A black and white police car screeched to a stop twenty feet from Donny. The officer used his spotlight to bathe Donny in bright white light from head to toe. Completely blinded now, he was unable to track the Mothman's flight path— for whatever good it would've done him. He pressed his arm closer to his face while instinctively raising his other hand above his head, the fingers splayed wide, much like the Mothman. The cruiser's door opened, and a large man stepped out.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. It is now," Donny responded.

"Do you need help?"

Donny was surprised by the man's friendly tone. It wasn't what he'd come to expect from a small-town officer who found a stranger walking alone at night. Normally, they assumed the worst, and Donny had the same expectations of them as well. Maybe he shouldn't judge a book by its cover, though he couldn't deny the officer spoke much slower than people from Northern states.

"I could use a ride back to town, if you don't mind," Donny replied.

"Can I ask what you're doing out here?"

"I was traveling to Florida when I had an accident. My van broke down halfway up the mountain."

"Were any other vehicles involved?"

"No. Just me."

"Who is me? What's your name, son?" the officer asked, his tone taking on an edge of suspicion.

"My name is Donny Thompson."

"Do you have any weapons on your person, Donny Thompson?"

"No, sir."

"Accident, huh? Been drinking?"

"No, sir."

"Drugs?"

"Nope." Donny's earlier prediction of small-town cops acting like assholes was turning out to be pretty accurate. Though from his line of questioning, Donny could also assume the officer had not seen the monster, or he'd be less worried about Donny's sobriety and more about becoming its next victim.

"We'll see about that," the officer replied. "Walk towards me slowly and keep your hands where I can see them."

He did as he was instructed. The officer lowered the searchlight to the ground, but the area remained well-lit. When he reached the cruiser, Donny was ordered to put both hands on the hood and spread his feet wide apart. He didn't think that was necessary, but he was in no position to argue. The officer gave Donny a very thorough pat down. He seemed disappointed when he didn't find anything dangerous.

After he completed his search, the officer shifted his efforts to a field sobriety test. Donny knew the test was designed so the subject would fail, giving the officer an excuse to arrest him for driving under the influence. It was always better to skip the optional test if sober.

"I understand your concern, but I haven't had a drop of alcohol in days, officer."

"I'm not an officer. I'm the sheriff. Sheriff Atwood."

Taking a step back, Donny said, "My bad, sheriff. But to save us time, I consent to a breathalyzer."

"Don't tell me how to do my job, son." Atwood pulled a penlight from his breast pocket. "Without moving your head, I want you to follow my light."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I respectfully decline to take the field sobriety test. It is my understanding that the test is voluntary, and even though I haven't been drinking, I'm afraid I would fail it because my eyes are dry from driving all day, and I have balance issues," Donny lied.

If he had agreed to the field sobriety test, the sheriff would have had Donny follow his pen light while watching for excessive twitching of his eyeballs. From the internet, Donny knew that an intoxicated person's eyes would twitch more than a sober person, especially at the peripherals. Next, he would've been given complicated instructions to walk a straight line for a certain number of steps and then turn around and walk back. If he lost his balance or didn't follow the directions exactly, he'd be considered intoxicated. Finally, he would've been required to stand on one foot and count until the sheriff told him to stop. From videos online, Donny had seen people keep their balance for over thirty seconds and still be arrested for driving under the influence. Of course, Donny hadn't been driving when the sheriff found him, but he had admitted to getting into an accident, so he was sure he could still be charged with the crime by a prosecutor using Atwood's findings from the rigged test.

The sheriff growled, "Fine. You said that you'll submit to a breathalyzer, correct?"

"Correct." Donny kept the rest of his comments to himself. They would only anger the power-tripping sheriff, and the last thing he wanted was to go back to prison, so he'd play nice until ... until his temper got the better of him.

Reluctantly, Sheriff Atwood retrieved the breathalyzer from his cruiser while keeping both eyes on Donny, which was pretty silly. Did he really think Donny would make a run for it? He had nowhere to go. Returning with the small device, the sheriff held out a tiny silver tube for Donny to put between his lips. He blew into it deeply. The results came back as zero point zero. Atwood didn't bother to hide his disappointment. Lifting his cap, Atwood brushed his black locks from his brow before pointing at the backseat of his cruiser.

"Get in. Let's go find your vehicle."

Donny climbed into the backseat and closed the door, locking himself inside. The seat was hard plastic. It wasn't very comfortable but was probably easy to clean. Plexi-glass reinforced with wire mesh went from floor to ceiling behind the front bench of the cruiser, separating the two men. The sheriff could've let him sit up front— unless there was some regulation against it, but Donny doubted it. No, Atwood was just a jerk.

Five minutes later, they found Donny's van where he had left it. The hazard lights were still blinking, warning the non-existent traffic that his vehicle blocked the narrow road. Atwood got out and inspected the van as well as the scene of the accident. Using a flashlight from his belt, he also examined the inside of the vehicle without opening the doors. At least, he'd respected Donny's rights to unreasonable search and seizure. Yet, he had left Donny inside the cruiser until he completed his investigation. Donny wasn't surprised, but he did his best to hide his annoyance when he was finally let out of the cruiser.

Atwood pulled a notepad from his pocket. "So what happened here tonight?"

Donny had considered what he would tell the sheriff during the short ride up the mountain. Though it was the Mothman's fault, Donny knew blaming the accident on a mythical monster would get him charged with something— likely driving while impaired on marijuana. He hadn't consumed anything tonight, but he did have edibles hidden in his van for when the demons in his head wouldn't let him sleep. To his knowledge, there was no definitive test to prove he had or had not taken them tonight. However, a urine or hair sample would show he'd consumed cannabis in the last week, so he'd ultimately decided to blame it on exhaustion.

"Umm . . . I was tired and found myself drifting over the line, and then I overcorrected, striking the side of the mountain."

Atwood pointed at the tire tracks.

"If you found yourself tired, why didn't you pull over? It looks like you have one of those camper vans that are popular with your generation for roaming the country."

"Yes. It has a bed inside, but I didn't think your little town would like me camping on the side of the road for the night."

Atwood nodded. "We have a motel. A nice one. I'm sure they had vacancies."

"I didn't think I was that tired."

"Obviously not."

After biting his tongue, Donny smiled and said, "Sorry. You're right. I should've pulled over and got a room. I'll do that next time."

"Well, it looks like you'll be spending the night at the Macon Motor Inn tonight anyways."

It was Donny's turn to nod. "So what's next? I assume you have a garage in town. Do they have a tow truck?"

"We do. I'll give Larry a call, hopefully he's not in bed. Then we'll wait until he gets up here. I wouldn't want anyone to come upon your disabled vehicle and have it cause another accident."

"Me either." Donny shoved his hands in his pockets.

The sheriff motioned towards the back seat of his cruiser again. "I'll only be a minute. Why don't you get back inside the vehicle where it is warmer?"

"Sure."

Donny wasn't excited over being locked in once more, but he didn't have much choice, so he did as he was instructed, trying to make himself comfortable on the hard plastic bench while Atwood rang the tow truck. The call took over a minute and included some laughter— probably at Donny's expense. Afterward, the sheriff got behind the wheel, not bothering to update Donny on his conversation with the garage.

A second passed, and then another. Donny got bored watching the cruiser's red and blue lights splash across the road, so to pass the time, he commented, "There's not much traffic up here. I haven't seen another car all night."

"You haven't?" Atwood turned in his seat.

"No."

"Are you sure it was just you up here?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I was on my way to investigate a report of a strange bird sighting on this very mountain when I came upon you in the road. So I'll ask again. Did you see an SUV with four juveniles coming from the direction of Pineville?"

Sucking in a breath, Donny replied, "An SUV? Now that you say it, an SUV passed me on my way out of town before I got to the mountain. And come to think of it, they were driving like a bat out of hell."

"A bat, you say, interesting. You wouldn't have anything to do with their flat tire or the strange bird sighting? Maybe you put the rocks in the road? Then to scare them you had LED lights on a balloon or some kind of drone rigged up to look like a monster? Be honest with me— are y'all one of those stupid Youtubers pulling pranks on innocent people to make money?"