Him

He was obsessed. I had told him as such a million times. However, I can always remember the first time I realised it was so.

I hadn’t heard from him in three weeks, though I had texted at least 20 times a day. I had finished up my latest job and didn’t need to get back to work – for a while at least. I had time. I pulled up my car to 42 Walley Lane and shut off the engine. The street was dead, as it had been for the past while. The only house which could potentially be lived in was 42. Every single other house was practically ripped to the ground; roofs caved in, walls fallen to the ground, infestations galore.

Stepping out of my car, I took in the practically deadly scent of the street. Why he chose to stay here, even though the house was decent enough, I couldn’t understand. But I could never convince him to come with me, no matter how hard I had tried.

When I reached the door, I knocked three times; looking expectantly at the buzzer on my right, knowing that soon enough.

BZZT. “Who is it?” His voice was shaking, as usual. Seemed he hadn’t gotten better since the last time I came here.

“It’s me. I came by to check on you. You’ve been acting up about whatever it is you’re so focused on, I was hoping I could help!”

“Oh bore off!”

“Please let me in! I just want to see what your up to! I want to know if I can help!”

Silence.

BZZT.

The door clicking open signalled to me that I wasn’t being greeted with open arms. Then again, that was to be expected. Shutting the door behind me, I looked around the main room. It looked… Too pristine. Unlived in – much like a show house. It felt cold. Thankfully, I already knew where his true home was.

Walking towards the small cupboard door beneath the stairs, the second set of stairs revealed themselves. I crouched to fit in to the space, wandering into the basement. The fairy lights around the room twinkled, quite the opposition to the litter of take-out boxes, beer bottles and soda cans across the floor.

“You really need to clean up down here” I sighed, leaning against a plain spot on the wall.

“Don’t have time” He hadn’t even looked up to acknowledge me, continuing to wind red string between pins on his board. Scanning the photos, it was obvious that he was still obsessing over his ideas, even though I had warned him otherwise. Photos of people’s faces, and of cars without number plates. Of newspaper clippings and interview screencaps.

“How do you even have the time and energy to mull over this? It’s not that important you know”

He whipped round to me, jaw slackened and eyebrow twitching with a strange edge of rage to him. He dropped the string from his hands in a purposeful and violent swing to the ground, before pointing at one of the many boards of string and clips he had hung up.

“You’ve heard the legends! That driver is out there, and I bloody know it!” He practically yelled, smacking his hand against the litter of photos on the wall. I shook my head, “How the hell do they do it? How?!” He turned away from me again, beginning to pace the room as he always did in his rambling sessions, “How do they know where people belong? How do they organize it?”

His voice continued to ramble the same questions I had heard a million times. That urban legend, of the taxi that takes you where you need to go – even if its not what you requested. Everyone knew about them, but it seemed that only he really wanted to look into it. There had been millions of stories – someone hops into the cab and finds the love of their life; someone who was fired somehow finds themselves back home which had been at least three states away; someone who was struggling at home somehow finds themselves in a country half-way across the world with no repercussions. Success story after success story. A cab driver who somehow always knows where you need to go…

“Why does none of this bother anyone but me?! Why am I the only one who gives a damn about a creep who just dumps people on the other side of the world?” He called out, finally turning back to me. His eyes had deep-set bags beneath them, a darkness to his entire face, like he hadn’t slept well in weeks – if he had even slept at all.

“Is it really such a bad thing if it means their lives turn out better?”

“Free will! Choice!” He bellowed, throwing his hands into the air, “It’s already limited enough as it is, and now this freak is limiting it even more, can’t you see that? This is an awful thing to happen, your life shouldn’t be chosen for you, you should get to choose it yourself, but this godforsaken imbecile is stopping us from doing that!!” He ranted, hands shaking as I watched his face fall with exhaustion.

“And Mr Robinson, the 72-year-old from two blocks away, is somehow on your list of suspects?” I countered, folding my arms across my chest to stare as his face crumpled. He sighed, leaning against the same patch of wall I had leant against mere moments before, “You have to understand, you need help. I understand you want to figure this out, but you’ve lost your job because of this, and your livelihood is going down the drain!” I reached out and grasped one of his shoulders, “Come upstairs with me… Lets get you into bed and to sleep, You need to rest”.

He tried to resist, shrugging me off with an “I don’t need help”. That was short lived when, after what I assume was at least a week with no sleep, his knees gave in and he collapsed to the floor, his right arm falling in just the right place to save his head. Rolling my eyes, I picked him up, as I watched him drowsily slip in and out of consciousness. Tucking him against me, I made my way up the stairs, out the small door, and upstairs to his bedroom.

Leaving that evening, after setting him into the mess he called a bed, I called it a night. I shut the door behind me, hearing the automatic lock click shut. I took a deep breath of the midnight air, allowing it to clear my head after what had just transpired. I strolled down the path, taking in the sights of 42 Walley Lane one last time. I took my time rounding my car, ensuring I took in every last detail before stepping into the driver’s seat; The same one I had sat in for the past 50 years. The familiar tug returned, and I fastened myself in.

Arriving a mere few streets down, a woman stood – waiting and unsure. I honked my horn once, and watched as her shoulders jerked with her shock.

“Can I help you?” She asked, as I pulled down the window.

“No – but I can help you!” I laughed, “I’d hoped that was me done for the evening, but I never really get any rest. Don’t really need it!”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s very simple Miss” I spoke calmly, “You hop on in. I’ll take you where you need to go”.