Highway Run

Seated in the aisle seat near the front of the Airbus A320 for the duration of the flight, Samantha Haynes nibbled absently at the nail of her left thumb as she waited for the plane to taxi to the terminal. Fishing the cell phone out of her purse, she exchanged a few hasty messages with let Stan. Why was it taking so long? Tucking her phone back into her purse, she unfastened her safety belt. The moment the plane came to a halt, she was up, fishing her luggage out of the overhead compartment as the flight attendants opened the plane’s door.

“Ma’am,” addressed the middle-aged flight attendant.

 Sam smiled weakly and nodded, shifting her carryon and moving toward the door.

She did not exactly know the extent of what was unfolding but she felt a definite sense of urgency. Stan had Oliver and they were alive. Clearing customs seemed to take another eternity before she was able to stop at a small coffee shop and grab herself a cup of caffeine to enervate herself. After that, she exited the airport and as fortune would have it, in time to catch the shuttle to get to the lot where she parked her car.

Although filled with concern for both Stan and Oliver, a nagging foreboding of dread gnawed at her stomach. How could she face them and explain the depth of what was unfolding? Why did she not deign to inform them about it? Putting her luggage in the trunk, she got in and started the car. She knew why. She was afraid. Afraid the tenuous situation would unravel or explode. Stan was a bull in a china shop and there would be no way to get him to understand or appreciate the breadth of the sorority’s power. He would charge in head first, full of piss and vinegar much like it seems he did despite his promise to remain low key, only to be at the mercy of Omega sisters and then be devoured by them, figuratively and more than likely literally, particularly if her mother discovered Stan was Mildred’s prodigal son.

At least in his fervor, he reclaimed Oliver and for that rescue, she was immensely grateful. The whole plan went unexpectedly sideways. Nothing she or her allied sisters could do to supplant the Crawford girl’s claim on Oliver, but getting Cerys in line as second was a coup. Some careful nudging and they strategically positioned a potential recruitment candidate in freshman Harmony Winthrop to sit third in line. Information suggested she was particularly close to her younger brother Linus and might be malleable to persuasion though she was technically still an unknown.

Looking for police cars, she pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator, eyes flicking down at the speedometer as the needle crossed over 80 mph. How much of the situation did Stan know? Oliver? A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach as another thought crossed her mind. Did either of them know about Sara being pregnant? That Oliver had been essentially put out to stud? The girl was heavily gravid now with, of all things, fraternal twins, a boy and a girl. If they knew about Sara’s current state, the knowledge would definitely not have gone over well at all, but if they did not, she was resolved to tell them. There were so many secrets, evasions, omissions of knowledge she knew the hurt would be deep. Her fear was that bringing them up to speed on the sorority might be too little, too late.

Pulling into the public parking area of the university, she paused a moment and let out a pent up breath to settle her jangled nerves. Grabbing her purse off the passenger seat, she removed her cell phone and typed.  “I’m at the university now. I have no idea where you are?”

Minutes passed agonizingly slow then her phone chimed. “How do I know it’s you?”

Not surprised by his suspicious response, especially if he was on the run with a diminished Oliver, she frowned. A slow smile spread across her face. “Oz,” she typed back. It was what he called his penis.

“and?”

Chuckling, “The great and powerful,” she answered.

A smiley face grinning emoticon appeared on her screen. It was him.

“Where are you right now I’ll come to you?” she inquired, nervous and excited at the same time.

A street address appeared with the direction to park in the back. Typing it into the map app on her phone, she set out. She found the place easily enough. Looping to the end of the block, she took the alley drove to the rear of the house, pulling up beside the green Chevy parked there.

Getting out of the car, a strange sensation washed over her, robbing her of her breath and making her weak in the knees. She immediately knew the feeling. She was in proximity to a Weeping Stone. Examining her hands, an electric sensation danced across the tips of her fingers.

“How?” she mumbled, leaning back against her car to steady herself, noticing for the first time the pale blue luminance radiating out of the cab of the Cavalier. Why was this stone active? Who activated it? Why was the sensation so concentrated?

A young looking woman with blondish colored hair appeared at the rear of the house, a wary expression on her face. “Samantha?” she queried.

Nodding, Sam pushed herself off the car. Despite the yearning and delicious sensation spilling over her, she forced her legs to carry her away from the stone and toward the house. “Where’s Stan?” she asked, voice quavering slightly. Where was he?

“Maybe it’s best if you came inside,” suggested the woman, offering a small smile.

Slipping her purse strap over her shoulder, Sam nodded and took a few steps forward. Why was the stone here? Was she walking right into a trap? Did they have Stan? Indecision halted her steps.

The girl turned her head to the side, “She’s here,” she announced inside the open door.

If it was a trap, it was too late. Unsure what to expect or the reception awaiting her, Sam squared her shoulders and walked up to the house.

Stepping through the threshold, she found herself in a kitchen, eyes locking on the two diminutive figures on the table. Oliver she expected, “Oh my god, Stan, is that you?”

Seeing Sam, even being mad at her, Stan grinned.