Twisted Tales of Mayhem: 2019 MMM Special Edition Anthology

by Sapphire Knight

  I’m staring at her back when the biker blocks my view. Looking at me like I’m going to steal her he asks. “That what you are bro? Lost?”

  Lost? That’s a weird choice of words. Hands up, I step back. Cautious, I say. “Listen. I don’t want no trouble. I was just making sure you were alright after I almost ran you off the road back there. Sorry about that.”

  “No apologies accepted here.” The biker says. Like they’re Visa or something. Be a dick about it, Jeez.

  “Raf. He’s just trying to be nice,” the woman warns.

  “Oh is he now.” He says. There’s more promise than threat to his words. With a smile, she turns to blow him a kiss and it’s then that I see what he felt the need to protect. Where do I know her from? As I jog my memory, the moon illuminates her face like a spotlight. Revealing bone. Ripped skin. A skeleton.

  My own smile falters. My vision narrows to a pinpoint and I’m pretty sure under that black hoodie the biker’s wearing? He’s a fucking skeleton too.

  Ghosts!

  Be cool, maybe they won’t know that I know…. what the fuck?

  Did we crash after all?

  Expecting bent metal and broken glass, I’m shocked when I look back and my car looks the same as when I rented it this morning. Your all eyes as you stare back. Don’t get out of the car Stella!

  I almost yell it. But you’re already petrified. I don’t want to give you a heart attack.

  Hoping to make a hasty retreat, I turn to the couple with apologies on my tongue, and the biker’s toe to toe with me.

  “My bad. Let’s get to know each other John.” He says holds a road roughened hand between us. Silver skull rings glimmer in the moonlight. I don’t want to touch him, but I have no choice when he wraps his cold hand around my mine. The manshake is cold, filled with brutality and soon my thoughts are no longer my own.

  Chapter 7

  Confused, I look up at a black sky without stars. Untethered, the biker’s grip is the only thing I’m sure of. Everything else, my car, the motorcycle all gone. You use our hands to point and I see, playing out on the highway before me a movie I’ve never seen, yet feel I know the ending to.

  Out of the darkness, the chrome motorcycle appears. You’re driving but you’re here. From behind you the woman squeals, “I love this song! Turn it up.”

  “How many times are you going to make me listen to this?” The driver asks. The shadow figure next to me moves his lips, like he knows the ending too.

  They pull to a stop next to a stalled car. Cloaked in shadows, it looks like a Cadillac.

  Clutching the man, there’s worry in the woman’s voice when she asks. “What if we don’t stop? What if we just drive on by?”

  The biker sits forward in the seat and shifts downward. “C’mon, Ang we’re not those people.”

  Danger glitters all around them like coal dust. I try to warn them, but the only thing that I can do is bear witness.

  They pull in next to a luxury car. The doors open and two men in suits get out. A man in a white suit comes from the passenger side. Unbuttoning his coat, the smile he gives the young couple feels like a target on their backs.

  Filled with chagrin, the man directs his question towards the woman. “What are you doing, Hermana?”

  The biker stiffens. Under his breath, he mutters, “Ang, get my gun from the bag.”

  Confused, she looks from her love to her blood. “Rafe. That’s my brother, he would never…”

  Her brother interrupts. “Vincent. If he moves, shoot him.”

  A man with a scar on the side of his face steps out of the shadows. He’s got a gun of his own and it’s trained on the couple. Caught in a Mexican stand-off, no one moves.

  Exasperated, the women turns to her brother, “Anthony, enough. I’m living my life. It’s time you started living yours.”

  She taps the biker on the back and says, “Let’s go, Rafe. My brother won’t hurt us.”

  But the biker’s not convinced. His eyes remain on her brother as he approaches the back of the bike. With an arm held out like an escort, the gangster smiles at his sister. “You want to go to Vegas? I’ll take you myself, but it will be on Vinnie’s arm.”

  The woman’s voice sounds so defeated when she asks. “Or?”

  Still smiling, her brother rears back and plants that stiff elbow into her face. From there, it all goes bad fast. Blood pours from her broken nose, as she yanked by her hair off the back of the bike. Screaming, she lands in a heap at his feet.

  Ready to tear the gangster limb from limb, the biker jumps up. But the sound of a pistol cocking stops him in his tracks. It’s not his life he’s concerned with, but the love of his life that has a gun held to her head.

  “Ang, I’m here,” he soothes.

  To the gangster, he says. “Don’t hurt her, It’s me you want.”

  The gangster looks at the biker with disgust. “No, idiot. It’s her. This is family business. Vincent Ramon can be assured, Anthony Braga pays his debts.”

  The biker’s searching hand crawls across the seat towards his gun.

  The gangster see this and gives a barely perceptible nod to the man with the scar. Like it’s game over, he looks at the biker and says, “You moved.”

  Dazed, the woman sees the interaction. An ear-splitting scream rips through the night. “Anthony, no!”

  But it’s too late. Everyone knows it. The only ones left in the dark…are the victims.

  Kicking and screaming, she’s pulled toward the waiting Cadillac. “This is your last chance, Angelina. You will come home and marry Vincent.”

  Tear-streaked, she pleads from her knees. “Or?”

  The man with the scar lifts the weapon. After a short whistle, he says, “Hey, Pretty Girl.”

  Horrified, she turns in time to see the gunman set his feet and aim.

  She breaks away from her brother, leaving long black strands of hair clutched in his fist.

  Uttering pleas, she runs toward her beloved. “Please Vincent, I’ll do anything!”

  Just as she steps between the biker and the gun, it goes off. The sound sets off the car alarm. Incessant braying fills my ears. Red flashing hazard lights illuminate the night just enough for me to see the biker cradle his girl in his arms. Tears stream down his face as he begs. “Ang, wake up.”

  Pistol in hand, her brother approaches. With fake regret in his voice, he says. “Que Lastima.”

  But it’s the biker that gets the last word. He reaches for the gun and presses it to his forehead. Looking up into the gangster’s hate filled eyes, he commands. “Do it.”

  There’s a flash of light then nothing. A voice crawls from the depths.

  “Your sister still looks pretty good. Mind if I fuck her Anthony?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Chapter 8

  My hand feels numb under the crushing sorrow conveyed in the biker’s grip. I look up and we’re back. Stars above our head, ladies on either side but it’s the way the biker keeps darting glances at his lady, then turning back to me with eyes full of ‘shut the fuck up.’

  “She doesn’t know.” I say.

  In a low whisper, he says, “Last thing she talks about is getting on the back of my bike.” He looks toward the woman with love. I follow his gaze to her face and see her just as he does. Gorgeous big brown eyes shining with love. Rich skin glowing with health. Happiness as delicate as spun sugar. He laid his life down to be with her. Recognition dawns. The last thing the biker needs is for me to come in here and fuck everything up by screaming.

  “She’s a ghost story with no ending.” I say sadly.

  “Like I said, regret ain’t worth shit here. Wallowing in the past is a bunch of wasted effort if you ask me. We like to reminisce about the good times. Mostly, Angie does it for the both of us. But as you can see, I’ve got a few stories of my own,” the biker says.

  “But that’s not what I wanted you to see.” He says.

  His grip on my hand tightens like I might try to run
. “This is gonna hurt a bit. But I’m right here with you.”

  I feel the comfort of his arm around my shoulder as the blackness returns to envelope us. This time it’s not the biker’s memories I see. But my own.

  Chapter 9

  Exhausted, Stella’s asleep next to me when I find the motorcycle. Parked in this very lot, there’s a Cadillac with an open trunk next to it. There’s the bike, but where are the riders?

  Slowing, I pull to the side. The sound of the blinker wakes Stella.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Just a breakdown.” I say.

  I hit the window button and lean across your lap. “Everything all right?” I yelled out good-naturedly.

  A man in a white suit appears from the back of the car. With a wave, he walks towards my car and says. “Everything’s just peachy.”

  He nods into the window at you.

  A second man comes from the back of the trunk. There’s a scar on his face, but it’s his eyes I’m looking at. Filled with malice, he walks to stand in front of my car and says. “Keep going, kid. This ain’t none of your business.”

  The headlights act like Luminol. I suppose the blood on his jacket is none of my business either. In that split second, the only business on my mind is you.

  No one knows we’re out here. I didn’t tell anyone about our fresh start and neither did you. The green glow of the dashboard lights highlights just how fragile your condition is.

  A gun is produced and pointed my way. “Get out of the car, kid.” The scarred man says.

  “Stella. Stay in the car.” I whisper.

  And I remember. This is where they bury the bodies. All of us.

  “No witnesses Vincent.” The man in the blood splattered white suit says and the man with the scar agrees.

  “We’re dead, aren’t we?” I ask and sag against the biker’s chest. Filled with sorrow, the blackness threatens to eat me alive. Our death unfolds before me.

  Pleading I turn to him and say. “I need help. My girl, they shot her.”

  Full of commiseration the biker nods. “They shot mine too,” he says.

  One by one the stars return to the sky. So full, it looks like salt thrown over your shoulder to ward off bad spirits.

  “John!” Behind me, there’s an insistent beep of the horn. I look to the car and you look like a rat trapped in a cage.

  The biker raises a hand. I marvel at his easy nature as he waves to you. After everything that’s happened. To all of us.

  “That doesn’t have to be your eternity. You can change it. We can help you, can’t we Rafe? They were just innocent bystanders.” The woman on the bike asks.

  The biker looks between me and his woman and nods.

  Which the woman takes as a sign to go on. “I bet you’ve been driving around mired down with regret. Thinking of what you could of or should have done. All your indecision does is keep her from remembering anything but the worst. The last thing that happened is the only thing she can remember. Life-shocked, her mind is so gripped in fear, only your clear head can save her. Let the regret go, for the both of you. What you need is good memories, lots of them. Help her John. Give her something great to remember.”

  Intelligent eyes glimmer my way. This woman knows a hell of a lot more than she lets on.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m John,” I say and hold out a hand.

  “Angelina. Pleased to meet you,” she says.

  The tension of uncertainty that’s swirled around us dissipates when I take her hand.

  Before I turn back to the car, I ask them both. “Will I see you again?”

  The biker straddles the bike. He’s the type of guy I’d like to sit down with and shoot the shit with. “If you lose your way, we’ll be here. Who knows, I might need your help someday to help me remember what’s important. For now, Angie does most of the reminiscing for me.”

  Before he kickstarts the engine to life, he looks me in the eye. “If all else fails, there’s always Peligro,” he says solemnly.

  “What?” I ask.

  Angelina explains. “It’s like a safe word. Peligro? Falling rocks, danger ahead, thin ice. Peligro. For some reason, it gives us a reset. One of the perks of being dead, I guess.”

  “Well, thanks for the heads up,” I say.

  “Wish we would’ve gotten one,” he says.

  Angie pats the seat. “Giddy-up.”

  Chapter 10

  I get in the car and look over at the reason for my existence. The same woman I’d kept waiting in limbo in life now waits there for me in death.

  Unsurity blazes in your eyes and I realize every one of my second thoughts has always felt like cold feet to you.

  Nervous, you dart glances out the window, eyes crawling over the darkness searching for bad men that are no longer there. Thanks to a little roadside assistance from the biker and his girl, I know what you’re looking for now.

  Even if you don’t.

  The bad men. Vile low-down dirty yellow men that would chase down a pregnant couple and shoot them on the side of the road like dogs. An unjust ending for a couple that only wanted to help. It’s what we have, but it’s not the only thing.

  The aftermath of fear written all over your face? That ends now.

  Staring at the wheel clutched between my hands, I give one last apology.

  “Stella. It wasn’t you, it was me. I knew how badly you wanted to be married, yet I was the one who stalled. Foregoing your happiness every step of the way, The whole time I was just too stubborn to admit my childhood played a bigger role in my fear of commitment than I wanted to give it credit for. Hindered by my rough start in life, I will not let it fuck us up in death.”

  I try to tell you what you mean to me, what you’ve always meant to me. You’re not listening. Too busy jumping at shadows.

  Wondering what it’s going to take to get you out of this rut, I look over at you and see you as you are now.

  Stuck on the ending, blood trickles from the bullet wound in the middle of your forehead. It pools onto your lap. Staining the maternity dress with the sweet blue flowers picked special for our wedding day. You were having a boy.

  We can’t keep going down this same path. Maybe it’s because I want you back, more than anything. I utter the ghost biker’s word. Eyes closed, I whisper, “Peligro.”

  “Wha…” you whisper.

  Not sure if it’s working, I say it again. This time I say the word the way it was meant to be said. Bellowing loudly, I yell. “Peligro!”

  You blink as if waking from a deep sleep.

  I brush your matted hair back out of your face and blank eyes stare through me. No memories, good or bad live there. With your hands clasped on your lap, you wait patiently.

  A total reset, there’s nothing left of you.

  Now I’m nervous. What if I fuck it all up? All I’ll have left is a zombie wearing your clothes.

  Hyping myself up for what I have to do I try desperately to reach for something happy. You don’t fidget at my delay. With neither a smile or frown you wait.

  Then it comes to me. My voice sounds unsure when I start. “The happiest memory I can give to you is the one you wouldn’t shut up about. The day I proposed to you, I didn’t care whose baby was growing in your belly, just as long as it was me, he called Daddy.”

  Your hand twitches aimlessly at your side. Gentle, I lay it across your baby bump and continue. “That’s right. Come back to me, baby.” I say around a big smile which sits down on my face.

  “Man, I couldn’t wait to get off that plane. See I knew from your last letter that you were holding something back. Know how I knew? Because I was too.”

  I turn and it’s you staring back at me. Curious even in death, the bullet hole in the middle of your forehead is replaced by a furrowed brow.

  Grabbing you by the shoulders, I plant a kiss on your frown line. Staring into your eyes, I speak the truth. “I was just a scared kid. Didn’t know no better. Was never taught no
better. I didn’t know what love was, and I sure didn’t recognize it when it came up and bit me on the ass. I didn’t treat my girl the way you deserved to be treated.”

  My heart’s pounding in my chest, I can barely stay seated after that confession, but there’s neither a tear nor frown on your face.

  “Come on, Stella. That was my deepest darkest confession. You’re making me feel inadequate here.” My breath hitches as two tears glide down my cheeks.

  It’s not working!

  Just give it a second. You’ve got eternity.

  I close my eyes and count to ten…

  1.This feels like a bunch of bullshit.

  2.At least she’s awake.

  3.If it’s a tossup between her being terrified or numb, I’m rooting for no pain.

  4.…

  The soft weight of your hand against my cheek gives me hope. Way too much.

  Most likely I’m certifiable, because I’m bawling like a baby and giggling like a schoolgirl. “Okay, okay. Back to the story, Little Miss Impatient.”

  After a few swallows, I’m able to continue. “I didn’t even wait ‘til I cleared customs. As soon as I saw those beautiful blue eyes of yours. Full of worry, overflowing with shame, I gotta tell you I was relieved.”

  “Why,” you croak. Your voice sounds underused, but it’s music to my ears.

  I wipe my runny nose on my sleeve but don’t stop now.

  “Because I thought after your last letter, you were going to break up with me. I was the asshole that was dragging my feet, it just took a Dear John letter from you to light a fire under my ass. Honestly, I was just happy you showed.” I say.

  Satisfied, you nod and I go on.

  In a voice loud enough to call the troops home, I said, “See that pregnant girl over there? That’s the girl I’m going to marry.”

  In the middle of the airport, I dropped to one knee. Baby bump in hand, I looked up into your face and begged. “Make me whole, Stella. Marry me.”

  And you said….

  “Yes.”

  I suck in a watery breath and turn. Lit by the rising sun is my girl.