Page 1 of Sweet T

Prologue

JUNE 26TH 2015

When Evan Harbuck got into the stranger’s SUV, he did not know he was making a move that would forever change his life.

He was hitchhiking on I-20. The rain was pummeling him in torrents. Letters on his makeshift sign reading Atlanta were blurring, the saturated cardboard turning to mush. He considered leaving the road for a bit, seeking shelter in the nearby dark woods, when an approaching vehicle’s lights flashed at him and then slowed down.

It was a Ford Explorer, either black or navy blue. He had a hard time distinguishing in the heavy rain and darkening twilight. As the SUV rolled to a stop before him, Evan was elated. At last, an opportunity to escape this miserable weather.

When he opened the door, there was country music on the radio and the scent of expensive cologne in the air. The man behind the wheel was smiling. He gestured for Evan to enter. “Well, get in. Don’t just stand there in the rain.”

Evan thought about it, remembering countless horror movies that started similarly.

“You’re not a mass murderer, are you?” he asked.

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you,” said the man, his grin growing. “But, if it makes you feel any better... no, I’m not a mass murderer. I’m worse. I’m a salesman. I’m a lonely salesman filled with hundreds of boring stories from a conference I just attended, looking for some hapless stranger to share them with.”

Evan eyed the man. He was young, maybe thirty, wearing the remnants of a suit. The jacket and tie were lying in the backseat. He sighed.

“Thank, God. If it gets me out of the rain, you can talk all the way to Atlanta.”

“I’m not going that far. But I can take you halfway. You can put your stuff in the back seat. If I had a towel, I’d give it to you. You’re soaked. There may be some paper napkins in the glove compartment.”

Evan opened the rear door and put his backpack and sign on the floorboard. He closed it and joined the man up front.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll take what I can get. Anything to get out of this rain.”

“Happy to help. I’m Rick.”

“Hi, Rick. I’m Evan.”

* * *

“You sure have a lot of tattoos.”

They rode for a few miles. Evan was drying off as best he could, using the fast food napkins the man had offered, smelling of grease.

“Yeah.” He smiled, looking down at himself. He was wearing a tank top and shorts—Georgia summer wear. All over his glistening arms and legs were a variety of tattoos he’d been collecting—birds, flowers, quotes in fancy fonts. “I’m a little obsessed with body art.”

“I like it. Never had the nerve myself, but I appreciate them on others.” Rick’s gaze returned to the road.

“I appreciate you giving me a ride.”

“You’re welcome. Always up for company. So, what is it you do, Evan?”

The man, Rick, seemed nice enough, and it was a fair question. There was a subtext there, though. No doubt.

Why are you hitchhiking? Why are you on the road in the pouring rain with your meager belongings? Are you a drug addict, a criminal?

“A few days ago, I had an epiphany. That’s why I’m Atlanta-bound.”

“An epiphany, or a disagreement with someone?”

“Both,” Evan said, thinking Rick was not only nosy, but clairvoyant. “I’m in technical college, in Augusta. Was. I quit.”

“Not your thing?”

“No. I’m good at it. It just isn’t what I want to do.”

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