The One Way (Changes Book 1)

by Ted Persinger

  Scott began to see less and less of Danny that summer. He attended fewer parties. He was less available for beers. Their summer list went mostly unfulfilled. Danny and Melissa went dancing together. They went to movies together. They were always heading somewhere or just getting back. They talked rapidly, and spoke of plans and futures. They spent time lying in the grass, or swimming in the American River, or hiking in the mountains. By the time summer was over, Scott hardly saw Danny. As the fall semester of their third year began, he was into new things. Busier. He spent evenings on the phone, talking to her. He worked harder in his classes. In conversation, she always came up. Danny began to not notice beautiful women. He began to think about things like career, and professional societies, and mortgages. It was as if Danny was a completely new person. He was remade, reborn. Melissa in his life had made Danny grow up. He seemed more confident. More sure of himself. He was a man now.

  In the spring term, Melissa transferred to Sac State, and then they were hardly ever apart. Melissa lived with him. They studied together. They arranged their schedules for the same times. Danny had always been a bit of a quiet, somber person, and this soberness had increased when his father had died in their first year of college. Melissa seemed to bring him out of his shell in a way his best friend never could. Scott was happy that Danny was happy, though he missed his best friend.

  When Scott met Linda their final year at Sac State, he felt the sting of Danny’s absence less, and he too began to talk of careers and mortgages.

  VI

  Friday afternoon on that hot May day. Melissa had called Danny, who was at his computer sorting through billing reports. She had talked him into leaving work early. “We haven’t talked for a long time, Danny. Let’s eat a quiet dinner, okay? I want to talk to you about things.” Danny was busy, and behind on a report his boss wanted, but he could never say no to her. He took a couple hours of sick leave, put his lead biller in charge, and left work at 3:00.

  “I waited outside for her. When she pulled up, we switched places,” Danny said in his exhausted, gravelly voice.

  “Why did you switch places?” the polite police officer asked. His pen hovered above the form for just a second. Through the blinds behind his desk, Danny could see it was dark night outside.

  “I always drove when we were in the same car, even though it was her Accord.”

  “Where did you go after that?”

  “The highways are always packed on Fridays, so I took Bruceville to Valley Hi Drive. Then left onto Center Parkway.” Danny could see the turns in his mind’s eye.

  The man was writing quickly. Danny noticed he was drawing a small map on the statement, turning the paper to label the streets. Danny paused to let him catch up. When he did, he looked up to Danny again.

  “When we turned right onto Jacinto, that’s when we saw the car. The Barracuda.”

  “Where were the two men?”

  “They were both at the front of the car. The hood was up, so I only saw them as we pulled past them. We pulled over in front of them.”

  “Did they move towards you?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not sure. We sat there in the car for a second.”

  “Why did you sit there?”

  “Melissa. She said, ‘I don’t like this, Danny…let’s just go home.’” He paused. A long pause. Not for writing. “I said, ‘We can’t just leave these guys out here…I’m good with cars. It’ll just take a second.’ She said, ‘I don’t like it, Danny.’” His eyes were looking down at his hands now.

  After another long pause, “What happened then, Mister Shields?”

  “So I got out. She did too.”

  “You both got out at the same time?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Not exactly sure. When I walked up to them, she was there.”

  “Where were the two men standing?”

  “The heavyset guy was closer to the sidewalk, in front of the headlights.” The officer quickly sketched two vehicles. He put an X for each person, and labeled each one. Danny politely paused again, letting him draw. “The short bald guy was kinda in front of him, but closer to the street.” Another X.

  “Did you exchange any words?”

  “I said something dumb like, ‘You guys needs some help?’ The heavyset guy said, ‘Yeah, thank you.’ He had an accent.”

  “What kind of accent?”

  “Like European. Russian maybe. I don’t know. His voice just sounded different.”

  More writing. “Okay. What happened next?”

  “Melissa was standing next to me. I was looking at the bald guy, getting ready to move past him to get under the hood. I could see that it was venting steam. Overheated. But I also saw some smoke from the manifold, so I figured it was leaking oil also. Maybe a blown head gasket.”

  “Did they say something to you?”

  “Yeah, the bigger guy said, ‘Hey you, man!’ and the small guy shouted, ‘Gimme your fuckin’ keys, man!’ I heard a clicking sound, then I saw the bigger guy pointing a black-barreled pistol in my face. Melissa shrieked.” Danny closed his eyes as the moment replayed itself, images scratching his aching brain.

  “Black entirely? The entire gun?”

  “I don’t know. I only saw the barrel.”

  “Did you recognize the gun?”

  “No, I don’t own any.”

  “Was it a revolver? Did it have bullets in a cylinder? Or was it a semi-automatic, like the one I have?” He pulled out his pistol to show Danny. Danny winced at the sight of it, so the officer put it away.

  “No, it was the other kind. Revolver, I guess.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Danny lied. “We both moved…I don’t remember…we backed away from the gun.”

  “Did either man say anything to you after that?”

  “I heard them yelling…something about the keys or something…” He was again lying. I turned and hid behind my wife, and they fired. “Then I heard a shot, and she was on the ground.” Hot tears stinging, flowing.

  “I know this is difficult, Mister Shields, but is there anything else you remember them saying or doing after that?”

  “I heard one of them say, ‘The keys are in here!’ I guess it was the bald guy. Then the other guy said, ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’ They were both in the car, and they drove off.”

  “Did you hear anything else?”

  “No,” he lied. “Nothing else.” I heard the big man laughing… ‘Did you see him?’ Even they know I’m a coward.

  And then it came from within him. It had been living in his stomach. In his bowels. The terrifying moan began deep inside him, and then echoed out his throat. It was a long, wailing moan. Soft at first, then a discordant crescendo. Jim and Scott could only look at him. Others in the room turned their heads and blinked at him. And the wail came out, long and deep. And then it rose. No words. Just a moan of pain and suffering. It came out of him and he couldn’t stop it. His own wail terrified him…it was everything dark and black in his soul. Every wrong he had suffered. Every rejection. Every slight. Every embarrassment. It all came out of him in that moan. His wailing lament spoke of a sadness only the loss of love can give you. It spoke of a deepness of pain you only know when you lose all you have. And Danny had. In the crack of a pistol he lost everything in the world that meant anything to him. He lost himself in the bargain too, though he didn’t know it yet. His pain was dark, and desperate, and bleak.

  The police officer looked away politely. He kept a calm, compassioned look on his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a cry such as this. Unfortunately, he had heard it all too often. Other police officers turned and considered Danny with blank stares.

  As his howl tapered off, Jim put his hand on Danny’s arm. The rest of the police officers went back about their business, though a few leered and snickered at each other. Danny only looked down. Scott, though, saw the leers, and hated them all. He hated the patronizing looks on their faces. Hated their assessment of his friend. He
knew they’d be laughing about it later. “Hey, you shoulda heard this guy today!” He wanted to tell them all to go fuck themselves, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

  Danny signed the report. Drawings. Scrawled writing. He was glad to sign his name to the lie. The blackness in his soul consumed the lie, and grew in strength.

  VII

  They were kissing passionately. Their tongues intertwined. Their sweating bodies pushing against each other. He was inside her, and her legs were wrapped tightly around him. He could feel her breath in his mouth and on his cheeks, but they never pulled their mouths apart. He could feel his orgasm building. Her breathing increased…deeper and faster. He could feel her reaching her climax.

  Danny awoke with a now-cooling wetness in his crotch. He was alone. The tears and sobbing began almost immediately, but then stopped suddenly. Silence. The self-loathing remained.

  He was in the Best Western in San Ysidro, just a stone’s throw from the California-Mexico border. From his window, he could see the large blue and yellow sign that reached out to the freeway.

  The drive had been exhausting. The memories battled in his mind for the duration of the drive. He kept remembering. Her smile. Her laugh. Her soft shoulders. The wetness of her bottom lip. He remembered her taking a massage class, and giving him a terrible-but-loving massage. He remembered how she made a great lasagna but a horrible steak, though he would never tell her how chewy the meat came out. She loved old, soppy romance movies and paid too much attention to tabloids. Every detail of her wound through his thoughts. The sound of her laugh. How she teared up during the sad parts of movies. He had memorized every detail of her, and nothing could remove those memories from his mind. Now, though, those images were covered in ash and ruin. Now those images shared his mind with new black images. Her blood. Her on the slab. Her in her coffin, where she laid even now.

  After leaving Scott and Linda, concentrating on the road had been a chore. It exhausted him. He pulled over several times, cars whizzing by on the I-5. He had to stop to regain his focus, or to shed tears, or to yell at himself. He had vomited once, just south of Stockton…over to the side, door open, splash of stomach acid, close the door, blinker on, back in traffic. He found himself covering distance without a clear thought…driving on instinct and reactions. He was just heading south. I-5 all the way. The featureless landscape was perfect for the barrenness of his spirit, but did not match the hurricane in his mind.

  When he reached Bakersfield, he began to think of Linda’s words. “Plan.” “Jesus.” Yeah, Jesus planned for Melissa to die. If he did, then FUCK HIM. If he could have saved her, then FUCK HIM for not doing it. He grew angry, and began to swear. “Fuck you then,” he began. “Fuck you. You think I’m some fucking toy to play with? You think I’m just a pawn in your stupid fucking game?” In the distant reaches of his heart, he knew he was transferring, but he shouted that thought down. So fucking what? I’m due, motherfucker! I’m due! Somebody owes me something! His rage burgeoned within him. Building. He couldn’t control it.

  He pulled over at a rest stop, and parked far away from other cars. And then he let it out. Let out every bit of pain and hurt in him. Let out everything he had been holding in. The bile. The rage. Raw fury. He screamed. No words, only angry, rage-filled screams. And he flailed about. He punched his thighs. He punched himself in the shoulders and chest. He hammered his fist into the door panel. He kicked the pedals and the floorboard. He let it all out. Physical, primal, with all the vocabulary and understanding of an infant. He screamed and cried. He roared at the universe. Hot tears gushed from his eyes, but not the tears of sadness he had felt. Tears of anger. Tears of rage. Tears of hate. And he bellowed, head back…up to the roof of his car…up to the heavens. From his toes up, this roar was everything within him.

  And then words came.

  “God…I WILL ALWAYS HATE YOU FOR TAKING HER…I will always hate you…do you fucking hear me? Do you hear me, you motherfucker? I will always hate you! Go ahead…destroy me…take my life like you took hers! I don’t care! YOU SICK MONSTER! I hate everything you stand for…do you hear me? Do you fucking hear me? YOU ARE EVERYTHING I HATE.”

  And then he descended, slowly. From incoherent screams to cries to mumbling mutters. Then a sputtering chuckle. Chin down, looking at himself. And then he was empty. His soul was vacant. He was shaking, and his throat and body were sore. There he was, with himself again. All was as it had been before he pulled into the rest stop. Nothing had changed, for all his wrath.

  With a quivering hand he started the car, backed out, and got back on the highway. Turning the wheel was hard work now.

  After passing through the Grapevine into LA County, he had stopped at the La Quinta Inn in Santa Clarita. He was too exhausted to go on. The check-in was fast, and within a few minutes he was sleeping heavily.

  He awoke tired, and had difficulty getting up for the drive he was facing. He didn’t leave the La Quinta until nearly noon, and just in time to hit lunchtime traffic on the 405. This drive was exhausting, battling the sudden accelerations and the nearly fatal full stops. By the time he reached the border, he was completely spent. It had taken him two days to cover a one-day drive. He didn’t have the strength to cross the border.

  Their trip to Mexico had been much more enjoyable. Joining a tour group, they took a bus from Sacramento. They giggled and illicitly poured rum from a flask into their Coke cans. They had laughed and napped. The bus had been a bit chilly, so they had both snuggled under fleece jackets. He remembered watching her slumber softly, while he drifted off himself. Resting his face on the top of her head, smelling her shampoo. He remembered waking to find she had slipped her hand into the fly of his pants, and was softly stroking him.

  “What are you doing, Mel?” he had asked, feigning innocence.

  “I missed him, Danny. I just wanted to touch him a little,” she had replied, with an “aw-shucks” yokel voice she would use.

  He had loved that she was a bit devious. He felt like she was his partner-in-crime, ready to pull a caper at any moment…even if it was just sneaking a hand in his pants or hiding a drink flask in her knockoff purse. She added a small sense of danger to his otherwise mundane life.

  Their stay at the Rosarito Beach Hotel had been a late honeymoon. Marrying while in college, they hadn’t been able to afford anything more than a night in a hotel here and there, as they still shared the house with Jim. Neither family had much money, so the simple wedding was followed by a simpler reception. But they didn’t mind. It was their beginning. Later success never took away from them the idea that they had had to toil for what they earned. They never took for granted any success they built. They never felt anything had ever been given to them. People who work their way up appreciate money and success much more than those who are born into it.

  Now, he was alone. With cold, wet semen in his underwear. Dreaming of a woman he would never see again. Now, as he cleaned himself up and washed his underwear in the sink, he knew they had been incredibly fortunate. They had enjoyed love and success. They were on their way to having fine lives.

  While they worked hard, they had also received the benefit of each other. They both had chosen well, both had worked hard. All that was true. But they enjoyed the advantages of being two college graduates during an economic upswing. He had been hired as a billing manager at the Kaiser Permanente Medical Center in South Sacramento, where he had been a patient since he was a child. She was hired as a high school counselor at Luther Burbank High School, and within the year was the Counseling Team Leader. Their combined incomes, along with half the money from the sale of his father’s house, allowed them to purchase a home far better than either had lived in before. Though not a native to California, Melissa had quickly adapted to the long, hot summers of the Valley, and loved boating on the rivers and lakes, with occasionally water skiing. Her native Nebraska hadn’t allowed for much bikini weather. God she looked good in a bikini when we were younger…firm everywhere, and she tanned so nic
ely. She, in turn, taught Danny how to snow ski. Without a child, they had both been active year round.

  Without a child.

  Danny hung his wet underwear on the shower rod to dry. He changed, and went back to bed. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep. He picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” a voice croaked.

  “Jim, hey, it’s me. Danny.”

  “Danny, where the fuck are you? Are you in Mexico? Are you okay?” He took the big brotherly sharp tone out of habit.

  “I’m good, Jim. I just dreamed about Mel, and I needed someone to talk to.”

  “Okay…okay…I’m here. You okay? What did you dream?”

  “I just was dreaming about her face,” he lied.

  “Her face?”

  “Yeah, her smile. You know…the way she looked at me.” He wondered why he couldn’t tell his own brother he’d had a wet dream about his dead wife.

  “Yeah, we all loved her smile, Danny. I know it must hurt to think about her. Try to put her out of your mind, if you can.”

  “You know I can’t do that. I’ve tried…just can’t.” He felt his eyes start to burn again. He closed them and tried to picture his brother’s face.

  “Yeah, I know, Danny. I know. But like I said last week, if you keep busy you’ll start to get balance back into your life.”

  “I know, Jim…that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to get busy.”

  “Well, I don’t know if running away is really getting busy, Danny.”

  “I’m not running away!” He hadn’t meant to sound so angry.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry, man. But you did just up and leave everybody.”

  “Did you talk to Scott? Did he tell you what I’m doing?”

  “Well, all he told us was that you were going to the Rosarito Beach Hotel, because that was where you had honeymooned. Then you want to go to Puerto Vallarta? He and I don’t really think that’s a good idea. I wish you’d come back so we can talk, Danny. Seriously.”