Epilogue
Epilogue
He’d never forget the night he gave that girl a ride. It had been raining fit to beat the devil and there she was; all alone at the bus stop, a raggedy backpack slung over one shoulder and a brand new baby in her arms.
Funny. He never did remember, all the times he’d thought about it afterwards, ever hearing that baby cry.
“Headin’ in for shelter, I hope, miss?”
She’d cradled that kid in her thin arms like it was the most valuable thing on the green earth. She’d been so focused on it that he’d been sure she wouldn’t answer him.
But she’d just smiled brightly, that closely cropped hair of hers throwing rain drops everywhere as she shook her head vigorously.
“Ah, yeah, hope so.”
“Come on up.”
She climbed up onto the bus, looking at all the empty seats. “Gee, small crowd.”
He’d laughed. “Well, it is late. Where you headed?”
She’d picked the seat right in front. He’d been glad to have the company.
“Anywhere but here,” she’d said, and he’d thought he’d seen … something … in her eyes …
But that was crazy. That night, the storm, that beautiful child in the young woman’s arms: if it felt to him like there were powerful forces at work, then that was just the late shift talking.
But as he’d started to drive, he’d felt … wrong, somehow. They’d shared easy company, made simple conversation, but - when the baby had been awake the air had seemed tighter, thicker - everything in hyper focus, almost like the whole world was waiting to hear what the little one had to say.
She’d whispered softly in the baby’s ear, and it had drifted off to sleep again with one perfect hand wrapped around one of her long, delicate fingers.
“So, what’re you doin’ way out here?” Her sharp eyes had cut to his a little too quickly, but that bright smile was back just as fast.
“No way I’m telling you. You might be some kind of freak.” Her laugh had sounded so innocent, but for some reason he’d had shivers.
“Well now, little lady, I can’t hardly fault you for being too careful. You hear about that mess back in Lawrence? Horrible, awful stuff. Lost a lotta good people out there, ya ask me.”
She’d been quiet then, and she’d turned away, nuzzling the child close and pressing a careful kiss to the soft crown of its skull, breathing in the scent of its silky brown hair. “Yeah,” she’d whispered, so quietly he’d barely heard her. “Yeah we did.”
He’d felt like an ass, that’s what. Obviously he was intruding. He’d cleared his throat, tried to change the subject.
“Good baby you got there. Girl or boy?”
She’d smiled again, a little sadder than the last time, and he could have sworn there were tears welling in her eyes. At least they were shining bright, so large and dark, but in the mirror it was too hard to see to say for sure.
“Girl.” She’d whispered.
“Well, that’s great. I got a little boy, myself. What’d you name her?”
“Persephone.” she’d said. “She’s a Winchester. Like the rifle.”
When she’d said the baby’s name, well, to this day he thought he was crazy, but damn if the biggest bolt of lightning he’d ever seen had split the ground behind the bus, right in two. He’d damn near jumped out of his skin, but that girl … that girl had just thrown back her head and laughed, a full-on laugh that sent those shivers in his spine running for cover.
He’d dropped them off not too long after that, at yet another rainy bus stop, and when he’d turned to wish her good luck, they’d been gone.
He still never could reckon where they’d come from; or where they went to. But he knew one thing for sure.
He’d never forget the night he gave that girl a ride.