by Greg Ness
He ventured across the street and entered the cafeteria. It was a small, boutique coffee shop-type place. There were only a few people inside, sipping on coffee and eating pastries. Bruce looked at the bakery offerings through the clear-rounded glass. There were cookies, breads, and rolls. Bruce perused the tiny signs that indicated the names of the pastries and saw the one he was looking for: ‘Cinnamon Rolls’. Much to his chagrin, there were no actual cinnamon rolls behind the sign. They were out!
“Excuse me,” Bruce said to the young teenage girl behind the counter, “You’re out of cinnamon rolls!?”
“Yes,” she replied. “No more for the day.”
Bruce slapped the glass in disappointment. He stared at the sign, wishing a cinnamon roll would appear.
“Bruce?” a male voice asked.
Bruce looked around. Who said that? He examined the faces of the coffee shop, all of which were paying no attention to him. Standing mere feet from him, he found the culprit: Mr. Ixley. He looked older, but only slightly. He had aged well over the years. Even more, he was holding a cinnamon roll in his hand.
Mr. Ixley smiled through his glasses. “What are you doing here, old friend?”
“My girlfriend is buying books across the street. I came here for a cinnamon roll.”
“Go figure,” Mr. Ixley said, “I’m here doing the exact same thing with Sara.”
Bruce smiled. It was good to see him. And he looked great. Bruce approached him to give him a hug. Mr. Ixley gladly accepted and hugged him back. They embraced, like best friends who had been apart for years. “Tell you what,” Mr. Ixley said, “Take half my cinnamon roll.” Mr. Ixley ripped his cinnamon roll and offered some to Bruce.
Bruce laughed. “Thanks.” He graciously accepted it.
“So you have a new girlfriend, huh?” Mr. Ixley asked.
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “How about Sara? Is she going out with anyone?”
“Oh yeah. Some cheerleader guy. I don’t like him. You should try getting back together with her. If things don’t work out with this new girl, give her a call, will you?”
Bruce smiled. He might call her even if things did work out with Kristen. Despite his best attempts over the years to quell his feelings for Sara, he simply couldn’t do it.
“You still working at the school?”
“Yep, still there,” Mr. Ixley said. “You should be graduating soon, right? If you ever need a job, come by and we’ll get you in. No questions asked.”
“Thanks, Mr. Ixley. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Bruce. It’s good to see you.” Mr. Ixley held out his hand. It floated in the air, waiting to be shaken.
Bruce shook it.
Their relationship had forever changed on that fateful night.
Prom night.
What was supposed to be a magical night of romance for Bruce and Sara turned into a disaster of epic proportions that ultimately ended their relationship and almost caused Sara to take her own life.
Bruce, sporting a fancy tuxedo, was deep in Mr. Ixley’s closet. He had uncovered a door with a circled X that had a daunting look to it. Not surprisingly, it was the same symbol he had seen several times before. Bruce could only imagine what was behind this door. The answers to every question he ever wondered about that night in the forest awaited him.
Bruce put his hand on the doorknob and creaked opened the door. He looked inside.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mr. Ixley said.
Mr. Ixley was standing at the entrance to the closet. There was no escape.
Bruce’s bladder was definitely calling now.
“Oh, I’m sorry. This isn’t the way to the bathroom?”
Mr. Ixley stood with his arms folded. He wasn’t a muscular or large man by any means. But he had never been scarier.
Mr. Ixley spoke up. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Bruce’s mouth slightly dropped open. He was so shocked, he didn’t know what to say.
“In the forest. It was you and Stephen.” Mr. Ixley laughed in disgust. “I should’ve figured as much. You two can’t stay out of trouble for your life.”
Bruce managed to move his lifeless mouth just enough to ask, “What is the X circle?”
Mr. Ixley’s smile radiated with menace as he paced towards him. “Was it you that hit me with a branch?”
“Stay back,” Bruce said as he held his hands out. “I’ll go in there,” he threatened. The ancient X door remained open, daring Bruce to enter. Beyond the door was pure blackness; too dark for Bruce to make sense of what was inside.
Mr. Ixley froze. “Don’t do that,” he implored.
“Tell me what the hell you’ve been up to! Or I’m walking in and finding out myself!”
Mr. Ixley transformed his tone. He was now calm and inviting. “Don’t do this. It’s prom. Go out with Sara and show her a good time. She deserves it. Forget about this whole thing and go have fun.”
Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Just like that? Go have fun?! After all the misery you put us through for going out?” Bruce stared at him. The power had shifted to his corner. But part of what Mr. Ixley said was right. Bruce needed to get going. He was going to show Sara a good time. Nothing would stop that. Not even a crazy cult leader. But he needed to know first. “What have you been up to? Are you a nazi?”
Mr. Ixley smiled cautiously. He wasn’t a nazi. He was far from being a hateful buffoon. “Bruce…” He took a breath and reluctantly continued, “...I’m trying to save the world.”
What? Save the world? Mr. Ixley wasn’t the type. Not by a longshot. “Save the world from what?”
“Not like that.” Mr. Ixley again inched toward Bruce. “Come on, Bruce.” Mr. Ixley shot his hand out for Bruce to grab. Unfortunately, it shot out a little too quickly.
It scared the wits out of Bruce and caused him to fall backwards into the X room. He landed with a thump on his side. Bruce looked around. It was hard to make out much of anything. It was too dark. A dim blue hue flooded the room. Bruce noticed a figure towering over him. He looked up and could visibly see the outline of the head and shoulders of a man. His heart began to race. He squinted his eyes to try to get a better look when unexpectedly, he was yanked by his feet. Mr. Ixley pulled him out and slammed the X door shut.
Bruce found himself on the floor of the closet. His suit jacket was covered in dust. His heart rate was slowly coming back down. Mr. Ixley stood over him and offered his hand once again. “Don’t tell Sara about this. Alright?”
Bruce grabbed his hand. “Alright.”
Mr. Ixley helped him to his feet.
“Who’s in there?”
Mr. Ixley looked perplexed. “There’s no one in there.” Bruce hesitantly accepted the response. As much as he wanted answers, he had to get to Sara. He would find out later. He had Mr. Ixley right where he wanted him. Bruce and Mr. Ixley proceeded downstairs.
As Bruce descended, he witnessed an anxiously waiting Sara. She was with her mother, Rachel. It was ironic: Bruce had envisioned this scenario with their positions swapped.
Sara was beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. The sweetheart of the school didn’t disappoint. She never did. Her blonde hair was tied fancily above her head. There had to be a hundred bobby pins holding it in place. Her red dress flowed from her hips, conservatively showing off her perfect figure. Sara sparkled.
As Bruce reached her, he awkwardly paused. Should he kiss her? Hug her? Mr. Ixley and Rachel were watching, after all. Instead, he uttered, “You’re beautiful.”
Sara blushed. “Why is your coat so dirty?”
Bruce glanced at his side: it was full of thick dust from the X room. He looked at Mr. Ixley, who nervously awaited his answer. Would he tell her what happened?
“I… umm… fell…”
Mr. Ixley’s eyes grew wide.
Bruce continued, “It was stupid. I slipped in the street before getting in the car.” He looked at Mr. Ixley, whose fears seemed appeased. Mr. Ixley checked Sara, who
seemed to tentatively accept his explanation. “The street was really dirty… Street sweeping is usually tomorrow. So… it all built up.” He was rambling now. “And when I fell, all the stuff in the street got in my jacket. I guess I should have cleaned it but I was excited to get over here and…”
“Okay,” Mr. Ixley interrupted, eager to end his rambling. “Are we all ready to go?”
“Yes,” Bruce affirmed.
“Good. So Rachel and I will follow you to Stephen’s. Right?”
“Then we’ll take some pictures and be on with it,” Bruce said.
Great. It was Mr. Ixley’s worst nightmare coming true. He was going to Stephen’s house with Bruce, who was taking his daughter to prom. He couldn’t have written it worse if he tried.
Minutes later, Mr. Ixley drove with his wife, Rachel, in his black SUV. He was following Bruce’s worn down car.
“She’ll be okay,” Rachel said, doing her best to comfort her husband. “We raised her well. She won’t do anything stupid.”
Mr. Ixley smiled. The women of his life meant the world to him. They were the only light in an otherwise bleak world. He held her hand. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d be a cranky man.”
Mr. Ixley laughed. There were plenty of students who would claim he was already a cranky man.
“Ya know,” Rachel said, “Bruce seems to care for her. And even so, she’ll have plenty of boyfriends. You never know. Bruce might turn out to be your favorite someday.”
Fat chance.
Bruce drove with Sara. “I’m so excited!” she proclaimed
Bruce was excited too. They were mere blocks away from Stephen’s house. Taking pictures was a mandatory part of prom, and the part Bruce was not looking forward to. But it would be over soon and they would be on to the main event.
Bruce and Sara approached a red light and came to a stop. Cars zipped through the intersection in front of them. The roads seemed less crowded than usual. Bruce tapped on the wheel with his fingers as he anxiously waited for his turn to go through the intersection. Bruce watched in his rearview mirror as Mr. Ixley’s black SUV came to a stop. He saw Mr. Ixley. Smiling. It was a sight he didn’t expect to see. Rachel must’ve cheered him up. Maybe the night wouldn’t be mired by Mr. Ixley after all. The light changed. Green. Bruce accelerated and unintentionally slammed on the gas. He didn’t realize how hard he slammed and he flew through the intersection.
He peered in his rearview mirror. Mr. Ixley accelerated, but nowhere near as hurriedly as Bruce. Bruce heard a loud, almost deafening, horn. It was thicker in volume than a typical car horn. No, this was something different. It was a huge cargo carrying truck.
It stormed into sight in his rearview mirror and headed straight for Mr. Ixley’s SUV. Bruce’s heart stopped. A terrible knotting tied in his stomach. “Shit!” He slammed on the brakes. There was nothing he could do.
The truck plowed into Mr. Ixley’s SUV from the passenger side. The truck’s attempts to stop had failed miserably. Mr. Ixley’s SUV was hit with such a force, it was sent rocketing helplessly toward a streetlight.
Bruce slammed the car into park, leapt out of his car, and sprinted toward the still flailing SUV. Sara screamed in horror as she watched the vehicle holding her parents slide uncontrollably. The front of the SUV clipped the streetlight, causing it to spin wildly. The SUV could only take so much. It slammed on its side and continued its violent slide until it rolled and disappeared into a ditch.
Bruce tore off his jacket as he hurried over the burned grass. There it was: down in a ditch, crunched up like an accordion, resting on the passenger side. A fire had broken out under the hood and smoke was pouring out into the sky.
There was no way this nightmare was happening.
Bruce hustled into the ditch. He climbed onto the top of the SUV, which was now the driver’s side door, and looked in the window. Mr. Ixley glared at him shell-shocked. Bruce opened the door and whipped it aside.
“Are you guys alright?” Bruce asked.
Mr. Ixley stared at him. The airbag had inflated and was resting on his face. There was blood dripping from his forehead and he had a thick cut running perpendicularly over his right eye. Luckily, his eye was still intact, but he would need stitches to close the wound. “Bruce?” Mr. Ixley asked, clearly delirious.
Bruce couldn’t see Rachel. Mr. Ixley and the airbag obstructed his view. “Come on, Mr. Ixley! We have to get out of here! The engine’s on fire. It’s going to spread! We don’t have much time!”
With tears in his eyes, Mr. Ixley begged, “Please Bruce. Help my wife.”
“I can’t get to her! We have to get you out first! Let’s go!” Bruce extended his hand to Mr. Ixley. Bruce crouched his legs on top of the SUV, ready to yank out Mr. Ixley.
“Are you alright?” a voice muttered from the passenger seat. Mr. Ixley looked at his wife. She was unscathed. Perfectly fine. Not a scratch on her. They were just thrown around like rag dolls. How did she pull that off?
Mr. Ixley said, “I’m alright. Are you okay?”
Rachel’s eyes glowed at him. It was a question she wouldn’t answer. “I love you. You’ve made my life perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
She looked as beautiful as the first day Mr. Ixley met her. She was a splitting image of their gorgeous daughter. Mr. Ixley gazed into the eyes of his wife. The light of his life.
Rachel continued, “She’s grown up so beautifully. We did it.” Mr. Ixley nodded. They sure had. Sara was perfect.
“Come on!!” Bruce yelled. “We have to get out of here!! Now!” The heat of the fire blared and smoke rushed into his face.
Rachel whispered to her husband, “It’s time for you to go.” She reached out and caressed his face. He closed his eyes. “I love you.” Rachel’s thumb rubbed his face. She didn’t want him to go. But he had to.
Mr. Ixley unbuckled his seatbelt and finally grabbed a hold of Bruce’s hand. With all his might, Bruce pulled as Mr. Ixley shifted his way out. Bruce managed to get him out of the car and atop the driver’s side. Mr. Ixley put his arm around Bruce but couldn’t feel his leg.
Bruce supported Mr. Ixley with his shoulders. He took a peek inside the vehicle. “I’ll be right back for you, Rachel!” When he saw her though, she was unconscious and smothered with blood. Her skull was fractured and crushed. She had borne the brunt of destruction.
Bruce would have to save Mr. Ixley first. Bruce crouched down. “Grab on to me.” Mr. Ixley wasn’t an overly heavy man and with Bruce’s stature, it wouldn’t be too difficult to carry him on his back.
Mr. Ixley held on. Bruce scaled down the overturned SUV with Mr. Ixley over his shoulders.
Sara stood in horror at the base of the ditch, watching Bruce’s rescue effort. “Where’s my mom?!” she yelled.
Bruce placed Mr. Ixley on one foot and became a crutch for him as he hobbled toward Sara. Bruce yelled, “I’m going back for her!” They struggled as they inched toward Sara.
“Bruce,” Mr. Ixley whispered, “I was wrong about you. I’m sorry.”
“That’s great,” Bruce responded, “But I gotta get back to your wife.”
As they reached Sara, Bruce helped Mr. Ixley to the ground and sat him on the grass. The sound of sirens whirled in the air. Help was minutes away. Bruce turned toward the SUV and started to run.
But it was too late. The SUV vanished and was replaced with a large ball of flame. A hot rush of air blasted past Bruce and knocked him backwards. Debris flew around, whipping its way in every direction. There was a loud boom, but Bruce didn’t hear it. It was so loud, it simply knocked out his hearing. A deep pain grew in his head as the reality of what just happened started to settle in.
Rachel Ixley was dead.
Bruce turned to Sara, who was wide-eyed with shock. The sharp turn of the evening hadn’t hit her yet. Without warning, she took off and ran straight for the burning remnants of the SUV.
“Sara! No!” Bruce ran after her. He intercepted her and
squeezed her as she kicked and screamed. He whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” It was no consolation.
“You did this!” Sara screamed. Her fists pounded on Bruce’s chest. “Why didn’t you help her!?”
Bruce was heartbroken. She was right. He should’ve moved faster. And now a life was on his hands. Sara pushed him away and ran to her father. They embraced.
Ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks arrived-finally. Dozens of policemen, paramedics, and firemen rushed to the scene. They headed straight for Mr. Ixley and Sara, running right past Bruce. He preferred it that way. He had a score to settle.
Bruce sprinted up the grassy ditch and headed toward the truck. Its cargo back was on its side; the truck had skidded after hitting the SUV in a pathetic attempt to stop. Bruce ran past the parked police cars whose lights were still blaring.
An officer attempted to grab him as he ran by. “Where you goin’ son?” Bruce brushed him off and kept running until he reached the driver’s door of the truck. The officer was only steps behind him.
Bruce opened the door of the truck. “Hey!” Bruce screamed. He had been in plenty of fights and seen his share of trouble, but he had never been so scorchingly furious in his life. If the truck driver was lucky, Bruce wouldn’t flat out kill him right there. “You little shit! Are you goddamn blind?!” He grabbed the shoulder of the truck driver and shook him. He was passed out. The airbag never deployed. “Wake up! Wake up asshole!” The driver was older, in his late 40s, and overweight. Bruce continued to shake him. He wore a plaid shirt and a solid green baseball cap. His mouth was wide open, with a cut on his lip and a large purple bruise swelled on his head. Bruce reared back his fist. He was going to crush his face and he didn’t care about the consequences. This truck driver just killed Sara’s mom. Now it was his turn to die.
Bruce was yanked back by a police officer. “No!” Bruce flailed around, fighting to get back at the truck driver. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him!”
“You ain’t killin’ anybody, son. You need to calm down,” the officer demanded.