Diesel was someone us kids had trusted—looked up to. He was a silent guardian for Delilah and her brother, Tucker Ward. But there was nothing silent or safe about Diesel this night. I was seeing the true side of a very deadly and powerful man.
The strength of his fist had been lost on me until it crashed into my jaw. My teeth jammed, stunning my brain into an ear-ringing confusion. My knees buckled, again, fruitlessly. I hung by my wrists, hoping he wouldn’t strike me again, my lonely island growing…
He roared in my face, “Where are they?” his blue eyes, just like his sister’s, set ablaze.
“H-Home.” My jaw would barely move through all the pain, but my life depended on my next words. “I left them at home.”
Tucker’s dad had taken me in early my Junior year and treated me like a son. Their home became my home. From what I could remember of my past, at this point in my life, it was the nicest home I had ever had. Now, it was all gone. I was utterly isolated and about to die.
From under his sweaty dark hair, Diesel sneered with revulsion, “I always knew something was wrong with you. Your nighttime weirdness never sat right with me—” Interrupting him, his cell vibrated in his front jean pocket. “Better be important!” he answered. He listened while his eyes found mine. “Got it.” He slid the phone back into his pocket, glaring and backing away from me. He spoke, but I knew it wasn’t to me. “They’re at Tuck’s. I’m going to them now.” He looked to Art while pointing at me. “Burn this fucker… in her car. I don’t want her to have one memory of this scum.”
And there it was. My death sentence.
Art was full of regret as he tried to explain, “Diesel, I gotta tell ya something—”
“Are you kidding me right now? After what he said about your Jail Bait? There is nothing to discuss.”
Now I understood Delilah’s nickname, JB.
Art tried again, “But, in Daytona, I witnessed—”
Diesel was in his face like a raging bull who had been set on fire. “JB is like my kid! Nothing to discuss! He fucking hurt her! Burn this fucker, or I am ripping off that patch of yours and shoving it up your motherfucking ass!” Seething, spit flew from his mouth as he faced Redhead. “And if this kid ain’t burning in minutes, you will dig out his patch,” he was suddenly back in Art’s face, “so I can ram it up your ass again!” He faced Redhead. “Understood?”
Red lifted his hands. “Completely. The kid is toast. Car too.”
“Accident style.”
Red nodded. “Done.”
As Diesel’s jet-black bike raced into the night, a rusty brown truck pulled in. After parking, a leather-vested biker stepped out, watching Diesel’s taillight disappear. “I haven’t seen that old man drive so fast in years. What the fuck is going on?”
Red asked him, “Why you in a cage?”
The biker rolled his eyes. “Got an over-doser in the back. Junkie dumb fuck. ‘Bout to bury him but caught word you guys may need help first.” He froze when he saw me as if recognizing me. “What did he do?”
Red shook his head. “That’s the question of the night, brother. And no time for answers. To the ground he goes.”
“No shit?” asked the biker, appearing surprised. “Where’s JB?”
I was surprised by how everyone knew of Delilah. I was with her every day, yet had never seen Red nor the biker in the truck.
“Home. Diesel’s headed there now.” Red walked to me, pulling out a knife. “Take it like a man, kid. Let your last breaths be with pride.”
I was in shock as he cut me down. I just stood there, dumbfounded that I had hurt Delilah and was now dying for it. No, I didn’t struggle as they put me in the truck. I agreed, I deserved to be killed. And I didn’t struggle out on Highway 94—the dark road with a hell of a curve that, if you misjudged, your car would ram into a huge oak tree. After being shoved behind the steering wheel of Delilah’s car, Red and the ‘cage’ driver prepped the car to self-destruct. I stared out the windshield and at that tree. It was where they wanted me to crash and die.
“I’ll do it.”
I was numb. It was somewhat serene to know it was almost over. Even though I didn’t know why I had multiple personalities, I could still feel the sadness that caused them. I think I could always sense the darkness that was there, hiding, waiting to be discovered. Can’t explain how or why, but I was sure I didn’t want to know the truth. So, that tree became a beacon—a calling to end all the underlying pain I lived with every day.
My eyes drifted down to the passenger floorboard and saw Delilah’s purse. It was haunting. I had driven her home from school yet never remembered seeing it there, but I knew what was in it. A buddy had told me he saw her buying some pills at school. Reaching over the gear shift, I blindly searched the inside of the purse until I felt the bottle. I pulled it out, a typical orange bottle with the prescription label scratched off. Had my actions driven Delilah to this?
Viola screaming at me, flashed in my mind again. My chest seized in painful regret.
My eyes drifted back to the tree. I don’t deserve to live after causing Delilah unforgivable harm.
My hands gripped the steering wheel, and again I said, “I’ll do it.”
Red and the other biker chose to not use the rope for the steering wheel or the stick for the gas pedal. With the car in park, I was already pressing on the gas. As the engine roared and I built the courage to shift the car into drive, Red and the biker shut the doors and backed away. Art was yelling, but I didn’t bother to listen. As soon as the coast was clear, I whispered my goodbye to Tucker, my best friend who should never forgive me, to Delilah, a girl who should have never loved me, and to my mother, who probably didn’t care whether I lived or died. Then, I slipped the car into drive.
The wheels spun, fighting the power of the engine, trying to gain traction. Fishtailing, the car surged forward with force. My eyes never left the tree. I watched it get closer and closer until it became embedded in the car.
Blinking awake, my ears rang from the pressure and shock of the collision. The tree was now so close, it took a few seconds to understand what I was seeing. The hood had caved and was bent around the trunk. I was sure the engine, as designed, had dropped and slid under the car because the rest of the front of the vehicle was pressed against my feet.
The windshield was cracked, and the car was now making hissing noises that sounded like water hitting a hot surface. Boots pounding on the ground is what I heard next. Then yelling voices. “Holy shit! The crazy fuck! Get him out of there!”
What?
Did I deserve to be rescued? Maybe not, but that didn’t stop the bikers from trying. After learning the driver door would no longer open, the window shattered with the impact from the butt of a gun. In shock, I barely lifted my arms in time to block the glass from hitting my face.
I’ll never forget the look on Art’s face when he took hold of the front of my shirt and started yanking me from the car. His expression was full of disbelief and… respect. He grunted, due to my weight, but managed to say, “Whichever personality has that set of balls, hold on to him, Kenny.”
Without another word, he dropped me to the ground, then helped Red shove the body of the overdosed man through the broken window. Red, with urgency, said, “There’s pills in the car. This will make sense.”