White Horse

Theodore Roll grinned, displaying uneven, yellowing teeth. Sean ran a hand over the car’s smooth white lines. The front door popped open as he drew near, and the engine purred to life. He glanced at the salesman.

“That means it likes you,” Roll said.

Sean slid onto the driver’s seat. It was like being caressed by a woman. He barely noticed the seat belt locking him in place, though he felt the roar of the engine as the car launched forward, heading for the river.

T. Roll watched the waters close behind it. He smiled at the license plate: NIXIE1.