by Dylan Heart
I make a left at the end of Game Street and approach the campers that double as offices. One of them is Blue’s dad’s. Maybe I’ll finally get to meet him.
I’m not really thinking as I climb the steps and open the squeaky door without so much as a knock. I lean my head into the camper, and it’s empty of human life but full of empty beer bottles that sit on a desk covered in envelopes.
I crane my head to look over my shoulder, making sure nobody sees me as I shut the door and step toward the desk. I have a sudden urge to be nosy. We’ll just say that it’s natural curiosity, and I’m trying to make a little sense of the situation I’ve found myself in.
I shuffle through a stack of envelopes and one in particular catches my eye. In thick red markings, Blue’s name is scribbled across an empty envelope. I wonder if he’s been here already.
Fireworks crackle from outside, followed by a sonic-boom-like explosion.
“Hello.”
My body jumps and I spin around to face the intruder. I recognize him as Cookie, Blue’s friend.
“I didn’t even hear you come in,” I say with an innocent smile. “The door’s usually kind of squeaky.”
“You just have to know how to open it,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
I’ll skip the snooping part and go straight for the semi-truth. “I’m looking for Blue. Have you seen him?”
He shakes his head. “Not today.”
I’m going to be here all night.
“Do you maybe wanna step outside before Big Daddy comes home?”
“Big Daddy?” I ask, though I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I walk past him and push the door open. He follows me out and gently shuts the door behind him.
“See?” he says, referencing the silence of the door as it closed. “You just gotta know how to do it.”
I smirk. He scans the area then looks at me. “Do you want me to wait with you?”
“I should probably find him.” I shrug. “Do you really think he’ll come here?”
“If I know him as well as I think I do, then yes.”
Hmm.
“I know him very well. He’ll show.”
“All right.” I sit down on the steps of the camper. Cookie joins me. Previously, we had only met for a total of sixty seconds, so we’re still in that awkward stage of being complete strangers. But I know him a little more than he knows me. I know his deepest, darkest secret. It’s silent as we both stare ahead, waiting for the same man but for different reasons.
He rubs his palms against his jeans.
Do I tell him the truth? That I know everything? That Rake is in town?
Cookie digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a balled-up bag of what I presume is Molly. I don’t say anything as he spills the contents of the bag out onto a debit card, then begins to separate the powder into lines. He’s quick and efficient. And I’m wanting and craving. My eyes are glued to the drug, like it’s the perfect medication to calm my derailing nerves.
It’s here, in this moment, when I’m thinking about what it is that I want to do–Molly–that the toll begins to really hit me. All the fear, which is the reason I’m running, and all the doubt, the reason that I’m sitting here instead of being out there in the crowds, searching for him. Everything that made some sort of fucked-up sense just a few hours ago is unraveling. All these little threads of—
“Want some?”
“Huh?”
He pushes the debit card toward my lap. My common sense tells me I need to have a clear head but my fingers are soldiers for the part of my mind that’s screaming Fuck that. He hands me a rolled-up twenty and I press it against my nose. The Molly burns against the fibers of my nose and shoots down my throat. I pinch my nose with one hand and pass the card back with the other. Swiftly, he snorts up the last line.
“I guess this makes us friends.” He nudges me playfully.
“Is that all it takes?”
“I guess I’m just a people person.”
“Right,” I say. “Irresistible.”
“Why you looking for him, anyway?”
“We’re running.”
“Shocking.” He chuckles. “That boy can’t stay put anywhere for too long.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think he planned on a psychotic drug dealer tracking him down.”
His eyes turn to steel. “What are you talking about?”
I shouldn’t have said that. “It’s nothing.” I swallow a chunk of air. My heart beats through my jeans. I become aware of every breath, of every sight and sound. “I have to go.” My feet shake, almost like Jell-O, as I stand up quickly.
“I thought you were waiting for Blue.”
“I have to find him.”
“Maybe you should sit down.” He rises and moves in front of me, grabbing my arms. I can feel my eyes sinking toward the ground. I push him off me and flee.
My feet are heavy and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to walk. This Molly is different from the time before. It’s stronger–much more dangerous. My face is flushed, my cheeks are clammy. I rub my palm against my forehead, wiping off a layer of sweat. It’s a chore to keep my eyes open. It seems all I want to do is close them and sway to the beat of carnival music. And that’s what I do. Dancing lights flash against my eyelids, putting on a show in the dark. My head sways to the side.
I open my eyes and shake it off. There are two cops leaning against the back of a concession stand. I can feel their eyes burning holes through me. I turn around with a new resolve to find Blue before the police find me. Everything is heightened—smells, sights, and sounds—like the sound of feet plodding against the ground. I pick up the pace and push myself into a thick crowd clustered together outside a shelter house where a local–and rather shitty–amateur band plays.
Screaming rockets shoot into the sky and explode into golden glitter. I can feel every particle disintegrate. I begin to move again and as I exit the concert crowd, I run into the back of a sharp-dressed man. He turns around, and he’s all too familiar. “Hey, Jimmy Clay,” I say, my disdain beaming through clenched lips.
“Do I know you?”
“Not exactly.” I turn around, leaving him behind.
Ding! Ding! Ding! I fumble to the side, tripping over the carefully placed feet of a clown doing clown things in front of a crowd of children. The clown stares at me as I recover. The parents of the children do the same. Everybody knows I’m fucked up.
Ding! Ding! Ding! A man pulls a hammer up over his shoulder, boasting in sheer pride at the strength of his swing.
“Douchebag,” I whisper under my breath.
Or so I thought.
He turns and stares me down. Everybody is staring at me. I cut through the grass and stumble through the line for the tea cups and right into the short line for the Ferris wheel. Of course it’s a short line. The majority of people, even in this town, are smart enough to avoid this terrifying death trap.
It wasn’t intentional, my landing here, but I figure it’s my best chance to find Blue in this suffocating mess. My eyes are racing as I wait for the line to move. When it finally does, I’m about ten feet too slow and have to jog to the gate before it shuts.
A cute carnie—yes, there’s more than one—ushers me into my seat. My heart is pounding before the ride even begins. I expect that once it starts, it’ll beat right out of my chest. It won’t be the way I had always imagined dying on this ride, but it’s death, just the same.
Instead of intense terror, I feel peace. The way the cool wind blows softly against my skin comforts me. Up here, the paranoia that the entire world is watching me fades away. Instead, I watch them. Thousands of ants all biting on the same spilled bag of cotton candy. I feel for them, all searching for something they’ll never find.
I need to find Blue.
An eruption of red, white, and blue fireworks glows against my face. Always patriotic and almost never the Fourth of July. As the ride cycles closer to the ground, my eyes are drawn to him like magne
ts that are drawn together in science class.
I’ve found Blue. He’s walking toward the field, probably going to his Jeep. He’s ready to leave without me.
“Blue!” I scream, but I’m overpowered by another burst of neon explosions in the sky. He turns his head toward the fireworks and watches them fall back to earth as he continues to walk. I scream for him again, but he turns his head back around.
The six-shot revolver of death comes to a sudden halt. I’m close to the bottom, but not close enough to jump.
“Hey,” I yell to the carnie, waving my hands at him.
He looks up to me and tips his hat backward so he can make eye contact. “Need off?”
I nod my head. He smiles at the carnie who operates the ride, and the ride starts up again. I don’t have the three minutes this ride will steal from me if I’m forced to go again. I resolve to jump out, but wait until I’m closer to the ground. When that time comes, I stand up and steady myself against the bars, ready to jump. The seat wavers back and forth, and even though I’m only about ten feet from the ground, I can feel the tidal waves in my stomach.
The ride jerks hard and I fall back into my seat. The carnie looks up to me, screaming, “Are you stupid?”
“No,” I say and hop over the bar and onto the platform. “I’m in love.”
He’s not amused and waves me off. “Get outta here!”
And I’m gone.
I’ve lost Blue, but I know where he’s heading. I squeeze through the impossibly small cracks that separate one person from the next, bumping into countless strangers, and not caring. The fireworks have now come to a stop and there is an excitement in the air. The grand finale is about to start.
Through the sea of blank figures, I see an opening into a clearing. I push through and exit the crowd, immediately heaving in the sudden abundance of air. I see Blue sitting on a park bench in front of an empty horse barn. Miraculously, I was able to catch up to him. Just a few more deep breaths, and then I will launch myself toward him. I’ll jump in his arms, he’ll embrace me and—
My eyes shoot toward the sky—a thousand supernovas exploding all at once. The creation of an entire new galaxy emerging before my eyes. The Milky Way has nothing on this new world of neon lights. One after another, the beautiful formation of new worlds.
A hand clasps around my mouth and pulls me backward. I taste gasoline. I punch my elbow backward, connecting with a thick sheet of air. My screams are muffled, not that anyone could hear me over the big bang anyway. I throw another jab and miss again. Please let my assailant have a dick—my next move basically depends on it.
I throw my foot back and upward, kicking my assailant in the groin. His hand falls away from my mouth and I feel him stumble back. I spin around to face him.
It’s Rake.
He’s got one hand on his dick, the other one firmly ready to knock me in my face. He grimaces. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m all out of cash.”
Not my smartest moment. Typical Charlie behavior, running my mouth when I should be running. Do the smart thing.
I remember that Blue is less than a hundred feet away. I pivot and race toward him. Rake gives chase and even with an injured reproductive system, it’s clear he’s going to catch me.
Somewhere I wonder if someone is recording this. They’ll play it to an apathetic high school audience that watches in feigned horror as I’m brutally murdered by a psychotic drug dealer. In flashing red letters as the scene comes to a close, the screen will say Drugs Are Bad.
Real fucking bad. I look behind me and he’s within arm’s reach. The part of my brain that tells my body to run faster must be fried, because I physically cannot shift up. Do you ever feel like you’re always stuck in second gear? Well, try being stuck in first with Scarface on your tail.
If I’m going to get away, I’ll need a new strategy. I can’t outrun him, but I might be able to hide from him in a faceless crowd. Just have to get there first. Up ahead, there’s a crowd gathering around stuntmen on bikes that are set up inside a spherical cage.
I look behind me to gauge the probability of escape. The odds are directly related to the distance between us. Two feet? I’m fucked.
Out of nowhere, Rake is bull-rushed to the ground. Blue picks Rake up off the beaten grass, pulls back his elbow, and punches him in the face. Rake falters to the ground again. Blue drops himself onto Rake’s chest and begins hitting him with a barrage of fists.
It’s not the violence that turns me on, but the idea that I have my own personal superhero. I don’t fancy being the damsel in distress, but I could be saved by Blue every day.
In the near distance, crowds begin to part, and I can vaguely make out what appears to be cops hustling toward the scene. I dart to Blue, grabbing his arm as he’s about to land another punch. My eyes plead with him to stop. I see the struggle in the canvas of his face. He’s not done yet. He’s angry. His chest rises and drops. Ragged breaths force their way through his tight lips. He bites into them and nods at me. Rake certainly deserves what’s coming to him, but not here and not now.
Blue stands up and steps over Rake’s body. It looks like he’s about to kick him, but he just rushes to me and takes my hand. I take one last look at Rake, who is lying on the ground, covered in blood. He seems perfectly capable of taking care of himself—so why didn’t he fight back?
We exit the parking gate, head straight to Blue’s Jeep and drive away. Behind us, a stray firework screams into the sky, exploding in a cloud of white dust.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We opt to take the back way out of town, avoiding the highway. The headlights on Blue’s Jeep illuminate the dark path ahead of us. Dry, cracked pavement zooms past us. I imagine that every crack is another inch away from home. It’s exciting. It’s terrifying. It’s a lot of other things, too.
My head is slouched against the seat, turned so that I stare out the window. It’s been about two hours since we left the carnival, and I’ve turned off my phone. By now, my mom probably knows I’m long gone.
The Molly has started to wear off and the after-effects are strong. There’s a blankness in my mind. I’m unable to feel or process anything outside basic emotions. It’s liberating.
Blue has one hand on the wheel, the other firm on the gearshift. There are no stoplights for miles, but he’s always ready to shift.
“There should be a hotel up here soon,” he says through a yawn.
I look to him. “Do you want me to drive?”
He chuckles. “Seriously?”
“No,” I say with a smile.
If there is a hotel coming up soon, it won’t be the Hilton. A Red Roof Inn is probably asking too much on this desolate road that the world has long forgotten. There are no lights lining the edges of the road. It’s just trees, cornfields, and our love out here. It’s almost perfect.
I lower my head back toward the window. Headlights bounce against the passenger mirror and I snap awake, instantly becoming fully alert.
“Blue,” I say, not breaking my focus on the mirror. “Behind us.”
He cranes his head over his shoulder. His eyes focus on the speeding lights.
“Do you think—”
“That it’s Rake?” He finishes my question. “I don’t know.”
He reaches across my lap, his elbow brushing against the denim of my jeans. His hand feels for the glove-box and pops it open. He grabs something.
I can feel cool metal rubbing across me as he places a handgun onto his lap. My eyes widen.
“You have a gun?”
“What kind of self-respecting former drug dealer wouldn’t?”
Good point.
The car behind us gets closer and closer until the closer than they appear lights become blinding in the side mirrors. Blue squints, losing sight of the lines between lanes. His hand lowers to his gun, flipping the safety off.
I shake my head as his hand wraps around the grip of the gun. His fingers
follow suit.
Then it’s blue and red lights.
“Shit,” Blue cries. He’s probably worried about the gun on his lap, but something tells me it’s more than that. Like he has a trunk full of drugs, perhaps?
Then, the sirens wail. I take in a deep breath, prepared to meet our fate. But the cop car slides from behind, and into the oncoming lane. He speeds past us.
Blue throws his head back into the headrest and lets out a light laugh. So do I. We’re two paranoid motherfuckers.
I lean against the Jeep with my palms pressed against the warm hood. My body glows red from the neon Vacancy sign that sits atop the roof of the two-story motel. It was flashing No Vacancy when we first pulled in, but the light changed a few minutes after Blue stepped inside the motel office. I told Blue that we should keep driving because they didn’t have any rooms. He said he’s seen plenty of available rooms in not-so-available motels in his years on the road. And if there wasn’t a room, we could just sleep in the Jeep again.
We’ve done it before, but things were different then. There wasn’t a psychopath chasing us.
I bring my arms up to my chest, hugging myself tight as a cool gust of wind blows past me, tossing my hair into the neon red abyss of the night. In the past ten minutes, I have gone from being too hot to too cold too many times.
A bell rings and Blue pushes through the glass door of the office. He’s nonchalant as he opens the door of the Jeep and grabs the gun, placing it in the back of his jeans.
“I told you we’d get a room,” he says with a grin, then straightens out his shirt to conceal the gun.
“Whatever,” I say playfully.
He steps to the back of the Jeep, pivots on his feet, and tosses me the room key. I’m a klutz so of course it slips through my fingers. I lean down and grab the key. It has a big 21 etched into it, which means I’m going to get lucky. I think.
Blue slings his bag over his shoulder and grabs my bag with his free hand. “Ready?”
The room is dark, the only light coming from a buzzing fluorescent fixture that hangs over a vanity beside the bathroom door. The room is cold, not the temperature, but a general feeling. It’s definitely not home. It doesn’t even feel like a stop on the way.