Summertime Sadness

by Dylan Heart

  Blue turns his attention back to the psychopath on the other side of the door. “Come on, man. I thought we were past that.”

  “I don’t know, Blue. I think you’ll always be Babyface to me.”

  I’ve had enough. “All right, seriously, why the hell is he calling you Babyface?” I ask louder than I intended.

  Rake laughs. “He didn’t tell you?” He clicks his tongue. “Makes you wonder what else he’s hiding, huh?”

  “All right, where’s the gun? I’m going to shoot him,” I say. Again, louder than intended.

  “That’s how we’re going to play?”

  And then there’s a worrying silence. The door that was pinned tight by Rake’s body is now quivering against the deadbolt.

  Then Rake’s body slams against the door.

  “Let me the fuck in!” he screams. The full weight of his body is hurled toward the door again.

  Blue dives across me, his hand scooping the gun off the bed, cocking it in the same beat. He angles the gun toward the door while looking at me. “You need to go, Charlie. Sneak out the bathroom window and wait by the Jeep.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” I shake my head.

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  My eyes bulge. “Don’t you know those are the famous last words of every dead person, ever?”

  “What are you lovers talking about in there?” Rake asks amusedly through the door.

  “Go,” Blue commands, then leans in, kissing me. My hand rubs across his soft cheek as I pull away and grab the keys off the table. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You better be.” I rush into the bathroom and climb over the stained tub. The small window, big enough for me but probably not for Blue, takes force to push open. I pop my head out the window. The ground’s not that far down. But for me, someone who is terrified of heights, not that far is far enough. I don’t fancy the idea of jumping. Especially head first.

  I turn and stand on my hands, pushing my legs backward through the window. I slowly lower myself against the rough exterior, until all that’s left inside the room are my head and my arms glued tightly to the window sill. One more look down and I gauge it’s about an eight-foot drop. There’s no rational reason this should scare me as much as it does.

  I hear the door break open. “Put your gun down!”

  I try to pull myself back into the window. God knows why. It’s not like I could actually do anything to help Blue. Then there’s gunfire and my vision goes black. I lose my grip and drop to the ground, landing squarely on my feet. “Blue!” I scream.

  My feet pound against the grass as I circle the back of the motel, racing toward the front. My bare feet press against the cool grating of the metal steps. Once I reach the top of the stairs, I trace my palm against the railing as I carefully pace toward our motel room. I’m half terrified that I’ll find Blue dead, equally scared that Rake will be lying on the floor. The two scenarios mean two different things, but both mean that Blue’s life has come to an end—either figuratively or literally.

  I pass room 24. With every foot closer to our room, the worry in my gut escalates. I’m sure everyone in this motel, out here in the middle of nowhere, heard the gunshot. The police will be here whenever they can manage. My guess is that the nearest police station is at least twenty minutes away. I’m worried about what they’ll find almost more than what I will.

  Room 23. If there’s an argument, a fight, or fists being thrown, I think I’d be able to hear it. But all I hear is silence. It’s time to start thinking about best-case scenarios. Otherwise, I might just fold over the railing and puke.

  Room 22. The only thing I hear is the buzzing white noise of a tenant tuned into a porn station with a bad signal. That’s what you get when you don’t pay extra for cable, though I’m pretty sure that’s not an advertised amenity.

  The edge of room 21. I hesitate, my feet pushed tight against the floor. I search for the deepest of breaths from the furthest reaches of my lungs. My head begins to spin as I lurch forward to the opening of the door.

  “Blue!” He’s lying face down on the floor with his arms sprawled out above his head. I shift to run toward him, but a rough hand wraps around my mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  BLUE

  My body’s heavy and drenched in sweat as I awake on the warm floor of room 21. I take in my surroundings, briefly wondering how I got here before it all comes flooding back to me. I jump to my feet, catching my reflection in the mirror. I’ve got two black eyes now. One from my cousin and the other from the man with a death wish.

  Can I be that person again? That person I’ve fought so hard not to be. It doesn’t matter, I guess. He’s left me with no other options. The only thing left is to put a bullet through his head, similar to the bullet I shot through his heart when I took the blame for Trey’s death. Quickly, I scramble for my gun on the floor, slip it into the back of my jeans, and bolt out the door.

  Running alongside the rails, I search for Charlie, hoping she found a way to elude Rake. I know the odds that this night ends in any sort of happy ending are slim, but I’ll fight until my last breath, even if it means doing the unthinkable.

  Through the glass door of the office, I see the manager on the phone. The same middle-aged man who I’d convinced to give me a room just a few short hours ago. The phone he holds in his hand is an outdated cordless relic from the nineties.

  I storm through the door and he fumbles in his seat, pulling back from me as I reach the counter. “He’s here,” he says quietly into the phone. His face is sunken, a look of terror. “The police are on their way.”

  “Good,” I say through clenched teeth. “Tell them to bring backup.”

  He stutters, having no idea what’s happened. He probably believes I’m the bad guy and maybe he’s right. I spot a cell phone on the counter. It’s a flip phone so my best guess is that it’s the manager’s. I scoop it off the counter, and pivot, rushing out the front door.

  “He said to bring backup,” I hear the man say. “Also, he just took my phone.”

  I flip the phone open and dial 911, prepared to speak to the police on my own, knowing that even if I manage to save Charlie, I could be hauled to jail in the back of a cruiser right after. She’s worth it. She’s worth everything, and I’d do anything to save her, the only good thing to ever happen to me. I’ve let her down, and she probably would’ve been better off without me.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  I spot my keys lying in the gravel. “My girlfriend has been kidnapped.” I pop the Jeep door open and hop in, turning the ignition and slamming the gas all in one beat. The tires kick rocks into the sky as I race toward the road. The operator begins to speak, but I cut her off. “Can you track this phone?”

  “Yes we can, but, sir—”

  “Track it. I’ll call you back.” I flip the phone shut then open it again, dialing Cookie’s number from memory. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s answered his phone in less than three rings. Whether he’s working or not, he’s got one palm pressed to that damn iPhone at any time. So when call goes to his voicemail after the first ring, I grow concerned.

  I slam the phone shut. My jaw tenses, my teeth digging into my tongue. “Fuck,” I scream and punch the dashboard. There’s only one other person I could call–other than Charlie, but I don’t have her number memorized. I dial my dad’s number, remembering that Charlie said something about sneaking into his camper. Maybe in some fucked-up way he knows what Rake plans to do.

  I call about four times before realizing I’m not going to reach him and that I’m out here on my own. The speedometer rises, the pointed line speeding above eighty.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  CHARLIE

  I’m about eight years old. It’s a sunny morning, closer to the end of the school year than the beginning. I sit at a table in the breakfast nook, my head barely hovering over the top as I play with the letters in my cereal.

  “W
hat do you want to be when you grow up?” my dad asks, folding his newspaper against the table.

  I shrug, far more interested in spelling the name of my favorite imaginary friend against the canvas of milk in my bowl.

  “Charlie,” my mom presses on. “It’s When I’m Grown Up day at school today.”

  My head rises. “I wanna be happy,” I say with a wide, innocent smile. I’m missing my two front teeth, but I’m too young to care.

  “Happiness is a given in life,” my dad says. “So what do you really want to do when you’re older?”

  My lips fold against each other, uncertain of an answer. “Why can’t I just be happy?”

  Mom smiles, glowing with pride and youth. She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “You can be whatever you want.”

  “Being happy isn’t a job,” my dad grumbles. “How about a lawyer?”

  I shake my head. “They lie too much.”

  Mom and Dad both laugh, knowing from experience that it’s the complete truth. I laugh along with them, but I still have a childish cackle.

  “What about a doctor, then? You could afford anything you want. A nice car and a nice house.”

  “Dad,” I say. “Those things don’t make you happy.”

  “Then I don’t know what does.” He laughs again and I go along with it, but even at a young age, I know money’s not the answer to life–and definitely not happiness.

  “The only thing I’ll ever need is to be loved,” I say, bowing my head toward my cereal, where I’ve managed to spell the word someday.

  The miles fly by with nobody in sight. I’m within elbow’s distance of this madman who’s kidnapped me and there’s nothing within my own power I can do to save myself. I never could have predicted the events of this past month, but what’s happening now is ripped straight from the pages of a horror novel. “Did you kill him?” I ask Rake softly, terrified of the answer.

  He turns to me, his face haunted with restrained glee. “Uncertainty is a terrible feeling.”

  I shift in my seat, scooting closer to the door. The farther away from him the better.

  “You have any idea how long I waited?” he asks, his eyes now focused intently on the road ahead, seemingly lost in another world. “Not knowing where Trey was, wondering if he was lying dead in some ditch or just out on one of his spontaneous adventures.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s true. I empathize with him to a point, but I’m under no illusion that he’s anything other than what he is—a villain.

  “No, you’re not.” He shakes his head. “Lying won’t save you and it won’t save your boyfriend.”

  I perk up, my body rising up against the torn leather seat. “So he’s still alive?”

  “Before the end of the night, he’ll wish he wasn’t.”

  “What are you going to do to him?”

  With one hand glued to the wheel, he cranes toward me with a bent face, lost somewhere between a frown and a sinister smile. “It’s not him you should be worried about.”

  If this were a movie, sinister music would kick in right about now. My hand searches for the door handle. We’re going about sixty miles an hour down this back road and I know the odds of survival if I should jump out are not good, but I can’t help thinking it’d be a better fate than what Rake has in mind.

  His tongue clicks against his cheek. “That door doesn’t open from the inside.”

  When you’re eleven years old, you think you know the world inside out. Like you could grab the universe out of your washer and hang it out to dry. Dillon, his plaid shirt, and I hide behind a thick green bush. The rest of our friends have been found in this hours-long scrimmage of high-stakes hide and seek.

  Joey’s house is big and the property it sits on is even bigger. A pilgrim probably walked this land once and came to the conclusion that the world is flat. Dillon and I are huddled together, on the verge of a years-long relationship.

  He peers through the bush, searching for our friends, who are looking for us. They’re devoted to the cause because once this game’s over, we move on to the next—a rousing game of spin the bottle. I’m surprised Dillon hasn’t given away our position because I know there’s nothing he wants more right now than to kiss me. My hand brushes against his. I’m not going to lie—it was intentional.

  His eyes turn to me. His fingers tangle with mine. “What are we doing?” he whispers.

  I sway on my feet, bold enough to make the first move, but not bold enough to say it aloud.

  “You like me, huh?”

  I shrug, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I’ve loved him since I was five, but I’ve only recently became immune to the paralyzing fear of cooties.

  He leans forward, his lips puckered as he pecks me on the lips. My eyes close at his touch, held tight until he pulls away and grabs both my hands. “We should get married,” he says.

  My feet dig into the dirt, my heels pushing me higher.

  “Found you,” Joey screams as he dives through the bush, landing squarely on the ground between Dillon and me.

  Dillon grabs my hand and drags me away from our attacker. As we run by the line of bushes and toward the barn behind Joey’s house, Summer and Tyson spot us and immediately give chase. Dillon pulls me into the barn and grabs the door handle, prepared to push it shut. He grunts, but the door is too heavy for his young body to move by himself, so I give him a helping hand. We push the door shut just as Summer comes within tagging distance. We both lean against the door, out of breath.

  “You know they’ll get in here soon, right?”

  “I know,” he breathes. “I just wanted you alone for a few more minutes.”

  “My own personal hero.”

  He steps closer, but keeps his hands to himself. “I’ll always protect you.”

  “Blue’s dad tried paying me off. Five thousand blood-soaked dollars. Is that how much Trey’s life was worth?” Rake shakes his head viciously. “I took the envelope with my name on it and then saw one with Blue’s. You know how much cash was in his?”

  I don’t nod or reply in any intelligible manner because I don’t care. This man has intentions to hurt me or kill me and nothing he says is going to change that. Nothing I say will change that. I’m out of options and I can feel the clock ticking in slow motion. The hour glass has been flipped and I’m running out of time.

  “Ten thousand,” he continues. “Isn’t that something? So I took his, too.”

  “He let you take the money?”

  “Of course not.” He grins wickedly, the edges of his lips able to cut through glass. “I killed him.”

  “Wha—?” I stutter, unable to form complete sentences. My lip trembles at the realization that he’s more dangerous–and crazy–than I’d realized.

  “Don’t cry for him.” His voice vibrates, and I can feel his pitch shifting up. “Don’t feel sorry for him, Charlie. He was a terrible father,” he snarls. I jerk back, away from him, and fumble for the handle again, remembering full well that the door won’t open. “Do you ever wonder why Blue is so fucked up? Why he turned out to be the way he is?”

  “You’re full of shit,” I mumble.

  “How does a pretty girl like you fall in love with a fugitive, anyway?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make any sense to me. Sounds more like fiction.”

  “I don’t imagine you’re well-read.”

  “Now I see it.” He shifts his focus to me. “You’re a smartass, but you’re not smart enough to know when to keep your mouth shut. This isn’t the place, it isn’t the time, and I am not the one, Charlie.” His entire face tightens. I’ve made him very angry. Regret settles in my stomach instantly. “I am not the one you want to fuck with.”

  “You said ‘fugitive’?” I ask, a few minutes late on the uptake, but needing to change the course of the conversation.

  “Hmm,” he muses aloud. “I think, before I put a bullet through your brain, you should really have a conversation with your boyfriend about honesty.�
��

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What’s not to believe, honey? You obviously know what he’s done. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have left your perfect little life behind.”

  I turn away, glancing at my reflection in the window.

  “Not that I have too much room to talk,” he says with a tilt of his head. “I’m a fugitive myself.”

  “Really? I never would have guessed.” What the hell is wrong with me?

  “That’s sarcasm again.” He shakes a finger at me and grins. “Didn’t I tell you that I am not the one?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him coming but I can’t pull away quickly enough. He backhands me across the cheek, twisting my face so I’m left staring out the window—waiting to be saved or waiting for my life to end. The difference between the two begins to blur.

  Waves rush against my calves as I exit the warm blue waters of the Gulf. I take a seat on a faded beach towel right beside Summer, who is two shots away from a daytime hangover. Out at sea, Joey fumbles for a lost volleyball while he screams, “Wilson!”

  “He’s such an idiot,” Summer huffs. “But he’s our idiot and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I don’t know. I think I’d prefer if he were just a little smarter.”

  She sits up on her towel, pushing her shades to the top of her head. “I’ve got a theory,” she says. “He’s kind of like a dumb bimbo who isn’t so dumb. It’s all an act.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had a degree in psychology.”

  “Not yet, but I’m well on my way.” She lowers herself onto an elbow. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life?”

  “Do you have to put it that way? It sounds so terrifying.”

  She shrugs. “That’s the three T’s of life; terrifying, traumatizing and...”

  “Triumphant?”

  “I was going to say terrifying again.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. She’s not the biggest pessimist in the world, but she sure sounds like it. “I think I’m just going to file my major as undeclared.”