Categories > TV > X-Files > Dark Desert Highways
Chapter Three
0 reviewsWelcome to the Hotel California-where a good night's rest could cost you your life.
0Unrated
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Outside of Las Vegas, Nevada
7:23 P.M.
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"God, this is so boring, why didn't I bring a crossword puzzle or something?" Monica complained as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and placed her feet on the dashboard. "Why do we have to /drive/, anyway? Why couldn't we fly? You know, waste some tax payer dollars," Monica had been considerably irritable since her and John's near kiss earlier that day.
"Because, Monica," John had also been considerably irritable, "all the flights were booked already, you know yourself how impossible it is to get a decent flight on last minute's notice." She grumbled something at stared out the window at the parched desert. "Well, why couldn't she fly down to us?"
She meaning Jill Evans, who's last name was now Smith. Jill Evans had heard about the investigation from a friend of hers who worked in the LVPD and had volunteered to speak to the FBI.
"Monica, be quiet, will you? You're giving me a headache."
"We should probably get gas soon," Monica noted, ignoring John and continuing to stare out the window.
"Yeah, yeah, don't be a front-seat driver, I'll take care of it."
Monica rolled her eyes. She reached into the glove box, pulled out her portable CD player, and plopped the headphones on her ears. She settled back in her seat, content with listening to the Beastie Boys and watching John glare at the road through the windshield.
---
Two hours later
---
"I told you," Monica gloated at him from her position on the hood of their rented Ford Taurus, "I told you two hours ago to stop and get gas, but did 'ya listen? Hell no."
"Be /quiet/, Monica," John growled from where he rummaged in the trunk.
"I don't have to be quiet," Monica quipped from her perch on the hood. She flipped a book light clipped to her Game Boy on and started up a game of Tetris, "I told you to get gas and you just wouldn't listen. This is what you get, you know, for pulling me out of bed this morning." /And for not kissing me/, she added to herself.
John slammed the trunk where he was searching for a gas can. He crossed the ditch and broke a branch off a sagebrush; he walked back to the car, passing in front of the hood where Monica sat. "We can't be out of gas, the thing said we had 300 miles to empty."
"That was in Las Vegas when it said that and you know what? It's empty," Monica replied, not looking up from her game. John mumbled something in reply, opened the gas tank and stuck the stick inside.
Monica suddenly looked up and instead of seeing the silver paint of the car she was sitting on, she saw bright yellow instead. Instead of seeing her black cotton skirt, she saw a dirty pair of blue jeans. Instead of seeing John she saw a dark, desert highway that stretched out forever.
She gasped, and saw a young man with cropped wheat colored hair and chocolate brown eyes swear and throw a stick violently into the middle of the highway. Her eyes followed the dotted white line in the middle of the road and she noticed a sign. A sign that had a bulbous head and large black eyes, the sign read, "Extraterrestrial Highway 375, North."
"Monica? MONICA?" Her head snapped up and she saw John standing there instead of a young, angry man. He peered down at her, worry etching fine lines around his eyes, "Monica... you okay?" She rubbed her left temple furiously, "Yeah... ever get that creepy de'ja vu feeling?"
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "you looked like you saw a ghost for a minute there."
"Yeah..." she shut off her Game Boy and the light attached to it, "Let's, uh, call Triple A or something, okay? This is a rental car, they've got to have some sort of insurance plan or something."
"That's a good idea," John agreed as she pulled her cell phone from her skirt pocket and dialed the number. The phone beeped at her and flashed, "Roaming". Enraged, she threw the phone into the ditch, "Stupid phone plans, STUPID QWEST!"
"Whoa, hey, calm down Monica," he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We'll get there, don't worry, someone has got to come along sooner or later." Monica nodded reluctantly, slid off the hood of the car and picked her cell phone up out of the ditch. She and John got back in the car.
Slowly the heat began to fade away from the night, leaving Monica shivering and cold in her thin skirt and black tank top. John finally glanced her way after about the fifth shiver, "Cold?"
"Very," she replied through chattering teeth, wishing there was enough gas left in the car to run the heater. "Do you have a jacket or something in your bag? I'll get it for you," John offered. "No," Monica shook her head and rubbed her arms, "I didn't bring a jacket, I thought Nevada was pretty warm, I didn't think I'd get stuck on a highway someplace in the middle of the night."
John chuckled and shrugged off his leather jacket, "Here, you can have this, I'm hot."
"No, that's okay, you keep-..." Before Monica could protest further, John had leaned over and pulled the warm jacket around her shoulders. She smiled wanly at him, "Thank you."
"No problem." He sat back in his seat and watched the highway expectantly. After two games of Tetris, two games of Mario Brothers and Led Zeppelin I and IV, John was starting to shiver himself. Monica noticed and slid the jacket off her shoulders, the cold immediately latching onto her bare skin. She ignored it and said, "Here, you can have it back, I'm warmer now."
"Keep it," John ordered sternly, his eyes closed as he leaned back against the seat, "you'll be cold again in five minutes." Monica let out an annoyed sigh and watched her breath be expelled in steaming clouds of silver. After about five minutes she got tired of Spyro and decided to watch John start to fall asleep, then shiver and jerk himself awake. If it wasn't freezing cold and nearly midnight she would have laughed. Monica was also pretty sure John didn't have another jacket and the dropping desert temperature could be dangerous at night.
So she did what any smart woman would do in her situation. She pushed up the console between the two seats, scooted over and wrapped her arms around John to keep him warm. His eyes popped open in surprise. He looked down at her questioningly, so she explained, "The best way to keep warm is to share body heat, and I don't think it would be fair if you froze to death because you gave me your jacket."
"Huh," John said, as if he had just learned that fact for the first time. Nevertheless, he placed his arms around Monica and hugged her tightly to his chest. She sighed contently and snuggled closer to him, beginning to feel a bit sleepy. She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the middle of John's chest.
John rested his cheek on the top of her head and listened to her breathing slowly start to even out. He started to drift off himself when he noticed lights in the distance. He raised his head, still keeping protective arms around Monica. A car? No, too bright to be a car... a semi truck maybe? No... the light wasn't moving. A town! "Monica," he shook her arm, "Monica, wake up, there's a town, look!" She groggily raised her head, her fine hair sticking to her cheeks and lips, "A what?"
"A town, c'mon!" He opened the door and got out, leaving Monica sitting on the seat by herself and wondering. Sleepily, she slipped on her shoes and got out of the car, where John was grabbing their bags out of the trunk.
"We'll just get a hotel or something if they have one, okay?"
"Sounds good to me," Monica replied, thinking how wonderful a hot bath and a cup of coffee sounded. They locked the rental car and started to trudge off in the direction of the light. About a mile away from their car Monica noticed John had her bag slung over his shoulder, "I'll take that," she pointed at her bag.
"Nah, that's okay, I've got it," John said, smiling politely at her. "Are you sure?" She started to protest, but she looked up and noticed a sign that made her stop in her tracks. "John..." she pointed up to it with a mixture of awe and horror. "What?" he asked, confused. He backtracked to the sign she was looking at and was almost taken aback himself. "Extraterrestrial Highway 375, North," Monica read aloud, staring at the seemingly huge bulbous green head and inky black eyes as large as dinner plates.
"They should phone home and stay home," John mumbled as he started the long walk down that dark desert highway.
---
Roscoe, Nevada
1:27 A.M.
---
"Closed..." John said with a certain amount of disgust, "everything is freaking closed!" Monica barely heard him; she was about ten feet behind him, nearly falling asleep. John, however, didn't seem to care, he was livid about the whole Its-one 'o clock-in-the-morning-why-isn't-anything-open? deal.
Monica finally caught up with John, "Is there a motel?" He shook his head, "I don't know, let's take a look." He took her hand and together they walked toward what would be the business district of the town. There was a hardware store, a shabby video store, a small market, a gas station and numerous houses.
They stopped on the corner and stood under a streetlight. "God," Monica whispered, almost afraid to raise her voice, "this place is so clean you could build computer chips on the street."
"Yeah," John agreed, "this is kinda creepy." Monica looked up at the street sign, "California Street," she said, "There must be one of those in every town."
"Probably." John set their bags down and leaned against the light pole. "Now what?"
Monica shook her head and was startled when she saw the same young man with those handsome brown eyes sitting on a duffle bag under that very same streetlight. She looked to the west and noticed an old house with several lights on.
"Monica?" She shook her head to clear away the strange vision, "Yeah?"
"You okay?" John still stood against the light pole. She nodded, "I'm just tired." She looked west on California Street and saw that same old house at the very end of the cul-de-sac. "John," she found herself saying, "Look..." She pointed up at the old house and they both watched as one light came on upstairs followed by another, and another until finally the whole house was lit up. John took a few steps away from the light pole and watched in awe. "Mon... what's with that house?"
"I don't know..." Whatever it was, something inside her warned her not to go near it. "Hey," John said brightly, as if a light bulb had kicked on above his head, "maybe they own the gas station or something!"
"John, I don't think-..."
"C'mon, at least maybe they know where a motel is." His cold fingers wrapped gently around her wrist and pulled, "It can't be that bad, Monica, it's not like there could be vampires or something."
Frowning, she picked up her bag and let herself be pulled down the street. Little did she know; this would be the last night she would be spending anywhere.
Outside of Las Vegas, Nevada
7:23 P.M.
---
"God, this is so boring, why didn't I bring a crossword puzzle or something?" Monica complained as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and placed her feet on the dashboard. "Why do we have to /drive/, anyway? Why couldn't we fly? You know, waste some tax payer dollars," Monica had been considerably irritable since her and John's near kiss earlier that day.
"Because, Monica," John had also been considerably irritable, "all the flights were booked already, you know yourself how impossible it is to get a decent flight on last minute's notice." She grumbled something at stared out the window at the parched desert. "Well, why couldn't she fly down to us?"
She meaning Jill Evans, who's last name was now Smith. Jill Evans had heard about the investigation from a friend of hers who worked in the LVPD and had volunteered to speak to the FBI.
"Monica, be quiet, will you? You're giving me a headache."
"We should probably get gas soon," Monica noted, ignoring John and continuing to stare out the window.
"Yeah, yeah, don't be a front-seat driver, I'll take care of it."
Monica rolled her eyes. She reached into the glove box, pulled out her portable CD player, and plopped the headphones on her ears. She settled back in her seat, content with listening to the Beastie Boys and watching John glare at the road through the windshield.
---
Two hours later
---
"I told you," Monica gloated at him from her position on the hood of their rented Ford Taurus, "I told you two hours ago to stop and get gas, but did 'ya listen? Hell no."
"Be /quiet/, Monica," John growled from where he rummaged in the trunk.
"I don't have to be quiet," Monica quipped from her perch on the hood. She flipped a book light clipped to her Game Boy on and started up a game of Tetris, "I told you to get gas and you just wouldn't listen. This is what you get, you know, for pulling me out of bed this morning." /And for not kissing me/, she added to herself.
John slammed the trunk where he was searching for a gas can. He crossed the ditch and broke a branch off a sagebrush; he walked back to the car, passing in front of the hood where Monica sat. "We can't be out of gas, the thing said we had 300 miles to empty."
"That was in Las Vegas when it said that and you know what? It's empty," Monica replied, not looking up from her game. John mumbled something in reply, opened the gas tank and stuck the stick inside.
Monica suddenly looked up and instead of seeing the silver paint of the car she was sitting on, she saw bright yellow instead. Instead of seeing her black cotton skirt, she saw a dirty pair of blue jeans. Instead of seeing John she saw a dark, desert highway that stretched out forever.
She gasped, and saw a young man with cropped wheat colored hair and chocolate brown eyes swear and throw a stick violently into the middle of the highway. Her eyes followed the dotted white line in the middle of the road and she noticed a sign. A sign that had a bulbous head and large black eyes, the sign read, "Extraterrestrial Highway 375, North."
"Monica? MONICA?" Her head snapped up and she saw John standing there instead of a young, angry man. He peered down at her, worry etching fine lines around his eyes, "Monica... you okay?" She rubbed her left temple furiously, "Yeah... ever get that creepy de'ja vu feeling?"
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "you looked like you saw a ghost for a minute there."
"Yeah..." she shut off her Game Boy and the light attached to it, "Let's, uh, call Triple A or something, okay? This is a rental car, they've got to have some sort of insurance plan or something."
"That's a good idea," John agreed as she pulled her cell phone from her skirt pocket and dialed the number. The phone beeped at her and flashed, "Roaming". Enraged, she threw the phone into the ditch, "Stupid phone plans, STUPID QWEST!"
"Whoa, hey, calm down Monica," he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We'll get there, don't worry, someone has got to come along sooner or later." Monica nodded reluctantly, slid off the hood of the car and picked her cell phone up out of the ditch. She and John got back in the car.
Slowly the heat began to fade away from the night, leaving Monica shivering and cold in her thin skirt and black tank top. John finally glanced her way after about the fifth shiver, "Cold?"
"Very," she replied through chattering teeth, wishing there was enough gas left in the car to run the heater. "Do you have a jacket or something in your bag? I'll get it for you," John offered. "No," Monica shook her head and rubbed her arms, "I didn't bring a jacket, I thought Nevada was pretty warm, I didn't think I'd get stuck on a highway someplace in the middle of the night."
John chuckled and shrugged off his leather jacket, "Here, you can have this, I'm hot."
"No, that's okay, you keep-..." Before Monica could protest further, John had leaned over and pulled the warm jacket around her shoulders. She smiled wanly at him, "Thank you."
"No problem." He sat back in his seat and watched the highway expectantly. After two games of Tetris, two games of Mario Brothers and Led Zeppelin I and IV, John was starting to shiver himself. Monica noticed and slid the jacket off her shoulders, the cold immediately latching onto her bare skin. She ignored it and said, "Here, you can have it back, I'm warmer now."
"Keep it," John ordered sternly, his eyes closed as he leaned back against the seat, "you'll be cold again in five minutes." Monica let out an annoyed sigh and watched her breath be expelled in steaming clouds of silver. After about five minutes she got tired of Spyro and decided to watch John start to fall asleep, then shiver and jerk himself awake. If it wasn't freezing cold and nearly midnight she would have laughed. Monica was also pretty sure John didn't have another jacket and the dropping desert temperature could be dangerous at night.
So she did what any smart woman would do in her situation. She pushed up the console between the two seats, scooted over and wrapped her arms around John to keep him warm. His eyes popped open in surprise. He looked down at her questioningly, so she explained, "The best way to keep warm is to share body heat, and I don't think it would be fair if you froze to death because you gave me your jacket."
"Huh," John said, as if he had just learned that fact for the first time. Nevertheless, he placed his arms around Monica and hugged her tightly to his chest. She sighed contently and snuggled closer to him, beginning to feel a bit sleepy. She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the middle of John's chest.
John rested his cheek on the top of her head and listened to her breathing slowly start to even out. He started to drift off himself when he noticed lights in the distance. He raised his head, still keeping protective arms around Monica. A car? No, too bright to be a car... a semi truck maybe? No... the light wasn't moving. A town! "Monica," he shook her arm, "Monica, wake up, there's a town, look!" She groggily raised her head, her fine hair sticking to her cheeks and lips, "A what?"
"A town, c'mon!" He opened the door and got out, leaving Monica sitting on the seat by herself and wondering. Sleepily, she slipped on her shoes and got out of the car, where John was grabbing their bags out of the trunk.
"We'll just get a hotel or something if they have one, okay?"
"Sounds good to me," Monica replied, thinking how wonderful a hot bath and a cup of coffee sounded. They locked the rental car and started to trudge off in the direction of the light. About a mile away from their car Monica noticed John had her bag slung over his shoulder, "I'll take that," she pointed at her bag.
"Nah, that's okay, I've got it," John said, smiling politely at her. "Are you sure?" She started to protest, but she looked up and noticed a sign that made her stop in her tracks. "John..." she pointed up to it with a mixture of awe and horror. "What?" he asked, confused. He backtracked to the sign she was looking at and was almost taken aback himself. "Extraterrestrial Highway 375, North," Monica read aloud, staring at the seemingly huge bulbous green head and inky black eyes as large as dinner plates.
"They should phone home and stay home," John mumbled as he started the long walk down that dark desert highway.
---
Roscoe, Nevada
1:27 A.M.
---
"Closed..." John said with a certain amount of disgust, "everything is freaking closed!" Monica barely heard him; she was about ten feet behind him, nearly falling asleep. John, however, didn't seem to care, he was livid about the whole Its-one 'o clock-in-the-morning-why-isn't-anything-open? deal.
Monica finally caught up with John, "Is there a motel?" He shook his head, "I don't know, let's take a look." He took her hand and together they walked toward what would be the business district of the town. There was a hardware store, a shabby video store, a small market, a gas station and numerous houses.
They stopped on the corner and stood under a streetlight. "God," Monica whispered, almost afraid to raise her voice, "this place is so clean you could build computer chips on the street."
"Yeah," John agreed, "this is kinda creepy." Monica looked up at the street sign, "California Street," she said, "There must be one of those in every town."
"Probably." John set their bags down and leaned against the light pole. "Now what?"
Monica shook her head and was startled when she saw the same young man with those handsome brown eyes sitting on a duffle bag under that very same streetlight. She looked to the west and noticed an old house with several lights on.
"Monica?" She shook her head to clear away the strange vision, "Yeah?"
"You okay?" John still stood against the light pole. She nodded, "I'm just tired." She looked west on California Street and saw that same old house at the very end of the cul-de-sac. "John," she found herself saying, "Look..." She pointed up at the old house and they both watched as one light came on upstairs followed by another, and another until finally the whole house was lit up. John took a few steps away from the light pole and watched in awe. "Mon... what's with that house?"
"I don't know..." Whatever it was, something inside her warned her not to go near it. "Hey," John said brightly, as if a light bulb had kicked on above his head, "maybe they own the gas station or something!"
"John, I don't think-..."
"C'mon, at least maybe they know where a motel is." His cold fingers wrapped gently around her wrist and pulled, "It can't be that bad, Monica, it's not like there could be vampires or something."
Frowning, she picked up her bag and let herself be pulled down the street. Little did she know; this would be the last night she would be spending anywhere.
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