The Woman in White

Strains of late-night radio station techno played softly as Evan drove along the highway, twenty minutes from home. There were few other cars on the road; he could not help but feel a certain solidarity whenever one showed up, that brief kinship ending when said car would continue out of sight.

He had spent the day helping Jack and Shirley move into their new house. The couple had more possessions than he had imagined, and although there had been other people pitching in, it had taken the whole afternoon and part of the night to get them settled in. They had provided pizza and beer afterwards, and although some who had helped had left right after dinner, he had stayed behind with other friends to hang out.

The company had whiled away the time until well past midnight.

Jack and Shirley had invited him to sleep in their guest room, but he had turned down the offer, confident in his ability to drive home after only two beers, their effects on him diluted by the greasy pizza, and always preferring to sleep in his own bed when possible.

This route was not one that he could remember taking before, but his phone's GPS has selected it for him.

The stretch of highway he was currently on was hemmed in on both sides by woods, the trees tall and gnarled, no signs of wildlife anywhere. The scarcity of other drivers and the late-night stillness lent the area an eerie atmosphere, the surprisingly spaced-out lights not helping that matter, leaving pockets of space darker than he was comfortable with, one of which he was currently in.

Wait, what the hell is that?

His attention was drawn up ahead, to where a figure in white was walking along the side of the road.

He slowed and pulled up alongside it.

His mind went to urban legends he had heard of, telling of ghosts creeping along dark highways, vengeful spirits who sought to harm anyone who might cross their path.

But as he came up behind it, it crossed into one of the lit-up portions of the highway, giving him a better look at it.

At her.

The first indication that the figure was female was the wedding dress. The delicate material was torn here and there, and the hem was stained with dirt, but the dress practically glowed under the stark highway lighting.

The second indication that the figure was female was her figure, which was accentuated by the dress. He could not help but appreciate her wide hips and shapely ass, and as he nudged his car slightly ahead of her, his eyes took in her large breasts, the neckline of the dress showing off lush cleavage.

She did not notice him, even as he crept ahead of her. Her head was bowed, face hidden under a veil, and her shuffling gait meant that she was not moving very quickly. A bouquet of vibrantly red flowers was clutched in one hand, in the other a pair of white high-heeled shoes.

Looks too real to be a ghost.

He brought the car to a stop and opened the passenger seat window.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

She did not answer, instead continuing along slowly.

"Ma'am?"

Still, she kept walking.

"Ma'am?!"

She stopped suddenly.

His heart beat a bit faster, and he thought back to those urban legends of highway-walking ghosts.

She slowly looked over to him. In the several seconds it took her to do so, he contemplated driving off.

But the halting sobs he could hear coming from underneath the veil led him to decide to at least check if she was alright.

If she's a ghost, maybe she won't hurt me because I'm being nice and checking on her. And if she isn't, then I'm helping someone out.

Finally, her gaze was fully on him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She shuffled over to the window and leaned over. His eyes almost flickered to her cleavage, on display before him, but he managed to restrain himself.

"Do you need help?"

She flipped her veil back, letting it settle on her hair, the dark brown done up in a complicated combination of braids.

Definitely looks too real to be a ghost.

This mystery bride was pale, but not unnaturally so. Her eye makeup was ruined by tears, with black tracks running down both cheeks. Even with that ruination, he could see that she was quite pretty, with a round face, full lips, and pleasantly blue eyes.

But those pretty features were drawn in an expression of anguish.

Good thing I stopped and checked on her.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked again.

She sniffled, and then shook her head.

"No," she said quietly, her voice thin and fraught.

He hesitated.

Probably shouldn't ask about the dress or anything. Looks like it did not go well.

"Do you...do you need a ride somewhere?"

She glanced down the road in the direction she had come from, and then at him.

"Maybe."

"Well, get in then. I can take you wherever you need to go."

She glanced now at the stretch of highway ahead of them, and then back at him.

"I probably shouldn't get into a car with a strange man."

"That's smart. But would you rather keep walking around out here? It's dark, and who knows what could happen to you. There aren't many cars out right now, and I don't think there're many Uber drivers willing to come out here, so you don't really have many options."

She nodded, her anguished expression settling slightly into a more neutral one.

"You're right, I guess."

There was still a definite caution in her posture and demeanor as she looked back down the road and then ahead again.

"I'm Evan," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

She shifted the flowers and the shoes to one hand and shook his daintily. Like her face, her hand was pale, but it was also cold, not unnaturally so but enough to be noticeable.

"I'm Annie," she said softly, "nice to meet you."

"Hi, Annie. Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

She took a few seconds to think, during which he gave in and glanced quickly at her cleavage, the swells of her breasts just as pale as the amount of her he had already seen.

"Okay," she finally replied, opening the door.

As she hiked up her dress to get in, he saw her feet, their skin caked with dirt. Inwardly, he cringed at the mess she would inevitably leave on the floor mat, but then he scolded himself for that self-centered reaction, especially in the face of her anguish.

He noticed a shiver run over her, and despite his brief fear that his hand would pass through her and she would be revealed as a ghost, he reached out to touch her shoulder.

His hand met solid flesh through the wedding dress.

That flesh was cold, and another shiver ran over her as she regarded his hand with a neutral expression.

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the passenger seat.

"You must be freezing. Put this on."

"Thank you," she said, smiling gratefully.

The smile highlighted her pretty features, and he snuck a good look at her face as she put the flowers and high heels in her lap so she could put on his jacket.

"Seat belt," he told her pointedly.

She nodded, as if remembering that such a thing existed, and then reached back for the shoulder-strap belt.

Her breasts were pushed out by the movement, his eyes drawn there mindlessly. Another shiver made them ripple, and he turned on the heat.

Once the click of the seat belt sounded, he drove off.

"Thank you," Annie said quietly after a few seconds of near silence, the techno music still playing faintly. "No one has stopped for me before."

"You're very welcome. I guess some people just can't be bothered."

"I guess so."

"So, where's home?"

She glanced over at him.

"I don't want to go home yet."

"Okay. Is there somewhere I can drop you off?"

She thought before answering, now looking straight ahead through the windshield.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Where is that?"

"Like twenty minutes away or so."

She was still looking through the windshield.

"I guess I'll go there then."

"To my place?"

Suddenly, it hit him that she might be crazy, and would be capable of hurting him even if she were not a ghost.

"You're right," she said then, finally glancing back over, "I shouldn't stay on a strange man's couch."

"I thought we were past the 'strange man' phase," he said jokingly. "I introduced myself and everything."

"Just because I know your name doesn't mean you're not a serial killer."

Look who's talking.

"True. So, is there a place I can drop you off?"

"I don't want to go home yet."

"So, then how about I take you back to my place, and you can call someone when we get there? And they can pick you up."

Her hesitation was obvious.

"You don't have to come inside. You can just sit in the car and wait for them."

After a brief hesitation, she nodded.

"Thank you. You're very nice."

"I'm just trying to help out."

"And I appreciate it. You're the first who stopped."

She could be a maniac, and you're bringing her back to your place?

He ignored that voice.

Silence fell for the next few minutes. He kept stealing glances at Annie, who was looking through the windshield, her gaze fixed forward without wavering. The anguish in her features had diminished further, and a small smile even tugged at the corners of her mouth. That smile was pleasing to see, as it showed that he had provided her with at least some happiness. It also drew him to sneak more glances at her, intrigued but still unwilling to ask about her situation. His eyes occasionally flitted to her cleavage, and every time they did, he felt a surge of guilt.

While one part of him was busy appreciating her physically, another was thinking about the possibility of her being a maniac.

There could be a hairpin in the bouquet, and when we get to my place, she'll stab me. Or she'll try to claw my eyes out. Or she'll grab my hand and try to drive us off the road.

The silence was broken by Annie.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

He looked over at her. In place of her smile was an expectant look, her eyebrows arched, her head cocked.

"Ask you what?"

"About my wedding dress."

"Oh. I...didn't want to pry."

She frowned in confusion.

"You're not curious?"

"Well, I thought it'd be rude to ask. You might not want to talk about it."

"Maybe I want to," she told him, the confusion now irritation. "Maybe I haven't been able to tell anyone about it for a long time."

He thought intently, trying to tread carefully with his answer, lest she snap and try to gouge his eyes out with the heels of her shoes.

Come on, don't think that. She obviously just wants to get this off her chest.

He fought the urge to look at her cleavage.

"Do you want to tell me about it? I was trying to be polite, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious. If you want to talk about it, I'm all ears."

Her irritation turned into satisfaction.

"My fiancé left me at the altar."

I kind of figured. But what the fuck do I say to that?

"I'm sorry to hear that."

The previous anguish resurfaced, albeit muted.

"I was so excited. I thought Brett and I would live happily ever after. I picked out the perfect dress, the perfect venue for the reception, even had the perfect first dance song."

Evan felt his pity for her increase as she looked down at her hands, clutching so tightly to the flowers and shoes that her knuckles grew even paler.

"But he never showed up at the church. When I realized he wasn't coming, it hurt so much. He ran away instead of marrying me. It made me feel so worthless."

"Hey," he told her, reaching out to squeeze at her shoulder, "you're not worthless. Brett just didn't appreciate you. Or maybe he freaked out, and tomorrow he'll call and beg you to forgive him."

She looked at him, her gaze intensely blue, an inscrutable expression on her face.

You're going to attack me now, aren't you?

As he ignored the voice in his head, she smiled suddenly.

"You're too sweet."

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"But I'm never going to see him again."

Because you murdered him?

He ignored the voice again.

"Why not? What if he calls you tomorrow?"

"He's probably forgotten about me already."

He took a few seconds to think of a response.

"So, you wouldn't want to get back together with him? What if he panicked and knows now that he made a huge mistake?"

When she scowled, the voice in his head spoke up.

Way to play devil's advocate. She's going to attack you for sure.

"We'll never be together again. It's his fault. If he hadn't run off, I wouldn't have run off, and everything would be okay."

"Everything can still be okay," he told her carefully.

She glanced back over at him, but her anger softened.

"You're too sweet. Are you single?"

"Uh...yes," he answered, again carefully.

But I don't date jilted brides who murder their fiancés.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Usually the good ones are already taken or gay."

"How do you know I'm not gay?" he asked her teasingly.

"Because you keep checking out my tits."

Oh crap.

She giggled at the look of nervous surprise that crossed his face.

"Don't worry, I'm not offended. My tits look great in this dress. I'd be offended if you didn't check them out."

He laughed, shaking his head in relieved amusement.

"Anyway," she continued, her smile fading, "I tried to put on a brave face. And everything was non-refundable, so we went to the venue, and had food and danced. I tried to be strong, but I couldn't for long, so I ran off. Told people I was going to the bathroom, but I ran."

"Well, I don't blame you, and I don't think anybody would. That's a tough situation to be in."

She nodded.

"I was trying to get back home. I just wanted to lay in bed and cry. But no one would stop for me."

Because you look insane. You're either a ghost, which I don't think you are, or insane. I'm not entirely sure you're not insane.

As she looked back sullenly through the windshield, he felt a mix of pity for her, and guilt over his internal monologue being so judgmental.

She's had plenty of opportunity and possible provocation but hasn't attacked me yet.

"So, what's your story?" she asked him then.

The rest of the ride home was spent telling her about his much less stressful day, explaining who Jack and Shirley were, who the others who had helped them move were, and answering every follow-up question she asked. The conversation, and her gradually increasing spirits, helped to make him feel surer that she was just a normal woman driven to despondency by extenuating circumstances.

Really can't blame her for freaking out and running off after her fiancé just up and didn't show.

He also stole more appreciative glances of her face and her breasts. Even with her approval of those glances, they were quick and furtive, stolen when she was looking elsewhere.

Maybe I'll invite her up to my apartment. She might need some consoling...

The thought brought on more guilt. As much as he tried to ignore other, similar thoughts, much like he had with the thoughts of her insanity, they popped up quite regularly.

She'd probably fuck me out of gratitude. I mean, the only person to offer help when she's at her lowest? Come on.

Along with those thoughts came images of what she might look like naked.

Although maybe she'll keep the dress on, like a fuck you to Brett. How many other guys could say they fucked someone else's bride on her wedding night in her wedding dress?

Before he knew it, they were in the parking lot of his apartment building.

She sat quietly as he pulled into a space at the back of the lot. Her smile had returned.

"This is me," he announced unnecessarily, turning the car off.

"Thank you."

Before he could react, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

It was a grateful peck, but then she drew back and studied his face.

"You're sweet," she finally said, "and cute."

He stared back at her, unsure how to proceed.

And then she kissed him on the lips.

Her lips, like the rest of her, were cold.

But they were also soft and moved eagerly against his.

He let her kiss him, still not entirely sure how to handle the situation.

This feels good...and she obviously wants it.

She tossed the flowers and high heels onto the floor, and shifted closer to him, her hand brushing against his forearm.

Her excitement was flattering, and he quickly gave in, kissing back, reaching up to stroke along her cheek, his warm hand meeting her cool flesh. His cock jumped, uncaring of the situation beyond the fact that he was kissing a pretty and obviously eager woman.

But when her hand landed in his lap, he drew back, hit with a sudden surge of guilt.

She's obviously emotionally messed up, and if you do anything, you're taking advantage of her.

She stared blankly at him.

"We...maybe we shouldn't do this," he said lamely.

"Why not?"

He hesitated, noticing her blank expression changing into one of petulance.

"You don't find me attractive?"

"No, I do, I do!" he replied hurriedly. "I just don't want to take advantage of you."

"You're not."

Her hand had not left his lap. His cock was reacting to its presence, swelling towards full size.

"But you're obviously hurting. You might not be thinking straight. I don't want to take advantage of you."

She pouted, her eyebrows knitting together in an expression of annoyance.

"Maybe I want to be taken advantage of. Maybe I want to feel something. Do you know how long it's been since I felt something?"

The question diminished his guilt. Desire surged, but it was mixed with pity.

If she wants it, who am I to say no?

His cock, uncaring of anything besides her hand on his lap, swelled further.

He kissed her.

Her happy coo was muffled by his mouth, but he heard it nonetheless, and felt his guilt disappear. The mix of desire and pity filled him, the former increasing from her hand now stroking along the bulge in his jeans, the latter thankfully having no effect on the former.

She squirmed closer, nuzzling against him, her breasts rubbing at his shoulder.

His cock was soon straining at his jeans, her hand teasing over its bulge as they kissed, their tongues tangling.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were bright with excitement. She bit her lip as she unzipped his jeans and delved through the fly to free his cock. Her cold fingers met its warm flesh, that strangely pleasant sensation sending a shudder over him. She eased it out into the open, purring eagerly, and leaned over.

Those lips closing around the head of his length offered another strangely pleasant sensation. The lack of warmth was only slightly off-putting, and he forgot about it immediately as she began to suck. He groaned, another shudder running over him.

The veil fell forward, briefly obscuring her face and his cock, but she ripped it off, and tossed it into the backseat.

With the car off, there was no noise other than her purrs, and the soft sucking of her lips. She squirmed restlessly, her breasts jiggling to those idle movements, their abundance peeking from his jacket. His eyes were drawn to them, the ample cleavage looking so wonderful, the succulent swells of flesh seriously competing with the blow job for his attention.

She's got your dick in her mouth. Just play with them if you want to.

He had kept his hands off her, but the voice encouraged him further, so he let a hand settle on one of her breasts.

She cooed and came off his cock to smile at him.

"You like my tits, huh?"

He nodded, and squeezed gently at his handful, drawing another coo from her.

Her smile widening, she leaned back, briefly abandoning his cock, and took his jacket off. He took it from her and slung it back over the passenger seat while she extricated her arms from her long, lacy sleeves. The front of the dress slumped down around her waist once both arms were out, and the strapless bra underneath was quickly taken off and discarded like the veil.