Come to Me Quietly

Jared loosened the binding so at least it wouldn’t rub.

“You know that’s not what I’m concerned about,” Joe said.

Humorless laughter freed itself from Jared’s blackened spirit, from the deepest recess where his corruption lay. “You don’t need to worry about me, old man. I’m going exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Standing, Jared dug the car keys from Joe’s pocket and fled into the garage. He smacked his palm against the garage door opener. The door slowly lifted just as Jared slid into the driver’s seat of the oversized four-door sedan. He tossed his backpack to the passenger’s seat and tucked the gun underneath it.

Nausea slammed him the second he was behind the wheel. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he floundered with the keys. Finally he managed to slip the key into the ignition. He turned it over, threw it in reverse, and gu

He just had to get out of this neighborhood. Away from the memories. Away from everything that mattered.

He didn’t want to do this here.

But those memories chased him, tormented him as he aimlessly roamed the streets. Where the fuck was he supposed to go? Scrubbing his hand over his face, Jared tried to wake himself up, to focus, to see through the permanent daze that had taken him hostage.

For hours he drove as the anxiety ratcheted high, lifted, and spun. Paranoia was setting in. Soon they’d come looking for him, and he had to get this done. His eyes traveled the streets, searching for a place to hide, but nothing felt right. A choked cry locked in his throat when he realized he was circling back around to the neighborhood. Fucking drawn. Hysterical laughter rocketed from his mouth. Was this some kind of cruel, sick joke?

He avoided the intersection because he just couldn’t go there. He made a U-turn and then a quick right onto the street bordering the neighborhood. Jared cut left across the street. The car bounced and jerked as he forced it up over the curb, the tires spi

He’d loved it here. Now he’d destroy it, like he destroyed everything.

Out in the middle of the field, he killed the engine. It ticked and the fan hummed. Jared flipped off the headlights.

For a few minutes – or maybe hours – he sat in the dark, shaking, rocking.

Thrashing through the anxiety, he groped for the overhead light. A faint glow crept into the car. He just needed one hit and then he could do this. Jared dug in his bag, drained half the bottle of whiskey to get him to the place where he could get up the nerve, swallowed down five pills when that wasn’t enough.

He hated this. Hated it.

The spoon and the needle and the bag.

But it was all he had.

He found his lighter and balled up the tiny piece of cotton between his fingers. Jared swam. His head was spi

Jared sagged against the seat, limp, and for a few seconds, he let it go.

But it never lasted long, and he was just so tired… but his mind wouldn’t stop working. He could hear his mom crying, fucking begging in the bowels of his brain.

He grabbed the gun from under his bag and rammed it in his mouth. His teeth scraped metal, the sound grinding in his ears and grating through his bones. Sweat coated his forehead, slipped down the back of his neck.

I can do this.

His finger trembled on the trigger.

It hurt. It hurt. And he was so scared.

Jared jerked the gun from his mouth and slammed his head back on the headrest. “Fuck,” he cried.

He lifted it to his temple, forcing his finger back on the trigger. He squeezed his eyes shut, begging for her. “Mom… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.” His hand was shaking. Shaking.

Jared couldn’t fucking stop shaking.

Another handful of pills, the rest of the bottle – numbness and fire and helplessness – it sloshed on his shirt as he drained the last.

He could do this.

But he wanted to see her face one more time.

Numbness weighed him down as he rooted through his bag. He swayed to the left. Shit. Maybe he’d taken too much. But it was okay… it was okay… he could do it. He could do it for her.

He finally found his book in his backpack. Words filled the entirety of the worn journal, his hate and his shame. Snapshots of a perfect life were stowed between the vile pages. He thumbed through to the front, where he kept her picture and lifted it to find the tenderness glowing on her face.

He’d never see her again.

Lifting his lighter, he flicked it and watched as the picture caught fire. She melted before him, disappeared, just like she’d done when he stole her life.

He was just so fucking tired. Tired of it all. Sleep flitted at the edges of his consciousness. He rammed his forehead on the steering wheel, palming the butt of the gun.

He could do this.

First, he wanted to watch it burn. He set the gun on his lap, flicked his lighter, and let the flame leap and dance along the bottom of the journal. He held it in his hand, felt the heat on his face. Felt nothing. Felt it all.

Flames engulfed the cab and he was drowning.

Falling.

Suffocating.

The bullet wasn’t necessary after all.

He whispered, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

Maybe now he’d make it right.

Someone was screaming, the voice piercing through his surrender. Jared just wanted to sleep. Hands searched the fire. Dragging. Pulling. Begging.

Air.

Fists pounded on his chest.

Everything burned, his lungs and his skin.

Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I love you. Jared, stay. Please. Stay.

Vomit pooled and gushed from his mouth.

The voice pled, promising him that it would be okay.

Sirens blared and she was gone.

Blackness closed in.

And Jared knew it would never be.

TWENTY-SIX

Jared

Oh, shit.

I hunched over, gripping my stomach. I tripped over the emotion cutting me thin. Realization slammed into me, spi

It was her.

I lifted my face to the cool night sky as the memory that had been locked up somewhere in my mind burst free.

It was her.

The world spun as my reality shifted. For years, I’d cursed this fate, hating the life sentence I’d been given. I’d always thought I’d lived as a punishment. An upheaval of questions pitched through my brain, all these voices shouting at me, because I was no longer sure surviving that night had been a penalty.

Nothing made any sense… except that it was her.

Aly.

I sprinted back across the lot and jumped the fence. Three seconds later, I had my bike on the street.

Hours had passed, time lost in the period that my truth was found. Night had grown deep, and the traffic had long since cleared. I raced because I couldn’t fucking stand the distance I’d wedged between us.

I was done hurting her.

When I’d woken up in the hospital all those years ago, I was so pissed off knowing I had failed. The nurse had told me I was lucky that I somehow got out of that car when I did. I hadn’t been lucky. I’d known then that fate had intervened. But not in the way I ever imagined.

It was her.

I flew down the streets, my nerves ratcheting higher with every mile I put under me. When I finally got to the complex, it was quiet as I eased my bike through the gate and parked in the spot that I somehow thought of as my own. I bounded up the stairs and produced the key Christopher had trusted me with so many months ago. Fumbling, I slipped it into the lock. I didn’t bother to knock. One way or another, I had to get to her.