At A Standstill

The town dies around midnight. Everyone is in their homes and off the road, beginning to wind down from their day. The traffic lights give orders to no one as the streets lay silent. The world is at peace.

Rick Lahser, however, is restless.

He's alone in his car on a dark side street. His eyes are fixated on a house to the left. His heart is racing. He can't keep his eyes off it. The house is taunting Rick, with its porch lights on and its thin, airy drapes, daring him to come over. But he remains in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while his right leg jitters up and down anxiously. The song playing on his CD happens to sync with his situation, asking him, "Oh well, whatcha waiting for?" He looks at his stereo and cracks a small smile at the coincidence. Normally he would take this as a sign, as a means to get out of the car and follow through with his plan. He doesn't, though. Rick continues to think to himself that someone from inside will see him and ruin everything. He's unwilling to take the risk that the Rick of old would have done in a heartbeat. This new Rick is wary, more cautious, less willing to put it on the line and go for it.

So he starts up his car and leaves.

Angry with himself, he curses under his breath, shaking his head at his inability to act. He turns onto the main road and flies down it, trying to release his aggression in some way. At a stoplight, he puts his head on the wheel and thinks of the all the possible ramifications of this inaction. Every possible and far-reaching possibility floods into his mind, each one hurting more than the last. He blew it and he knew it.

He looks at the passenger seat and sees the envelope. Inside it contained a letter saying everything he couldn't. It was meant to be a love note to his friend whom he had harbored a crush for over 3 months now. Rather than taped to her door, it sat there mocking Rick. He couldn't look at it any longer, for it made his stomach turn. He stared up at the light, now green, and he hit the gas.

Her name was Michelle.

He had been so calculated around her in his last year of high school. Every interaction with her was carefully plotted out in advance. His conversations with her were so intricately prepared that they could have been scripted. This was just how he went about courting someone. He couldn't be blamed for not being himself, even though he seemed to try and plan every situation with Michelle to make himself come off as a great guy. This was just Rick's way of flirting with a woman. He had been the same way with the woman he fell for before, but after she rejected him, it sent Rick into a season-long depression. He thought he was fully recovered, but it was apparent that he was still hesitant when it came to expressing himself. While inside he saw himself as chivalric, quixotic, and romantic, he knew that tonight he failed to live up to any of those qualities. His love for Michelle would remain a fact known only to him for another lonely night.

Rick pulled into the nearby gas station to buy some comfort food, namely a Yoo-Hoo and a Twix bar. There were no customers, not much as surprise at 1am. Rick, knowing the exact layout of the store from hundreds of visits, quickly had his supplies in hand and waited at the counter for the attendant to show up. A minute passed without any movement from the back room. Rick looked around for something saying, "Back in 5" or "Closed," something he may have missed, but from what he could see, there was no sign of any sort. He rang the small bell lying on the table, but with another minute having passed, Rick gave up. He left his money on the table and a note listing what he purchased for the attendant to see whenever they decided to get back to work.

Rick got in his car and was hit with a very odd feeling, a sense that something very bad was about to happen. From the spot where his car was parked, he thought it might have been the sudden fear of a carjacking. His nerves got to him as he started up his car and peeled out of the gas station lot as quickly as he could. He shot down the street on his way home, having told his father he was only going to the gas station. He had made no mention of any side trip.

Pulling into the driveway, Rick didn't immediately leave the vehicle. Instead, he once again sat, staring ahead, thinking of what this missed opportunity would cost him. She'd find someone else, surely a guy unworthy in Rick's eyes, she'd move away to her college, her and Rick would stay in contact for a few months, but after that it would be all over. He wished that she, along with many others from his high school class, wouldn't go anywhere, that everybody would just stay put. He had so many chances in his senior year to tell her how he felt, but he had just let his insecurities get to him. And again tonight the demons from his past had stopped him from following through, leaving him sitting in his car wishing he hadn't been a coward for that one moment.

Rick turned off the car and grabbed his stuff, pocketing the envelope and heading into the house only to be pounced on by his dog, Mike. He brought his candy and drink into the living room to finish watching the baseball game, and where his father was reading the newspaper. It was a game on the West Coast, so although it was closing in on a quarter after one, it was still the bottom of the sixth. The game had been paused, apparently, thanks to the magic of Tivo.

"That's alright, you didn't need to pause the game for me," Rick said to his father.

He snagged the remote and hit 'Play.' The screen stayed still. He let out a sigh, thinking the television was messed up just months after they had bought it. He looked at the screen and kept hitting the button, hoping it would just start up again randomly. As he squinted at the screen, he noticed something. The image showed the pitcher having thrown the ball and the batter was still in his pre-swing stance. The umpire was still leaning on the catcher, having not made the call yet. The ball, however, lay on the ground just in front of the catcher. It was as if the batter, catcher and umpire had not even realized the ball had been thrown.

"You see this, Dad? Dad?"

Rick's father continued reading the paper, not acknowledging his question or Mike as he jumped into his lap.

"Dad?"

Rick was use to his father becoming so involved in the newspaper that he wouldn't respond right away, but this was out of the ordinary. Rick went and looked over the paper to see his father with an unblinking face, not looking at Rick, just solely concentrated on the paper. Rick shook his father's shoulder, but without a reaction. He was warm too, as if he had a fever. He was still breathing as well, but it was shallow.

"Mike, stay here."

Rick ran to his mother's room, where she was sleeping, and turned on the lights. He shook her, but she too was unresponsive. He was then hit with the fact that his normally light sleeping mother did not even awake to the lights turning on, this usually being enough stimulus for her to shoot out of bed. He continued to shake her, now more vigorously and with worry in his eyes. Still nothing. He noticed something odd; she too was extremely warm. She looked completely normal, but obviously she wasn’t right. Staying by her side, Rick took out his cell phone and called his friend Ken.

He quietly whispered to the phone, telling Ken to pick up. When the voicemail answered, Rick began to panic. If the normally technophile Ken wasn't answering, something was definitely wrong.

"Hey Ken, I need you to call me back, alright? S-Something's wrong. See ya."

Rick went down his contact list and spent 15 minutes trying to reach anyone he could, but every call ended up reaching the voicemail rather than the person. He paced back and forth from the bedroom to the living room, checking on his parents, who were still unable or unwilling to move, he wasn't sure. He finally hit a point of extreme anxiety and dialed 9-1-1 for the first time in his life. It just rang and rang, without an answer. He threw his phone on the couch and picked up the television remote again, turning on the cable news in a desperate attempt to see if this was happening elsewhere. When he switched over, he found the anchors to be frozen in mid-conversation with each other, not moving an inch. He went up a channel and found nothing but the same, with the political pundit looking at the screen, mouth half open and eyes in mid-blink.

Something was definitely wrong.

Though a normally smart and logical thinker, Rick felt vulnerable and afraid, as he couldn't find grounds for this event. He had seen enough thrillers and horror movies to think about toxins and viruses as being the cause, but quickly dismissed those as unlikely. Rick, without knowing the cause for this occurrence, certainly couldn't come up with a solution. For no reason other than to have it and feel an ounce safer, he sought out his father's gun from his sock drawer. As he was rummaging through the socks, he decided he was going to drive over to his friend Quentin's house. He didn't know Quentin's number so he wasn't able to call him. He only lived a block away and figured it was worth a shot. With gun already in hand, he swiped his keys off the kitchen table and got back in his car.

This whole deal was still so sudden and so strange to Rick that his head was still having trouble wrapping around it. He tried breaking down everything, trying to look at this as logically as possible. His mom and dad were immobile. They were very warm. None of his friends, and not even the cops for that matter, was answering their phones. The electricity was fine. The televisions worked, but the game and the news were frozen. Both of those are shown live, meaning that this same thing was happening in those studios and on the West Coast. This wasn’t isolated case, but why was he ok? Thinking over all of this, the well-read and educated Rick still could not come to any conclusions about what had happened. Something this widespread seemed to have taken placed instantly. Again, why was he the exception to this?

He continued to pour over the details as he pulled up to Quentin's house. Just half an hour ago, everyone was fine; he was leaving his house and saying goodbye to his responsive father, on his way to Michelle's house. Now things were different. Why?
As he walked up to the door, he saw lights were on inside and noise was coming from inside. Voices. He knocked repeatedly, calling for Quentin, but no one answered. He jiggled the doorknob, and it obliged, having been left unlocked, allowing Rick inside. Upon his entrance, he saw that the voices were coming from the old sitcom playing on television. Moving further into the house, he saw Quentin in the hallway, leaning up against the wall, looking at his cell phone.

"Quen? Hey, buddy, you hear me?"

Nothing. Rick swore over and over, frustrated and nervous. Everyone was at a standstill. There was no logic behind this, no reason, and yet, it was happening right before his eyes. Rick looked at the clock in Quentin's dining room. It read 1:34 in the morning, with the second hand slowly making it's way around. The clock ticked on, but everyone seemed to be stuck in time. It still didn't make any sense to him. He put his head up against the wall, gently bumping his father's pistol on the back of his head, trying to knock some answers out.

Suddenly, with a roar, a car raced down the street at high speeds. Rick turned his head and ran outside, feeling the adrenaline kicking in. When he reached the sidewalk, he looked both ways and spotted the vehicle at the end of the street, nearing the main road.

Rick hopped back in his car and went into hot pursuit of this other driver. Someone was certainly up and moving other than Rick, probably in a panic and looking for answers. He needed to catch up to them. As he reached the main road, he pulled out into the middle lane and stopped. Putting the car in park, Rick got out and surveyed the area. He listened intently, but could no longer hear the growl that other engine made. Neither direction featured a car or any evidence one had been on it. Again, all Rick could do was let out frustrated obscenities.

He knew sitting around waiting was worthless, he had to continue moving, looking for someone that might have survived whatever had gotten hold of the rest. So he drove at a snail's pace, down the main road, scanning over every square foot for movement of any sort. Another fact popped into his head as he drove; Mike was unaffected. He was still in good spirits and had the same yippy personality as before. Maybe only humans were affected, Rick thought. Just another piece to a puzzle he couldn't solve.

Flashing headlights caught Rick's attention, shining brightly in his rear view mirror. He instantly hit the brakes and stopped the car, getting out, but not forgetting the gun. He put it in the back of his waistband and waited for the car to reach him. After a few seconds, it got within a distance that Rick could make it out. Coming toward him was a truck that looked fairly new and sped at him at a brisk pace. He began to wave his arms over his head, trying to get the driver's attention and for him to stop. The driver, however, seemed to have no thought of slowing down for Rick. The truck continued to speed toward him, who quickly realized that this vehicle was stopping for no one. Rick dove out of the way and watched from the ground as the dark blue behemoth smashed into his car, disabling both.

He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. Rick sat there, breathing heavily and unable to figure out just what had happened. This driver had tried to kill him. He had to do something; he couldn’t just lie there forever.

Absolutely frightened, Rick pulled out the pistol and moved slowly toward the truck. While he had the poise of a veteran police officer approaching a dangerous room, Rick had never shot a real gun, and only had television and the movies to go off of in terms of handling and shooting. He grabbed the truck driver's door handle with one hand, making sure to keep the gun in the other and trained on the door. He took a breath and ripped the door open.

The car was empty.

Rick was left speechless. He didn't know what to think anymore. He felt helpless at this point, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. It was as if Rod Serling was suddenly dictating his life and that he was in store for something even worse. No, there was one person he could go to, he thought, one who felt an obligation to protect. Michelle.

Now without a car, he had to walk the five blocks to her house. Rick moved with a purpose, still listening and looking in every direction, hoping to catch something in the distance or in the corner of his eye that might hint that someone else was out there. All he heard was the slight breeze touching upon the summer leaves. Their rustling usually calmed Rick, but now it only gave him chills. The darkness seemed pervasive, stretching into every corner, the light from the corner stores and gas stations fighting it as best they could. Nothing on this familiar road felt soothing to him anymore. Where had that truck come from? And the other that raced down the street? Rick was not a man who usually cried. He had worked hard over the years to create a happy and humorous persona that kept his darker emotions at bay. But now, in the middle of the street, he wanted to cry harder than he had in a long time. And yet still, he resisted. Crying meant giving up and he refused to stop. Although he was faced with a seemingly impossible situation, he had to cope with it. So he walked on.

He saw her street in sight when he heard another car engine come to life. It snarled like a beast and then kicked into gear. Rick just knew that it was coming toward him. He ran now, at a full sprint, down Michelle's street. Her home wasn't far off the main road and he reached it in mere seconds, pounding on the door the moment he reached it, screaming her name and hoping someone would open it. The noise from the far off car grew louder, closing in on Rick. He was burdened with more questions. Why was it coming for him? And why did he know that it was? He didn't care at that point. He looked at his pistol in his hand and then at the window next to the door. He cautiously shot the window three times, shattering the glass and allowing for a way in.

Rick kicked the remaining shards and ran as fast as his legs would allow him throughout the house. He saw what was probably Michelle's father lying on the couch, staring at the TV, motionless. He found the stairs leading to the second floor and charged up them two at a time. Pictures of Michelle at every stage of her life adorned the walls in the home, things he would likely take time to look at if this were a casual visit. This was a rescue mission, though, and Rick knew Michelle had to be close. He ran to the end of the hallway, now sweating buckets, and turned right to see a room decorated in posters of rock bands and movie stars. This had to be Michelle's room.

For all the rushing he did, when Rick found her room, he felt as if he could no longer move. He didn't want to see what was likely in that room. This was the room of the girl he had been idolizing for months, building her up in his mind to be the perfect woman for him. But he knew when he stepped a foot in there that he would find that same woman frozen in place like all the others. But he knew he had to do it. This time the past and his fears couldn't stop him. He took a step.

Rick turned left and saw her, beautiful as always, but just as he expected, unmoved. She was sitting there in sweatpants and a t-shirt, huddled up in a ball on her bed, watching the small TV in her room. She was watching the exact same game he had been. For some reason that tore him up and nearly brought those tears out. Still, he held on and moved closer to her. Rick knelt on one knee in front of her. For a brief time, he just stayed where he was and looked at her. He had never taken the time to really do so. She really was gorgeous even without makeup, just naturally amazing. Finally, he cleared his throat and tried whatever he could to "awake" her.

"Hey. Hey, Michelle. It's Rick."

He stopped. He felt stupid doing this. Could she even hear him? Did it matter?

"It's Rick. I'm here for you. You know, I don't know if you can here any of what I'm saying, but something's happened. No one's moving out there. Nobody. And I-I don't know what to do. I just thought, you know, I'd come here. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Rick paused, gathering himself.

"But obviously, you're not. I'm sorry. I don't why I am. I just feel like I failed you somehow. I was outside your house earlier, actually, I came to drop this off."

Rick took the letter out of his pocket and showed it to the unresponsive Michelle.

"It's, uh, it says everything I've wanted to say to you for so long. I couldn't do it though; I just got too afraid and left. I love you, Michelle. That's what it basically says. Everything about you just blows me away. And now, here you are like the rest out there. I messed up."

A car door slammed outside. Rick looked out the bedroom window to see the interior lights from a sedan slowly going off, but he couldn’t see anyone. He closed the blinds and shut the door to the room then went back to Michelle, picking up where he left off, this time with a more Rick-like humor and nostalgia in his voice.

“You remember back in middle school, when we had science together, when we first met? That day I accidentally knocked your stuff on the ground? I actually, uh, did it on purpose to get you to notice me. Ha, and all those times I teased you, you know it was just because I liked you. But after that last year in middle school, things between us just kind of went away. They were dormant for a long time. But this year, you made me fall for you again, and I don't want to let that pass me by. I want you to wake up, Michelle. I just want you to wake up so bad. I love you; I can't have you be like this. Wake up. Come on, Michelle. Come on. Come on. Michelle! Michelle! Wake up!”

Rick shot a bullet past her ear, trying whatever came to his mind to wake her.

"Damnit, please, come on and wake up. Everything will be alright, just move. Move, move, move, just a little bit. Please."

Rick rested his head on the edge of her bed, exhausted and out of ideas.
A sharp banging began at the bedroom door, causing Rick to jump. The whole door seemed to shake, with the fragile hinges threatening to break at each hit. Rick aimed the pistol at the point where the intruder’s chest or head might be when the door broke. He knew that door was going to fail, and that he had to protect himself and Michelle from whatever was on the other side. Now he was feeling it. Chivalric. Quixotic. Romantic. Death itself could have been knocking on that door, but Rick would have stayed right where he was.

The cause of all this didn't want anyone to move. Rick was going to follow suit.

A final thunderous bash blasted the door into pieces, causing Rick to shield his face with his free arm. He regained his composure and waited for the invader to reveal itself. But as he continued to wait, holding the gun with a rock hard grip, he wondered if anything was going to appear.

Within the course of half an hour his world had come crashing to an end. Nobody, including the person he cared so deeply for, could as much as bat an eye. An invisible force had destroyed the door and driverless cars had pursued him. Why? Rick didn't know. These events defied logic. Was this an act of God? Was He trying to show Rick the impact if someone doesn't make a move, and just using it on a large scale to illustrate it? Anything seemed possible now, but right now Rick didn't care. He was with Michelle, and whatever happened, he would stay with her. Rick decided to sit up and park himself next to Michelle, putting an arm around her and resting his head on her warm shoulder. The gun still tightly clenched in his hand.

Rick stayed there, motionless with his love, the clock in her room continuing to tick on.

Day broke hours later to a world that refused to wake up. One man could still move, but he rejected to do so. Rick Lahser stayed awake throughout that night, gun trained on a quiet but ominous doorway. The woman next to him, Michelle, remained huddled up, eyes glued to a frozen TV screen. Neither would move for hours. Birds would sing that day and the sun would still shine, but nothing else would be the same for Rick. His focus on that empty space in the wall was so intense he began to have tunnel vision. He saw nothing else. He even missed Michelle blink.