by Hart, Rebel
I shrugged. “I figured we’d follow the tire tracks until they stop.”
“Fine by me.”
Every half-mile, we came upon them. Some of the tire tracks led into abandoned neighborhoods I’d only heard rumors about. But I kept my focus, not wanting to get off track. We had to find Clint before these guys did. Otherwise, he’d be in a lot of trouble.
Michael sighed. “You know the police won’t find us all the way out here.”
I nodded. “I know. If Clint and those boys are back there, they’ll find them. Which is why we have to search back here. If there’s any sign of them, I’ll have to call 9-1-1 and update them. Or something.”
“Yeah. Or something.”
I ignored his remark. I was growing tired of Michael’s attitude anyway. I mean, I wasn’t pissed off at the fact that he wanted to fuck around with my best friend. The girl I’d known since elementary school. If anything, that should have pissed someone like me off. But it didn’t. Because I wanted their happiness.
Why didn’t they want mine?
Michael throttled it out of the neighborhood. “We’re almost to the city limits.”
I paused. “Adderscape Bridge?”
“That’s the one, I think.”
“Head there.”
“Why?”
Worry filled my gut. “Please, just head there. I just… want to make sure.”
“Whatever you say, Juliet.”
I rolled my eyes at his comment as he blazed a trail down the road. There was no one back here. No lights. No animals. No people. No police. If Clint had raced himself into this territory, he didn’t have any help at all. No hope of ever having someone come upon him to help. That was why I wanted to check every inch of this back road. Especially if the tire tracks were still fresh.
“How much further?”
Michael shrugged. “Two, three miles?”
“Can you go faster?”
“Just because Clint wants to break the sound barrier for you doesn’t mean I do.”
I scoffed. “You know what? Go ahead and stay angry with me. I don’t care anymore.”
“You sound more and more like him every day.”
“I’m sorry that you don’t like the fact that I’m dating some guy that punched you in the face. I’m sorry that you think he’s an asshole. But when you take into account the fact that his father literally throws him around the house on a daily basis, and you take into account the fact that I should be pissed off that you’re in love with my best friend, you don’t have a leg to stand on.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because as Allison’s girl, I should be pissed off that you want to screw with her. Fuck her. Or do whatever it is you want to do with her. But I’m not. I want you two to be happy together. I want her to see how you feel about her because I think you two would be great together. Because you’re alike. Because you’re similar. Because your lives mesh. Just like mine and Clint’s do. So, if you expect me to be okay with the fact that you’re slowly but surely macking on my best friend, get your fucking act together and suck it the hell up.”
Michael put the pedal to the metal as we careened around the corner. The last turn before the straightaway over the bridge. His high beams pointed straight ahead, and I saw fresh tire tracks on the bridge.
As well as Clint’s motorcycle crunched against the railing.
“Michael, stop!” I shrieked in his car. My voice filled the space around us as he came to a grinding halt. I ripped my seatbelt off and slammed out of the car, rushing toward the edge of the bridge. My heart leapt into my throat. Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I stumbled over to his bike, taking in the broken rearview mirror and the bent handlebar.
But, all things considered, it looked intact.
“Clint!”
My voice echoed off the trees and into the darkness of the water below. The metal barrier was bent. Fractured. Bowed, in some places. Then I saw the tire tracks right in front of the bike.
“They were here, Michael! They were here!”
Michael jogged up to me. “I’m checking the woods. Call the police.”
“Michael, what if he’s—”
“Just do as I’m telling you to do, Rae!”
I swallowed hard as I watched Michael rush for the woods. He darted into the trees before I turned my eyes back down toward the water. I didn’t want to approach the edge. Flashes of the nightmare I always had before school came rushing back to me. My arms flailing as I fell over the edge. Darkness overcoming me just before I woke up. The smell of smoke. Of burnt rubber, singeing my nostril hairs.
Only this time, I wasn’t sure if the smell was phantom, or real.
“Clint!”
My voice cracked before it gave out. I threw myself over the railing, gazing down into the darkened expanse below. I looked up at the sky, the starry sky that always permeated my worst nightmare. And as my eyes fell back down to the water, my stomach flipped over on itself.
A nightmare come true.
“Clint! Are you down there?”
My pathetic voice did nothing but hiss as I cupped my hands over my mouth. I heard Michael running around in the woods, calling out for Clint in the distance. Tears rushed down my cheeks. My hands shook. They gripped the edge with all their might, and I didn’t know what to do. I knew he was down there. Had he been washed away by the current? His dead, lifeless body, floating down river until his jacket snagged onto something?
I heard Michael trotting up to me. “He’s not in the woods. And if he is, he’s not in a position to call out for me. I don’t hear a car anywhere, either. Those guys must’ve buzzed off.”
Yeah. After they ran him off the road.
“Did you call the police?”
Holy shit. My phone. The light on my phone.
I ripped my phone out of my pocket and turned on the flashlight. I heard Michael scoff as he shook his head, but his eyes fell over the railing, too. Down into the deep, dark abyss of the raging river. I turned the flashlight on my phone up as bright as I could get it, then shined it down onto the water.
Michael sighed. “It’s at least a twenty-foot drop.”
“You think that’s enough to kill him?”
He paused. “I don’t really know, Rae.”
I flashed my light against the water as Michael stepped off to the side. I heard him talking into his phone. Saying something about ‘a prior call’ and ‘needing an ambulance.’ His voice faded away after that, though. Because the second my light fell onto Clint’s body on the side of the river, my voice reached another fucking planet with the octave it leapt into.
“He’s down there!”
I took off running, only for an arm to wrap around my waist. I felt Michael pulling me into him as he continued talking on his phone, trying to give directions to whoever the fuck was on the other end of the line. I heard him talking about tire tracks, and a car of guys. A bike on the bridge and a body in the river. I cried out for Clint, raking my nails against Michael’s bare skin. But, despite the pain I knew he was in, he didn’t release his grip.
“Rae, you can’t go down there. It isn’t—Rae!”
I growled. “Let me go.”
“Not on your fucking life. I’m not losing you, too.”
“He’s not dead! Don’t say shit like that!”
“The bank is too steep. You’ll hurt yourself traversing it at night. The police are a few minutes out. When they get here—”
My nostrils flared. “Let—me—go, you asshole!”
I struggled against him as I heard his phone drop to the pavement. He wrapped both arms around me, hoisting me off my feet. I cried out for Clint as my voice left me completely. Tears rushed down my cheeks as I tried prying Michael’s arms from around my waist. He carried me back to the car, away from the bike. Away from the bridge. Away from Clint’s body lying on the edge of the riverbank.
“Clint!” I called breathlessly.
“Come on, Rae. Let’s get in the car. This is a c
rime scene. The police are only a few minutes out.”
“No, Clint. Please. Don’t do this to me, please.”
“I’m sorry, Rae. I’m so, so sorry.”
Michael set me down onto my feet and pinned me against his car. I bashed my head against the glass, only to feel his hand wrap around it. I sobbed out into the night, gazing up at a nighttime sky I’d come to hate as images of my recurring nightmare continued to bombard me. The squealing of tires. The crunching of metal. That dumbass smell of burnt rubber that still lingered in the fucking air.
I drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s my nightmare come true.”
And when Michael didn’t say anything, I knew he’d been thinking exactly that.
How could this have happened? Things were finally going smoothly. Things were finally going well for me and him. I knew what I wanted. I knew what I needed. I knew what I wanted to do with my life and who I wanted to do it with. I’d found someone who got me. Who understood me. A guy who made me feel on top of the world, and absolutely gorgeous in his arms. I found someone who didn’t only leave his judgment of my life at the door, but he literally understood my life. Understood the judgment that came with my life. I finally had everything I could have ever asked for.
Him.
And now, I felt it all slipping through my fingertips.
Michael kept me pinned. “Do you want me to call Allison?”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
I shook my head harder, trying to give my voice a few minutes to return.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
My eyes whipped open as tears streamed down my face. I glared at Michael, hating him for everything he was suggesting. Oh, he wanted to be here now? After being an absolute shitbag for the past couple of weeks? I could have spat in his face. I could have slapped him right across that dumbass, concerned little furrowed brow of his.
But I settled for shaking my head as I leveled him with a DEFCON-5 stare.
“Fair enough. I deserve that.”
I nodded curtly, trying my hardest not to say anything. Trying my best to save my voice so I could keep calling out for Clint. I had to wake him up. As long as Michael was here, he wouldn’t let me down that bank. Yelling was all I had to get him to wake the fuck up and get back here.
Because he couldn't leave me. Not now.
Not when I finally had all I wanted.
42
Clinton
I felt my head pounding. I felt disoriented. For some reason, I felt water rushing over my legs. And I had no idea why. I sniffed the air, groaning as my head pounded with frustration. I felt something sharp underneath my side, prompting me to move. So many things bombarded my senses as I slowly came out of it.
Came out of what, though?
I swallowed hard, tasting the metallic essence of blood. I smelled smoke. And oil. And dirt. Why did I smell oil? What was going on?
I thought people smelled toast before they had strokes, or some shit.
I tried opening my eyes, but I couldn't. I tried rolling over, but it was all for nothing. It was like this massive disconnect with my soul and my body was taking place. Like that paralyzing sleep shit. I heard bats fluttering around me. Or a winged animal of some sort. Water dripped in the distance and continued rushing over my legs.
I started shivering from the cold, which only exacerbated the pain in my back.
Fuck.
I swallowed again, but the reflex was daunting. It made my nose hurt, of all things. I didn’t know what the fuck that was about, either. Wind kicked up around me, causing me to shiver and hurt in places I hadn’t realized. Like my nose again. My shoulder. My ankle.
Why the hell did I hurt in all these random places?
“Clint!”
I could have sworn I heard my name off in the distance, called in panic. I heard it again. And again. I heard it again before something popped, then the sound went away. I was probably imagining it. Dreaming it, because of the pain I was in. Holy shit, I’d never experienced pain like this before. The way my body felt was nothing compared to some of the beatings I’d taken from my father over the years. I drew in a deep breath, reeling from the pain in my nose and forcing myself to lick my lips.
The taste of blood was strong.
Fuck me, this hurts.
Even though I still couldn't open my eyes, I tried getting my bearings. I heard a fight going on in the distance. Scuffling of feet, and all that. I tried opening my eyes to figure out what was going on. Was someone in trouble? Did they need something?
I heard a whisper in the wind that sounded like my name, and I thought I might be losing it.
Pull yourself together. Where the fuck are you?
It was a good question. One I wasn’t sure how to answer. I mean, I was obviously on the edge of a water source. Rushing water. A brook? Or a river? I mean, the water came all the way up to my hips. My feet were actually floating in it. So a deep river. I focused on the sounds around me, hoping anything would trigger a flood of memories. Something. Anything. A flash of a picture in order to give me context to the hellhole I’d woken up in.
I let my mind do the seeing for me.
There’s wind rustling in leaves. Lots of trees. I’m in a forest, possibly. And it’s cold. So there’s no sun. A river, so there’s water. Which means the droplets of water are coming from… an overhang? A tree?
A bridge.
Images bombarded my mind as the word ‘bridge’ soared through my mind. The car. My bike, crunched against a metal railing. A bridge, tumbling out of view. The sky above my head as my hands reached out for it. All of them still images. All of them, bringing into focus moving memories and images.
Rae.
“Clinton Clarke! Are you down there?”
“I see him! Clint!”
“Clinton!”
Fucking hell, I hate being called by my full name.
Just as quickly as the pictures started, they stopped, taking with them the moving images as I tried piecing together my night. The fuck was my brain doing? Why was it struggling like this so badly? I tried opening my eyes again as a light quickly illuminated my face. I felt the quick warmth and saw the light behind my eyelids before it disappeared. I heard people screaming out my name. I heard footsteps along something above me.
The bridge. That’s the damn bridge.
That word started up another barrage of still images. A grocery store. My hand reaching out to push open the door. A girl, standing behind the register. With thick, beautiful dark hair and brooding brown eyes. I felt my heart leap in my chest. I felt my cold legs warming at the snippets of memories. I saw myself leaning against the counter, watching her smile and quirk an eyebrow at me. Feeling my eyes slowly inch down her body, taking in her toned curves.
Rae.
A pain ricocheted through my head and I groaned audibly. The first sound I’d forced my throat to make since I woke up. I tried drawing in a deep breath again, but the pain was too much. I stopped it midway, trying to open my jaw. Trying to part my lips. Trying anything to get more air into my lungs.
I couldn't open my jaw.
I’m gonna die here.
“Clint!”
“We’re coming down for you. Stay put.”
“Clinton Clarke! Can you hear us!?”
Their voices drifted away as my mind ripped me back into memories. The pain in my head was excruciating, and it seemed as if my body was hellbent on torturing me. The images began to move. Snippets of memories slowly became chunks of time. I felt Rae’s lips against mine. The warmth and wetness of her tongue pressing against my own. My hands twitched, moving at the phantom feel of her ass cheeks in my palms. What I wouldn't give to be next to her. What I wouldn't give to feel her pressed against me, ridding me of my pain and warming me as this water threatened to drag me into the deep.
Into the cold, dark depths of its deadly stare.
I heard footsteps off in the distance.
I wanted to cry out for them, but I couldn’t. My mind kept interrupting my need to survive. It kept bombarding me with memories I no longer wanted. Because it wasn’t thoughts of Rae any longer. I saw snippets of that car. Those headlights. Those assholes, and everything they’d said to Rae. What their eyes insinuated. What the licking of their lips foreshadowed. I felt anger blooming in my chest and rage coursing through my veins. A searing pain unlike anything I’d ever experienced trickled all the way down to my damn toes.
No one hurts Rae. Not on my watch.
Then it happened. The entire replay behind my eyelids. I saw myself riding my bike. I heard the screeching of those tires and the laughing of the boys behind me. My mind replayed it all. From the first time I rumbled over the railroad tracks to the neighborhoods we’d zoomed in and out of. The entire world fell silent to my ears as my mind took me down that dangerous path. Took me down memory lane, where I even remembered the plan I’d come up with.
Cruise out of town until they run out of gas.
It had been the perfect plan. Run them out of town. Get them away from Rae. And once they puttered over to the side of the road, speed off into the night. It was foolproof. It was perfection. So, how the hell did I fuck it up?
Because you're always a fuck-up, Clarke.
A fuck-up, Clarke.
A fuck-up, Clarke.
My voice morphed into my father’s, and my mind held me hostage. I replayed the first time my father ever hit me. It was four months after he and my mother split up. We got into a fight because I wanted her to read me a bedtime story over the phone, like she used to read to me when she was still here. My father got angry with me. He thought I was accusing him of shitty stories. When really, all I wanted was my mother.
A small boy who wanted nothing but the comfort of his mother.
“Your mother’s gone. She chose pills over us. So get used to it, or do without your stories.”
Then he popped me on the side of the head.
A whimper bubbled up my throat. I begged my mind not to do this. I fought with myself, trying to stop the reel playing out in my head. But it was no use. My mind had fully run away with me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.