Hiding in Habitats

“Goddamn… It’s really comin’ down, huh?”

That’s what Brandan’s Lyft driver said aloud from the front seat. The statement was barely audible over the menacing downpour outside. Moments before, it had been pelting the roof and windows of the black Silverado relentlessly, blanketing the pick-up truck in heavy sheets of rain, so much so that they lost visibility and had taken cover under the I-40 overpass. Now, the two sat and waited under the shadow of the massive highway looming over them, observing the angry storm from a distance. Bad weather like this, combined with the all-too-familiar humidity of North Carolina, Brendan knew was a recipe for disaster. He used to live here, born and raised in fact, so he was well aware of how unforgiving they could be. Still, he had never seen one of this magnitude—or maybe his eight years in Los Angeles had fogged his memories. The most amount of rain he would usually deal with was the occasional drizzle that forced him to order his production crew back inside; this was something else entirely. As if quitting his job and having to move back in with his mother wasn’t bad enough, he had to suffer through a flight delayed by six hours and this damn weather, just to do it. Maybe it was a way of Brooksdale telling him that he wasn't welcome back here. He had certainly felt doomed ever since he set foot.

Each tinted window of the truck was blurred over except for the windshield thanks to the incessant swiping of its wiper blades. Aside from the Silverado’s beaming headlights and the constant orange flickering of its hazards, it was pitch black outside. A deafening clap of thunder rumbled through the open sky, and a large flash of lightning briefly lit up the dark horizon. Brendan could see that the road was completely empty, with no car in sight except for their own. He tapped his foot impatiently and turned on his phone. The small screen provided a faint light for himself in the backseat. He checked the time: 1:56 AM. Shit. He had told his mother he’d arrive at 1:30 AM, the absolute latest, and he knew better than to text her at this hour. Besides, the signal out here was nonexistent. And as much as he dreaded all of this idling around, he knew there was nothing they could do besides sit and wait. He turned his phone off with a click and re-submerged himself in the darkness. “How you holdin’ up back there, Mr. Hollywood?”

His driver, Travis, made him seriously want to take his chances with the lightning outside. During their hour-long drive, he had felt the need to make inane conversation, hammering him with an endless barrage of questions such as “Where’d you say you were from again?” and “What was your position there?” Brendan made sure to respond with minimal effort, trying to broadcast his indifference, but this guy couldn’t take the hint. The only thing interesting he could remember about him was that Travis was a game warden or conservation officer—whatever he called it. He worked for the state, but mostly in and around Brooksdale and Roxboro counties. Brendan pretended to understand the position but didn’t, despite the lengthy explanation the man offered. All he knew was that it included hunting predators and invasive species for population control, but mostly it was just him yelling at anyone who tried fishing in the off-season. Something like that.

Travis was waiting for a response to his question. Brendan held his breath as they met each other’s gazes in the rear-view mirror. Something about this guy was deeply unnerving, but Brendan couldn’t quite place it. Then, it finally clicked: it was his eyes. Illuminated by the lights of the dashboard, Brendan could see every imperfection in horrid detail—their sunken appearance due to his deep-set dark circles, the multitude of veins that crackled across his sclera. He had noticed a peculiar pattern the past few times Travis spoke. Every now and then, his eyes would shift downwards in an obsessive frenzy to the cell phone in his hands. His pitch-black pupils scurried back and forth across its screen like two wild animals in an unknown environment. The sight of them made Brendan’s skin crawl. Whatever Travis was looking at, he seemed to purposefully want to obscure its contents, turning his entire body toward the driver’s side window while sneaking furtive glances while on low brightness.

Brendan cleared his throat to break the silence and was the first to look away. Maybe if he preoccupied himself by staring outside through the backseat window, Travis would forget all about his question. Brendan crossed his arms and dug his fingernails into the buzzing flesh. His neck tightened as he swallowed.

“Well, Brendan…” He tensed at the mention of his name, said like a weapon in the man’s mouth. “I do apologize about this weather. And I know that me stoppin’ here is out of your way, but I do value safety first.” He heard a faint chuckle escape the man’s lips. “You know what I mean?”

Brendan gave a meek shrug. As if he could feel that secluded in the middle of nowhere with a stranger at 2 AM. He wanted nothing more than to be at his mother’s house right now. Even if they hadn’t seen each other in years, and he swore to never call it his home, anywhere was better than the backseat of this prison. Brendan forced his eyes closed and pressed the side of his face against the windowpane—desperately hoping that the sounds of heavy wind and rain would put him to sleep.

“I saw you had lots of luggage.” Brendan huffed at the sound and pressed his eyelids closer together. “You tryna move down here?” His toes curled in the inside of his shoe. “We don’t got many people doin’ that nowadays, ‘specially from up from North.” He could feel nostrils starting to flare. “It’s a good thing, I say.” There was a graveness in his voice. “They come down here, actin’ all high and mighty, thinkin’ they’re better than the rest of us, but the shit they do in private? It ain’t right; I’ll tell ya’ that. They all just go around pretendin’…”

Is this guy serious? Whatever true-blue, conservative bullshit he was spewing made Brendan want to scream. The Southern accent didn’t help. It reminded him of everything he hated about this place: the bullies at school who teased him for being “different,” his abusive father who fucked up his childhood. They were all the same. In L.A., Brendan tried his best to hide his own. Sure, he would slip up on a word every now and then and a subtle hint of twang would expose itself—but at least he tried to stop it. Why was this Travis guy so hell-bent on making this wait insufferable? Brendan took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, trying once again to drown him out.

“...I will do whatever’s necessary to protect my community. Every. Single. Time. No matter what. Freaks like that gotta get their comeuppance. Wouldn’t you agree?” Brendan could feel the weight of an uneasy silence. “I’m tellin’ you if someone were to mess with my boys like that…” He scoffed. “Well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty—”

“Could you please just shut the fuck up?” Brendan spat. His breath was heavy. “I am really not in the mood, right now, okay? I feel…” He let out a slow puff of air. “I am so jet-lagged. I had a really long flight, and I would just like some peace and fucking quiet. Please.”

He looked up at Travis, whose eyes were far, far away in the rear-view. They didn’t blink, didn’t even shift. The two men sat in silence for an eternity. The tortuous sounds of the storm seemed to be punishing Brendan from the outside. Rubbing his eyelids with his palms, he sank down into the backseat and covered his face, red hot with embarrassment.

“I— I'm so sorry. I wasn’t trying to—” Brendan’s voice was shaky, and his eyes stung with tears. “I'm under so much stress right now. I’m just…” He paused to catch his breath. “The past few months have been an absolute shit-show. And I came back here so I could just escape it all. I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

He watched Travis’ shoulders rise and fall as he slowly nodded in response. The man turned toward the driver’s side window; Brendan followed his gaze to the dogwood trees that lined the edge of the woods. Even in darkness, he could see their branches shaking violently from the turbulent winds—their white flowers, now displaced, were scattered across the sleek asphalt of the highway before them. Brendan jumped as Travis slammed his phone down on the dashboard. The man glared at him in the rear view.

“The fuck are you talking about?” His voice was raised. “What the hell is goin’ on here?” Brendan was shocked by the forwardness. He stammered trying to find the right words.

“What?” It was the only thing he could say.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. With a deep breath, Travis re-adjusted himself in the front seat and drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. He switched his demeanor completely to an overly cheerful smile that Brendan couldn’t quite read. He narrowed his dark eyes at the driver in the mirror.

“So, remind me again. Brendan.” He said it like an indictment. “What was it that made you leave again? I reckon I’d never leave Hollywood if I had the chance.” A multitude of thoughts flashed across Brendan’s mind.

“Oh, I uh—” He sniffled and creased his brow in a moment of panic. “I thought I already told you. I quit.” He swallowed. “It was a disagreement between me and the higher ups. We had some disagreements, and—”

“You didn’t quit. You were fired,” said Travis.

“Look...” He sighed. “I’ve had a lot of passengers in my time, okay? There’s been dozens of folks sittin’ right where you are now. I can tell when someone is lying to me.” Brendan sat upright in his seat. “I know who you are.” His voice was a menacing whisper. “Your name isn’t Brendan.”

In the rear-view, Travis’ pupils were like two black drills boring holes through his being. The man in the backseat was completely frozen—a deer in headlights. He shook his head. “I don’t—”

“You’re that producer who was in the news last month,” he said. “Yes or no?”

The man in the back was speechless. He could feel the blood pulsing through his veins as his heartbeat quickened. Travis gave him one look and nodded his head.

“I knew I saw your face somewhere before. Been reading ‘bout your case all night.” Travis motioned to his phone. “Hiding in Habitats. That’s the name of your show, right?”

The passenger bit down on his lips until they turned white. He could taste the iron of his own blood.

“I mean, seriously?” Travis shouted. “What did you think? You could just show up here with your head hangin’ low, and no one would be able to tell the difference?”

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of the man’s neck. His entire body trembled.

“You’ve been sittin’ back there all night, playing the victim. I—” Travis scoffed. “I can’t believe it. I mean—” He pounded his fist on the dashboard. “Fuckin’ listen to yourself.” His black eyes were even more alive now, full of hatred. “Who do you think you are? And what the fuck are you doin’ here in my town?”

The man in the backseat heard a faint, mechanical click from the door beside him. He quickly scrambled for the exit, desperately clawing at the door handle, but it was too late. He let out a whimper for what was to come.

“My boys loved your show, man. We used to watch it together all the time.” His voice cracked with pain. “But I had to make them stop after what you did!” Travis clenched and unclenched his shaking fists. “I want to believe that you’re a good person. I don’t wanna think anybody could ever be willin’ to do that. But, I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you.”

Travis turned around for the first time ever that night and looked him dead in the eyes. They were face-to-face. The moment seemed to last forever.

“Did you touch those kids?”

The man in the backseat felt his right eye twitch. A teardrop trickled down his cheek.

“I wanna hear you say it.” Travis’ voice was trembling, but his gaze was unwavering. “Did you do it?”

The man in the backseat shook his head vigorously. Tears streamed down his face as he gasped for air, his body shaking uncontrollably with sobs. His chin dimpled in shame.

“I don’t know.”

Travis looked away in disgust. Water pooled in the crevice of his eye bags. He took a deep breath and nodded to himself. The Game Warden reached over and grabbed something from the glove compartment of the Silverado. The man in the backseat could see it glinting in the moonlight, barely concealed in the darkness. He gasped as Travis pressed the object to his forehead. He took a moment to reflect upon the sensation on his skin; the coolness of the metal, he knew, would be the last thing he would ever feel.

“You did this to yourself.”