“Oh no,” Sherry muttered as the engine sputtered. She pressed her foot down harder on the gas, and the car roared back to life, jerking forward sharply. The semi behind her blew his horn as he was forced to slam on his brakes and downshift.
The engine sputtered again, then died. Sherry sighed in frustration as she pulled the car over to the narrow shoulder of the highway, the truck blowing past her and shaking the frame of the little car. She reached for her purse, but was startled to see it wasn’t there. “What the…” Sherry looked frantically for the purse she was positive had been there just two minutes ago then gave up reluctantly and popped the hood of the car, getting out and slamming the door much harder than was necessary. She had no clue what she was looking for, but hoped it was something glaringly obvious. No such luck.
She heard the crunch of tires on gravel as she was poking gingerly at the oil cap with a manicured nail, and looked around the side of the car to see a sleek, pitch black hearse pulling slowly behind her car. She walked around the side of her car as the door of the hearse opened and an incredibly polished and handsome man stepped out. She nearly stumbled as he smiled at her and held out his hand. “Well hello there Sherry!” He said cheerfully. His large warm hand engulfed hers. “I’m Mortie.”
Sherry smiled. “Hi Mortie. Thank you so much for stopping. I can’t seem to find my purse anywhere, and my cell phone was in there…” she broke off and looked at him, startled. “How did you know my name?”
Mortie smiled down at her pleasantly. “You are Sherry Hennessey, right? Born in 1969, one daughter, Jenna, currently at LSU on a full-ride scholarship. You teach seventh grade English, own two dogs, have a husband named Parker…” he broke off as Sherry pulled her hand from his and stepped back nervously.
“Are… are you a stalker or something? Please, don’t hurt me… look, I don’t have my purse with me, but you can take my jewelry…” She stepped back again, and found herself stumbling for real this time, but Mortie was at her side in the blink of an eye and held her steady. His eyes locked with hers, and she suddenly felt odd, but unafraid.
“Sherry, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you. Do you believe me?” She nodded slowly. “I don’t know why, but I do.”
Mortie released his hold on her and she straightened herself, then looked at him. “How do you know all that about me?”
Mortie turned and opened the door of the sleek hearse and pulled out a leather-bound book. He flipped it open and turned to a page toward the middle. “Because, Sherry, your name appeared on my list two days ago.” Sherry looked at him blankly, and his eyes widened in realization. “Oh… oh no, Sherry, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.” He took her hand and led her down the highway, past the sleek black hearse. She saw fire trucks and ambulances, people darting around the highway. A semi was overturned on the median, and the remains of a small sports car were strewn around the highway. Mortie kept pulling her toward the wreckage, never pausing. She caught a brief glimpse of a piece of the car (“That looks like my car!” she thought), and then they were upon a black sheet thrown over a prone figure.
Mortie squeezed her hand gently. “It’s okay, Sherry, you can look. They can’t see.” He gestured to the scurrying emergency workers, their attention now focused on cutting the semi driver out of the overturned truck. Sherry couldn’t stop herself; she stooped down, and almost trancelike she reached her hand out and pulled the black sheet back. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she looked back up at Mortie. He smiled again, gently, sadly.
“But… but I’m so young,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Death rarely seems fair,” he replied. “But everyone must die, sooner or later. And some need help on the journey.” He helped her stand again, and together they stared down at Sherry’s broken body. “Let’s go for a drive, Sherry, and we can talk.” He put a comforting arm around her shoulders and led her back to the hearse. He opened the passenger door for her and she sat, looking down at her folded hands as he walked around the hearse. He got into the driver’s seat and the engine purred softly. Sherry looked at him again. “Where are you taking me?”
Mortie put the hearse in gear and they began to move forward smoothly. He smiled again. “Home.”