Supernova

by Mia Rodriguez

Chapter 39: The Command

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Why should I care what you think?” roars the checkpoint guard. “You’re a nobody. Now, do as I say and get this crap off the truck!”

  Uh-oh! My slingshot feels ready for action in my fingers.

  “Off the truck!” the guard repeats.

  “What’s happening?” a female’s voice echoes from the back of the big rig, at the opening.

  “Ma’am,” the guard clears his throat, “I’m just taking care of things.”

  “P20, why is this vehicle not on the road yet?” The voice is getting closer as she steps on the ramp of the truck that Donny had slid out, and she moves towards him and the guard.

  “I was checking it, ma’am,” he says nervously.

  “For what?”

  “For whatever,” he answers, his tone shaky.

  “All I see is furniture—how about you?” snickers the ma’am.

  “I really think we should check every spot, ma’am. I told him to unload.”

  “Unload?” she asks incredulously.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s supposed to unload all these things by himself?”

  “Well . . . he—”

  “Were you going to help him?”

  “No, of course not,” the guard snaps, insulted but then he remembers who he’s speaking too. “I’m sure he’s strong enough to do it himself, ma’am.”

  “It’ll take him the whole night!” she retorts. “That is if he doesn’t break his back doing it!”

  “But it has to get done, ma’am.”

  “P20, didn’t you take a good look at the paperwork you took inside for me to check?

  “I did, ma’am.”

  “Did you see who this furniture is going to—who his boss is?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what?” she explodes. “You’ve been at this job for a week and you think you can do whatever you want?”

  “No . . . I . . . I—”

  “What kind of a fool are you!”

  “I’m not—”

  “Shut up!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the guard says dejectedly.

  “Now let’s get this truck on the road!” she commands. Quick steps move away from the filing cabinets that are in front of where Royce and I are huddled under the desk.

  “I’ll be on my way,” assures Donny, sounding like a mountain had been lifted off him.

  “Give your boss my regards.”

  “I will.”

  “And you P20, stop causing me so much heartburn!”

  A few short minutes later, we’re traveling again. My hand is cramping from having gripped my slingshot with such force.

  “Was she one of us?” I ask, neglecting to tell Royce who I’m talking about.

  “No,” he seems to know that I’m referring to the ma’am, “but she sure saved us just the same.”

  This time, it’s much more difficult to fall asleep. I try to return to the place of safety I was in before the checkpoint stop. It’s impossible. The illusion of security is completely shattered.

  When I finally enter a sleep state, my slumber is jerked around with disturbing dreams. The psycho colonel yells, “Whollopalooza!” as he points his military rifle at me. His raucous laughter explodes to the highest decibels when I grab my slingshot and it disintegrates in my hands.

  “Madrigal!”

  The voice is coming from outside my dreams.

  “Madrigal! Wake up!”

  I try to force myself to awaken but the more I attempt it, the more I’m stuck in my nightmares. Move any part of your body, I tell myself, but the struggle is too difficult.

  Wake up, Madrigal, Arthur implores in my mind.

  I can’t. I’m in an awful place!

  You can. Just calm down, he says soothingly. Ease up on yourself. Easy.

  Taking deep breaths in and out, I try to anesthetize myself. Calm down, I tell myself over and over again, imitating Arthur’s comforting tone.

  “You’re finally awake,” Royce murmurs with relief in his voice.

  My eyes try to focus. “Kind of.”

  He chuckles lightly. “I’ll take this kind of any time over the way you were a minute ago.” His voice turns serious. “I couldn’t wake you up.”

  “I know.”

  “I had to get inside your head.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It was scary in there, wasn’t it?” I murmur.

  “Psycho colonel is dead—he can’t hurt us anymore, Madrigal.”

  “For some reason, his dementia stuck in my mind.”

  Royce gently strokes the side of my face. “We’re fine, Madrigal.”

  “For the moment,” I blurt.

  “Let’s just concentrate on this moment—this moment when we’re together. What do you say?”

  “I’ll try.”

  He nods. “Great.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s have a talk,” he states, his voice trying to lighten up.

  “What do we talk about?”

  “Tell me about your parents,” he says.

  “I don’t want to talk about them,” I blurt with more sharpness than I had intended.

  “I don’t mean your fake parents. Tell me about your real ones.”

  “You really want to hear this?”

  He smiles softly. “Definitely.”

  “Okay,” I chuckle. “I’m about to unload a whole bunch of memories that can only be interesting to the person they happened to. You asked for it.”

  “I did.”

  “You’re probably trying to get my mind off my nightmares, right?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Yes and no?”

  “Yes, I want you to put your mind somewhere else but no, that’s not the only reason I want you to tell me about your parents. I really want to know about them.”

  “Why?”

  He rolls his eyes as if I asked a silly question. “You were glad when Peter was okay because of how I felt about it, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, I want to hear about your real parents because of your feelings. Is that okay with you?” His eyes flicker and his lips curl, daring me to say it isn’t.

  “Sorry if I’m being thorny,” I express with sincerity. “I’m very possessive about my memories now that I’ve been able to get them back.”

  “I understand.”

  “To be honest, I’d love to share them with someone.”

  “Share them with me.”

  “Okay,” I say, my lips starting to curve upward.

  “Tell me about your real parents.”

  I grin broadly, a gesture that automatically comes when I’m thinking of them. “They were awesome.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “My dad always talked about righting the wrongs in this world.”

  “And your mom?”

  “My mom had a heart of gold,” I explain.

  “She was a caring person?”

  “She’d always be helping people.”

  “That’s really great.”

  “Unfortunately, people were always stuck on her looks.”

  “Her looks?”

  “My mother was mega-beautiful.”

  “I bet,” he says, his eyes sweeping over me.

  “You don’t understand. When I say beautiful, I mean she was one of those people you stop to stare at on the street or wherever.”

  “Oh,” he says, grinning widely at me.

  “She was really, really beautiful.”

  “I get it,” he asserts, his voice sure of itself as he carefully eyes me.

  “The times I had with her were sometimes freaky.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’d go places and people would drop what they were doing and gaze at her,” I explain. “You probably think I’m exaggerating.”

  His thumb lightly slides
down the right side of my face. “I’m sure you’re not exaggerating at all—not even one little bit.”

  “People would think she was stuck up because of how she looked, but then they found out that she was even a greater person on the inside than the outside.”

  His thumb leaves my skin and goes to my lips and outlines them with feathery strokes. “It can take people a while to see into hearts.”

  “My parents had the best of hearts.”

  “So did mine,” he mentions quietly.

  What a jerk I’ve been, I realize. I had been going on and on about my parents without having asked him even once about his. They had died young like mine.

  “I’m so sorry,” I rush. “I’ve been so selfish and inconsiderate. Tell me about your parents.”

  “I didn’t mention them so we could talk about them,” he murmurs as he takes my hands in his. “We were talking about you and not me.”

  “I don’t want to talk about myself anymore. I want to hear about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” I declare.

  “What about me?”

  “Let’s start with your parents,” I state. “Tell me about them.”

  “They were hardworking, great people,” he says solemnly.

  The stinging hurt in his voice convinces me to change the subject. “Tell me about your grandparents.”

  A shiny glint comes to his eyes. “You’d love them.”

  “I would?”

  “They loved me, nurtured me, and cared for me—everything you could ask for.”

  “That’s awesome,” I comment, smiling.

  His index finger leaves my hair, and he rubs his thumb on my cheek. “Your fake parents didn’t do any of that, did they?”

  “The past is the past, right?” I try to take the growl out of my voice.

  "Unfortunately, the past stays inside of you."

  "We'll, I'm excited about my future."

  "I promise you that from now on you'll get lots of affection."

  "I will?" I ask, beaming a smile.

  "Lots of warmth."

  "Great!"

  "Lot's of caring."

  "Is that a promise?"

  He eyes me intently. I promise I'll do everything I can so you won't ever lack for love. Madrigal, I don’t care if I have to climb mountains, fight monsters, or scale tornadoes. I'll risk it all so that you're where you need to be."

  "As long as you're with me, I feel I'm where I'm supposed to be," I murmur.

  "Madrigal . . ." He can't seem to finish what he started to say.

  "Sorry," I rush in, "I didn't mean to be mushy. I--"

  "Shush," he says putting his finger on my lips.

  "It's just that--"

  "Don't ruin the moment."

  "Okay."

  After that conversation, I drift off into a deep sleep—this one without psycho creatures or other nightmares. Just a peaceful slumber.

  Another vision!

  Jarring me awake, the terrible scene in my head clutches me with long, twisted fingers. I try to catch my breath as I relive the horrible vision in my head. It can’t be true, I tell myself. No way!

  It had to be another nightmare!

  “It wasn’t,” Royce blurts. With the upheaval in my head, I hadn’t noticed him having been in there.

  “But—”

  “It was real.”

  “It couldn’t have been.”

  “We have to act quickly!” he states in a rush.

  “No!”

  “Madrigal, we have to!”

  “No!”

  He starts getting nearer, closing in on me. “Madrigal—”

  I shove his arms away. “Get away from me!”

  “Don’t fight me.”

  “Don’t do this!”

  “I have to.”

  I throw out fierce punches. “Get away!”

  “Stop fighting me,” he snaps angrily, grabbing my hands.

  I kick and shove with all of my strength, fighting him with all the ferociousness I can conjure.

  “Get away!” I repeat.

  “We don’t have much time!”

  “Then stay away from me!”

  “You know I’m not going to.”

  “I’m ordering you to!” I demand.

  “Forget it!”

  Managing to finally subjugate me, he abruptly crushes his body to mine as he lies on top of me. I can barely breathe as I keep struggling to escape him.

  “It has to be this way,” he murmurs.

  “If you die . . .” I can’t finish the sentence—my throat is too choked up.

  “I promised I’d do anything for you. I meant it.”

  “Not this, Royce! Not this!”

  “Especially this.”

  When we hear a colossal popping sound coming from the outside and the semi-truck starts jackknifing on the road, I keep trying to shove Royce off me but he refuses to let me go. Sacrificing his life for mine, he stays firm.

  He’s too willful and tough.

  All that’s left for me to do is hold on tightly to him. It may be the last time I see him alive. Ending my fight, I put my head over his heart. His heartbeat is fast and strong, and I cling fiercely to it.

  As the 18 wheeler rolls over, I bump my head and lose consciousness.