Before (A Betwixt Novella #0.5) (Betwixt Series)

by Melissa Pearl

  Chapter 11

  I'm awake all night. It's not until the sun is lighting the sky that I finally fall into a fitful sleep. My parents are smart enough to leave me alone. I drift in and out. A soft knock on my door rouses me, but I ignore it. Eventually, things go quiet and I drift back into a nightmare of images. No matter how my dreams begin, they always end with me back in the police station and then standing before an irate judge in an empty courtroom. The gavel slams down, and I'm done for.

  Finally, I can't hack it anymore and force myself to wake. Sitting up, I scratch my curls and scrub my hand over my face. Grabbing my watch, I read the time and flop back down on my bed. Midday. My stomach is going nuts, and I know I need food, but I'm not quite ready to face everyone. Unfortunately, I have no choice. I'm busting and if I don't move now, I might just wet the bed.

  I shuffle to the bathroom and when I'm done, decide I can't ignore my stomach either. Padding down the stairs, I try not to disturb anyone, but I shouldn't have bothered. Mom is in the kitchen looking puffy eyed and fragile. She's baking up a storm, something she always does when she's being all emotional about something. Blueberry muffins and chocolate slice litter the counter tops. I grab a napkin and reach for a muffin, keeping my eye on Mom. She won't look at me. She sniffs delicately and keeps stirring a bowlful of cookie dough.

  It's an awkward, icy silence that I'd do anything to shatter, but I don't know what to say. There's nothing left to do, but turn and head back to my room.

  The phone rings.

  I reach for it, but am jerked back by my mother's terse voice. "I'll get it!"

  She answers with quiet politeness, but her body goes stiff instantly and all pleasantries are flung aside.

  "No, he's not available to chat, and I would prefer if you did not call here again." With that, she slams the phone down.

  "Who was that?"

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she flicks a curl off her forehead and gives me a hard glare.

  "So, I'm not even allowed to talk to my friends anymore?"

  "We confiscated your phone for a reason." Her voice is small and tight. "It's for your own good."

  "They're my friends."

  "Not anymore." She dusts the flour from her shaking fingertips.

  "You can't do this to me."

  "Then I suggest you pack your bags. Your father can drive you up to my grandparents tonight if you like." I don't miss the tremor in her tone and lean my head to the side.

  "Mom, come on."

  "Don't!" She raises her hand at me. "Dale, just don't. Go up to room or start packing your bags!"

  "Can't we talk about it? I mean, can't we just find some kind of compromise or something?"

  "Your father had to pick you up from a police station last night!" Her eyes fill with tears, her expression crumpling. "You have to appear before a judge. In court! You're only fifteen, Dale." She sucks back a ragged sob. Covering her mouth, she blinks several times to gain her composure. Shaking her curls, she breathes in and stands tall. Her voice is still shaking when she speaks, but there is a hard tone that's impossible to miss. "You lost your chance."

  I drop the muffin on the counter, my appetite vanishing. "I never even had a chance in the first place," I scoff. Brushing off my fingers, I skulk back to my room. I fling myself onto the bed and cover my eyes with my arm. This sucks. It more than sucks.

  I hate feeling optionless. Sure, I don't want to go to jail, and I really don't want to hear what the judge has to say.

  The weird thing is, I don't want to see some of the people I've been hanging out with lately either.

  But then a housebound sentence is hardly something to get excited about.

  I feel totally cornered. I hate my future.

  Toeing the line will keep me in LA, but do I honestly want to stay here if all I have to look forward to is mind-numbing days of school, homework and church based activities? The idea makes my stomach surge with bile.

  On the other hand, I could keep playing the role of a rebel. I like that idea. It's the only one that involves freedom and this feels good to me, but then I can't help asking myself if it really does make me happy. When I think back over the last few months in particular, I've been miserable...restless...looking for an out.

  I groan and thump the bed, willing sleep to take me so I don't have to think anymore.

  "Dale?" Dad's voice wafts down the hallway.

  My gut clenches and I scramble for my headphones. Popping them in, I quickly hunt for a playlist as I jump across the room and press my back against the door. The doorknob jiggles as Dad knocks on the door again. I find my favorite Granite album and pump up the volume. The heavy rock music thrums in my ears as I lean my head on the wood. Dad keeps knocking. I can hear his muffled speech and grit my teeth until he gives up.

  Thankfully, it doesn't take long.

  I spend the rest of the night, lying on my bed in peaceable silence until something starts hitting my bedroom window.

  I lurch up and pull the headphones from my ears. The music died hours ago, along with my iPod battery. I glance at the time - 1am.

  Pulling back the curtain, I lift up the window and nearly get nicked in the head by a stone.

  "What the hell, man?"

  I hear Hugh's chuckle and can't help a grin.

  "Finnigan, get your ass down here."

  "Are you kidding me?" I do that whispering shout, hoping my parents won't hear this.

  "I've been trying to call you all day, dude. You so have to tell me about last night, man. You are epic, and the guys want details."

  "I can't, I'm under house arrest. I mean it's serious this time."

  "Come on. When's that ever stopped you? We'll just go for a quick ride, and I'll have you back here before the sun rises. I swear."

  Gripping the windowsill, I sigh as my will to break free wrestles with the conscious thought that going would be a really bad idea.

  "Fin-ni-gan. Oh, Fin-ni-gan," Hugh sings.

  I chuckle, "Alright. But just for an hour, okay?"

  Shoving on my shoes, I shimmy down the drainpipe, convincing myself that this is a good idea. I'll tell the guys exactly how it went down and then maybe they can help me come up with a plan to ease my parents into early release or something. As long as I'm home within an hour...two at the most... I'll get away with this. My parents don't have to know a thing.

  Running across the grass, I chase Hugh down the street. We turn the corner and find Luis, Jack and Travis waiting for us.

  "Where'd you get this?" I hop in the back of the pristine vehicle. Luis shuffles over to the middle as Hugh and I sit either side of him.

  "We picked it up three blocks from here." Jack's driving, looking nervous and on fire at the same time.

  Travis laughs and slaps Jack on the shoulder. "Go man!"

  We screech away from the curb and head to the hills. The guys start pestering me the second we're on the road. Hugh passes out beers as we cruise along, and I retell the details. My initial plan was to make it sound really bad, but I can't help adding a little flair to my story. The guys' laughter and cheers spur me on, and I'm soon coming off like a bad-ass legend. I can't help seeing the funny side of it all.

  I crush my beer can and throw it at my feet as Jack starts his descent back to Glendale. I have no idea what the time is, but I know I should probably start heading home. The thought is depressing, but also a little safe. I can't figure out why, but the urge to get home quickly becomes overwhelming.

  Maybe it's the strong smell of beer in the car, or maybe it's the fact I don't want to get caught and sent north, but I need to get home...like now.

  No one else in the car notices my tension. They're all still busy laughing and joking about all the hideous things that could have happened to me in jail. I laugh along, feeling no humor. My gut's getting tighter by the second.

  Luis cracks one of his standard one liners, which has everyone but me howling with laughter. Jack spins in his seat to look at Luis, and then it happens. I
don't know what Jack does, but the car is one minute on the road and the next flying through the air, cartwheeling over on itself. It's like being inside chaos. That's the only way to describe it. A mixture of screams and crashes, pain and fear. All the sounds merge together in a whirlwind. For a moment, we're flying and then the car lands, skidding down a bank and slamming to a halt.

  Chapter 12

  My ears are ringing. My brain feels like sludge.

  Hugh is screaming. I try to turn and see him, but my face is caught on something. Fear is making me breathe like a bull. My eyes jump around the dark car, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

  I smell blood.

  The windscreen is smashed. Luis' legs are dangling over the dashboard, the rest of his mangled body lying across the hood of the car. He's dead. Oh God, he's dead!

  Jack is slumped against the steering wheel. I can't tell if he's alive or not, but the small part of his head I can see is covered with blood.

  Hugh is still screaming. Something about his leg. I can't make out what he's saying. His words are marred by his excruciating cries. I want to tell him to shut the hell up, but I can't talk.

  Something's in my face. I reach up to investigate, but can't move my arm. My shoulder hurts. No, it more than hurts, it's freaking killing me. I want to black out, so I don't have to feel it anymore.

  Using my good hand, I reach across my body and gingerly investigate whatever the hell is trying to rip my head off, but I can't reach properly. It smells like wood. I don't know how I even pick that up. The reek of beer and blood is overpowering most other things, but whatever is tearing my cheek apart smells like wood.

  I don't know where we are. I can't see anything in the damn dark, and Hugh is still screaming!

  And now Travis is moaning.

  "Shut up," I slur. My voice is husky and foreign.

  I close my eyes and will oblivion. I can't handle the screaming. I can't do this. I need relief. I need this to end now!

  *****

  It doesn't end. Hugh keeps screaming until I think my brain will explode. The pain in my shoulder continues to kill me, one nerve at a time. I don't know how long we've been stuck here, but reality is sinking in. I feel like I've been thrown into a thick bog, and my mind is being pulled towards the one word I don't want to hear. It's heavy. It hurts and I soon cannot ignore it.

  Death.

  This car stinks of death.

  Travis has stopped moaning now. As much as I hated the sound before, I now miss it. At least it was something. His silence is unnerving. Hugh has stopped screaming too. He's just whimpering now, but I can hear how weak his pathetic cries are growing. It's like the energy is being drained from him by a giant needle.

  *****

  Everything is quiet.

  My foggy brain has drifted into blackness a couple of times, but it never lasts long. The pain in my shoulder is getting worse. It's like something is winding my muscles tighter, and the tighter it gets the more excruciating the pain becomes. I want to cry out and scream like Hugh did, but the branch - at least I think that's what it is - in my face is stopping me from doing anything.

  "Hugh," I barely whisper.

  Nothing.

  "Hugh? Are you awake, man?"

  The silence that answers me is final. Hugh's dead. I can only see him out of the corner of my eye, but he's so still. Hugh's dead.

  Everyone's dead!

  And I'm next.

  My soul wrenches as I finally face the reality head on. I'm going to die. We've been out here for hours. No one will be able to find this car, and I am going to die, squished into the back of a stolen vehicle with four guys who I guess were my friends. I mean, I hung out with them, but did I really know them? We never talked about anything deep and meaningful. We just hung out.

  I want my family.

  The thought shoots through my brain unbidden, but I guess when you're facing death, everything that's close to your heart surfaces.

  I think of Rachel and Julz and little Emma and Tim. I'm never going to see them grow up. I can't be cool Unky Dee. I won't be able to go to Emma's dance recitals or teach Tim to catch a ball.

  Tears flood my eyes.

  Mom. That look she gave me this afternoon. That pure disappointment, that heart-breaking confusion. She so wants me to be good. She loves me. I've never doubted that.

  And then Dad. The way he explained it all. It was good. I mean it sucked. I hate the rules, but he put them there to protect me...from this. From this situation right here. If I'd just done as I was damn well told, I'd be lying on my bed sleeping right now!

  I hate myself.

  I've been so pissed at the world - who I was becoming, who I was supposed to be! I didn't like either option, but now I'm left with none.

  I'm going to die...and I don't want to.

  In spite of my sucky future, I still want to live. I want a chance to make all of this right! If I can just prove to Mom and Dad what I'm capable of, then eventually they'll loosen the reins, right?

  I want that chance!

  "I need that chance," I slur.

  I don't know if I'm specifically talking to anyone, but the moment the words leave my mouth the deathly stillness around me swirls with something...something I haven't felt before.

  I hold my breath, knowing it can't be real. There's no way.

  In spite of my doubts, I swallow and whisper, "God?"

  Was he here with me or something? My parents always swore that no matter what I did, he was always watching. They used to use it as a threat almost, but Dad told me yesterday that God loves me, and he sounded pretty convinced about the whole thing.

  I think back to my years of sitting in Sunday school. I used to like it as a kid. All those bible stories. They were cool...and the songs we used to sing were pretty cool too.

  He's Got The Whole World In His Hands begins to play in my brain. I used to like that one. I accept the tune, letting it sing through my brain the whole way through. I close my eyes and listen to the words again. My teacher would always go around the circle, and we'd take turns putting our own name in. I can hear everyone singing, "He's got Dale Finnigan in His hands."

  "You've got me," I whisper. "You've got me in your hands, don't you? You've been there all along."

  Shame fills me. Man, I've been such a little shit.

  "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to be in your hands."

  The feeling is so overwhelming I know it must be true. And it's not even the fact I've had loveless sex or actually stolen cars. What's getting to me most is my callous attitude. The total lack of respect I've shown to all the people around me. That's what I hate most about my behavior.

  I've turned into an arrogant punk.

  I've become like the very people I grew up despising.

  "I want to make it right," I mumble. "But now it's too late." Tears have been streaming down my face for a while now, but I only just register them.

  Blinking rapidly, I swallow the boulder in my throat and start to wonder if I should be willing death upon me. Will it end quicker if I do that?

  I lick my lips, grip my left hand into a fist and urge death to come...but I can't do it. Every time I think about dying, my insides rebel.

  I don't want to die!

  I don't want my parents to have to deal with losing their only son. I don't want to leave this earth with my current reputation.

  "God, I don't want to die," I whimper. "You can hear me, right? I'm not ready to go." I tap my fist against me knee. "Can you save me? Would you do it?" My voice is growing weak, but I surge on, needing to say all this stuff aloud. "For my parents. For me? I just want another chance, that's all. Please. Please, God, save me."

  I close my eyes as a cold blackness creeps over me.

  "Save me," I whisper.

  My brain is growing heavy, the pain in my shoulder making it impossible to think straight.

  "Save me."

  Chapter 13

  Present day...

  I le
t go of the curtain and return to my desk. Gazing at my screen, I swivel in my seat as I recall the night of the accident and how God did save me. He took his sweet time about it. Man, that was the longest night of my life. I don't even remember how we were found. Lights punctured the blackness, and urgent voices assaulted me.

  "I think that one in the back is alive. I can see his eyes fluttering. Look!"

  I squinted into that flashlight beam like my life depended on it, which I guess it kinda did.

  Sirens. Yeah, I remember those.

  Then pain again. Lots and lots of pain.

  I scratch my shoulder, running my finger over the neat scar left by the surgeon. My shoulder was dislocated pretty badly, and major repairs were needed. My fingers then go to my face, the way they always do when I relive the accident. It was a branch through my cheek. It had smashed through the window and straight into my face, ripping my cheek apart. The scar left behind would be a hideous reminder of what I'd survived.

  Some days I hate it, which is why I've grown my hair long. At least, my reckless curls hide it a little. Some days I tie my hair back though and stare into the mirror, studying the jagged line. It's a good reminder, I guess. I was the only one to survive that crash...and I will forever believe that my survival was God's doing.

  It's like a sword through the soul when I think about it. I can still see Luis' limp body smashed through the windscreen, and I will never ever get the sound of Hugh's screaming out of my head. Those guys weren't good for me. I guess I knew it at the time, but they didn't deserve to die and I still miss them sometimes.

  I don't know what became of the rest of the people I used to see. My parents kind of put me into hiding after the accident and none of my old friends tried to contact me. We moved from L.A. to Big Bear as soon as my rehab would allow me to. And even though it's only two-hours away, I don't really have any desire to drive down and see them. I do sometimes wonder about Mason and Carly...what's become of them? I feel dizzy when I entertain the thought that Carly may have gotten pregnant. All I can pray is that she didn't. What a nightmare.