We'll tell you everything, if you stay with us."

Andrew Farley, soon to be known as The Fugitive, turned off his engine with a sigh. No other options promised as interesting an evening as this.

2They gassed up the Winnebago and pulled onto Interstate 80, a convoy of three vehicles with "Winnie" leading the way. Soon, they filled all the tanks at the same service station in Lumberville, Farley reluctantly paying the tab.

"I'm on a very tight budget," he announced, then immediately regretted rubbing their faces in their financial woes.

"We'll pay you back," Matthew answered without conviction.

From an attendant, who reclined languidly in front of a dilapidated mini-mart, they ascertained the location of a campground only four miles to the north off Route 167.

"Why don't we just rent a couple of motel rooms?" Farley suggested, eyeing the somewhat better kept lodging nearby called the Even Better Western Inn, although its dark blue and grey paint seemed to eat up the late afternoon sunshine.

"It's cheaper this way. Besides, it's not safe..." Matthew broke away in mid-sentence and hurried to the pick-up where his passenger Jeff slumped in obvious impatience. To Farley's surprise Melanie drove the Winnebago with the Rabbi serving as navigator. Their secretive fifth had not yet appeared.

As they trundled north under the Route 80 overpass, Farley fought the urge to break away and zoom up the west bound entrance ramp. He wondered how many in the party ahead expected him to do just that.

But he did not, and for the rest of his life he’d revisit this critical moment.

They found the Smokey Bear Camping Grounds easily enough. The familiar cartoon icon pointed the way on a vivid, freshly painted sign. Turning onto a winding drive bounded by majestic pine trees, they soon came to a modest rental office. There they, that is Farley paid the surprisingly reasonable $30 dollar fee. "Good timing," the amiable manager offered, "Next week the rates double." With that they wormed their way a quarter of a mile over a rutted dirt road to a small opening in the darkening forest, this time with Blue Volvo in the lead.

"I was hoping to take a shower tonight," Farley muttered to himself, then saw, almost hidden by the trees, what appeared to be a clubhouse with the words "Rest Rooms and Showers" painted above the door. At least he wouldn't stink himself out of his sleeping bag tonight, he thought reassuringly, although the Volvo's trunk bed could not substitute for a soft mattress.

They parked in a horseshoe pattern around a small grill. Immediately, Matt and Jeff climbed from the pick-up with what appeared to be familiar duties in mind. The Rabbi, then Melanie stepped down from the Winnebago moments later. Still no sign of the mysterious fifth person.

Matt and Jeff reached behind the pick-up's seat and pulled out a bag of charcoal and then a large picnic cooler, which they placed beside the grill, saying nothing. Melanie and the Rabbi looked into the open door of the Winnebago and appeared to be beckoning someone out, but to no avail. Slowly, Melanie closed the door behind them. She looked over at Farley who had yet to leave his car, and once again smiled, this time with a wave and a mouthing of the words "come on out." Just as he was about to open the door, he caught a glimpse of Jeff shooting a look of utter hatred in his direction. Hope that guy's not armed, he thought.

"How do you like your burger, Andrew?" Matt asked with a smile.

"Cooked," he answered lightly.

"Good man," Matt continued, "I worry about people who eat it raw."

"As the men are preparing our evening meal, allow me to introduce myself." The Rabbi approached with his hand extended. "I am Rabbi Josef ben Fidek of the Congregation Beth Shalom in Winslow, Pennsylvania."

Farley shook his hand, "Pleased to meet you, Rabbi."

"I'm sure this must all seem rather mysterious to you," he continued.

"Indeed it does... and expensive."

"Yes, well... I hope we have the chance to make it up to you." He didn't offer any suggestions how, which Farley found revealing. "We are on a most interesting quest. Perhaps interesting is too weak a word. 'Urgent' would be better, even 'desperate.' If you are to join us you should know everything. If not, then at least you should know what your money has gone to."

"You have my attention, Rabbi." On closer look the rabbi was younger than he seemed from a distance, maybe early thirties. The scraggly red beard made him look older. Farley scanned his memory to determine where, if ever, he had met a red-headed Jew. He could think of none.