We interrupt our normally scheduled blog post to bring you the following Flash Fiction (sponsored by LitStack). Hope you enjoy.

He left me the car.

Of course he left it to me. It was the final slap, the ultimate insult.  No one else would know that, though. It looked perfect.

Of course he wanted you to have it. He loved that car so much. What a wonderful memory.

He did love the car. He was always cleaning it. Always waxing it to perfection. So much that I could see my reflection in it no matter what time of day or night.

But it was always night.

Parked on the side of the road, just off the highway. No one could hear the screams. No one could see the blood. No one would understand the terror.

Don’t tell anyone. You’re just as guilty as me.

And I didn’t.

I kept his secret as the bodies piled up. As the investigations turned cold. I was the alibi and the bait for each new victim. Each person who tried to help a poor girl on the side of the road and found themselves in the car. In the trunk. Desperately flailing against the lights that gleamed like hell fire.  I would turn around, but I always saw their reflection in the chrome, drowning in the sea of metallic blue. Begging me with their eyes when their voices gave out.

He left me the car.

He knew, as the years went by, that I was just as trapped as he was. He knew that I couldn’t go anywhere. That no matter where I went, that car would be behind me. Taunting me.

Reflecting my sins forever.

So he left it for me. His most prized possession.

It went to me.

The trophy.

The symbol of a life well spent.

I vomited on the side of the road when my mother handed me the keys.

Oh honey, that’s okay. That’s normal. It’s the grief. It’ll pass.

She was right about that.

It was the grief.

Only it was my grief. The loss of my life, not my fathers.

And it did pass.

It passed in the way he probably intended when he left me those keys.

That night, I drove down the highway and pulled off onto the side road.

It was late.

Hey, are you okay? Do you need any help?

He left me the car.

The chrome reflected the blade behind my back. The lights glowed in the face of the Good Samaritan.

I stepped into the destiny he left me.