by Brook Wilder
“Get em, get em!” Prescott yelled, and, realizing there were still a couple of cop cars behind him, cursed under his breath. “What do they want? The coast is clear!” he said, nodding towards Simon’s car.
Oh, Simon, you must be losing your mind right now, Prescott thought, his lips curving to a smile. But he knew Della wouldn’t be able to handle Simon’s driving. Fuck, man, she’s pregnant, she won’t be able to handle this, Prescott thought. He was growing worried again. What about the baby? Was Della tossing and turning at the back of Simon’s car right now? Or had he locked her up in the trunk? No, the trunk was too small, or was it? The chase was too aggressive for a pregnant woman to handle. It was just too much, and Prescott was determined to end this.
Suddenly, Prescott heard a loud squealing sound, and he felt his heart about to pop out of his chest as one of the police cars drifted and cut him off.
“Fuck!” Prescott yelled, braking suddenly. He stopped just before he could crash into the police car, his eyes growing wide as two police officers popped their car doors open and charged towards him.
“Get on the ground!” one of them yelled, reaching out and grabbing Prescott by the collar. He threw his hands up in the air, eyeing them as he got down on his knees and then spread out on the floor. He couldn’t believe this. The police had the wrong guy. But they had to take measures to catch whoever was responsible for all of this, even if it meant interrogating the man who would give anything to save his girlfriend’s life. Prescott had his gun in his pocket, and he knew the police would confiscate it.
“Get down!” the other officer said, handcuffing Prescott. He clenched his eyes, struggling a little before he decided to just settle down completely.
Well, that was unnecessary, Prescott thought to himself. I’m already lying flat on the ground in front of you.
Prescott wasn’t really a fan of cops, and, judging by his jacket with the Hell’s Reavers logo on it, the police knew he wasn’t the guy to mess with. He knew they were just doing their job, though, and that all of this could be sorted out pretty quickly if they just listened to him.
But suddenly, Prescott saw a pair of feet step out of the cop car.
No, it couldn’t be.
It was Kate.
“Kate, Kate!” Prescott yelled, wiggling like a worm. Kate ran to him, followed by one of the cops from the other car. Prescott could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He couldn’t believe he was seeing her in front of him. “So you were inside that car all along?” he asked, raising his eyes to her.
Kate started sobbing. She was desperate. And Prescott looked back at her, tears gathering in his eyes. The two of them were working towards the same purpose, and that was to find their best friend. The two of them looked at each other long enough for the cops to recognize that Prescott wasn’t the bad guy here, but they weren’t going to let him go that easily. One of the officers was standing over him, making sure he didn’t try anything funny. But he wasn’t going to, anyway. He had come too far to do something stupid now. If the cops wanted to arrest him, then he was going to play along, just as long as he knew Della was safe. Kate just stood there, trembling in her place, trying to absorb what was happening around her. She had gone through so much, a part of her felt like she couldn’t handle any more plot twists. She wanted to go home, and she wanted to go home now. She didn’t want anyone to interrogate him, she just wanted the cops to go after the real criminal here. She was tired.
“Hey,” she said suddenly, walking to Prescott. “Let him go, he’s not the guy you’re looking for.”
There was a silence. The officers were looking at each other, their eyes darting back and forth hesitantly.
“Ma’am, we’re going to need to pull him in for questioning,” one officer said, peering at Kate above the rim of his glasses.
Kate could feel her heart sink. She just wanted this to be over, she just wanted to get her best friend back. Was that too much to ask?
“He’s not the bad guy here!” she said suddenly. “Simon’s the one who took Della, he’s the guy you’re looking for and he’s driving that maroon car right now,” she continued. The officers continued to give each other weird looks, like they were uncertain about Kate, and the more they gawked at each other, the angrier she got. “Please!” she yelled. “Prescott is Della’s boyfriend, the two of us have been trying to get to Della this entire time!”
“Ma’am, we’re just doing our job…We caught him chasing after a car with our primary suspect in it, it’s only normal that we conduct further investigations,” the officer who was standing over Prescott said, gawking at Kate through his reflective glasses. She couldn’t see his eyes but she could tell he was looking at her with disgust.
Kate couldn’t handle it anymore. She walked closer to the police officer, staring directly at him, and she just stood there, her face inches from his.
“You’re wasting time,” she breathed. “While you’re here trying to question her boyfriend, the man who’s trying to save her, Simon, the real criminal here is on the loose!” she continued, stomping her foot.
“There are cars chasing him, it’s not like we let him go,” the man said, raising an eyebrow at Kate, who was now furious.
“But there aren’t enough cars!” she snapped. “You’re wasting your time questioning us, questioning him,” she said, pointing to Prescott, who nodded at her. “Please, please just gather your powers and go after your target, don’t compromise our chances of saving this woman,” she continued, wiping the tears from her eyes.
The men looked at each other, one of them shaking his head frantically.
“Are you saying we don’t know how to do our jobs?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m going to need you to calm down. You could be held accountable for those words coming out of your mouth, you know,” he said, with a menacing look on his face.
Kate felt her heart sink. At that point, she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t used to dealing with cops, but Prescott was.
“Della’s pregnant,” he said suddenly.
The four cops looked at him, shaking their heads collectively and continuing to gawk at each other. Kate thought that maybe they had some sort of secret language where they communicated through looks.
“Well?” she asked, staring at them.
“This is Paisley, come in, come in,” one of them said, talking into his walkie talkie. “Pregnant woman in kidnapper’s car, I repeat, pregnant woman in kidnapper’s car. Stop that car right now, I repeat, stop it right now.”
Kate and Prescott exchanged looks while the police officers urged the rest of their team to catch up to Simon. Kate was hopeful again. She thought that maybe the cops would step on it this time and stop Simon the same way they did Prescott. But Simon was a madman, and he wasn’t going down without a fight. Kate prayed to God that the cops were getting closer to catching him by now, that he was going to get what he deserves.
“Let him go,” an officer said, nodding towards Prescott. The cop standing over him leaned down and uncuffed him, taking a step back and staring at his colleagues.
Prescott shot up, dusted himself and walked towards Kate, who wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. She knew what the two of them were going through, and deep down she hoped they could stick together and work towards the one thing they’ve been striving for this entire time: finding Della.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Simon’s eyes were on the road. He was shifting in his seat, cursing under his breath as he peered in the rear-view mirror. He saw cop cars behind them, but they were distant still, and he kept muttering things to Della and to himself as he tried to get away from them.
“This is all your fault,” he hissed, turning to Della.
She flinched, thinking that they would run into something, and when Simon turned around again and took the wheel, she leaned back, clenching her eyes and sighing loudly.
“My stomach hurts,” she whispered. “It really, really hurts.”
“You know,” Simon said suddenly. “I’ve always seen myself as the father of your child,” he peered at her through the mirror, but she looked away, not saying anything. “I don’t like it when you don’t answer back,” he said, gripping the wheel, his knuckles gleaming white. Della opened her mouth but no words came out, and she could hear the sound of Simon’s breath growing louder, almost like he’s panting.
“I don’t know what to say,” Della said, her voice trailing off.
“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Simon yelled. Suddenly, the car slighted right, Della grabbed at the back of Simon’s chair and held on. “I know I’m the one for you, and you know it, too!” he said, leaning into the steering wheel and stomping on the gas pedal.
The open road rolled out in front of them. Simon was unstoppable. The cop cars were still behind them, but they were still far back. Simon was weaving his way down the highway, Della feeling like she was being tossed left and right between two car doors. She was exhausted.
“You know, Della,” Simon said again. “Prescott doesn’t deserve to be the father of your first child...He’s just a dirty biker,” he continued, his voice turning into a growl.
“Don’t you talk about Prescott like that!” Della hissed, rolling her eyes. She knew snapping at Simon wasn’t the wisest thing, but when it came to Prescott, she just couldn’t help it.
Simon didn’t say anything. She could see him gripping at the wheel, his fingers turning red. He was almost shaking in his seat, like he was going to explode at any second. Della braced herself for something crazy.
“Listen, you bitch!” Simon said suddenly, glaring at her through the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and Della could swear she saw one side of his cheek twitch. “I didn’t come all this way to listen to you defend your beloved Prescott!” Simon hissed. “He’s a fucking dirty biker, and you’re his whore!”
Della could feel the anger boiling up inside her. She wasn’t going to just sit there and listen to Simon spit profanities at her and Prescott. Her hands were balled up in fists, and she felt like she might just throw a punch at Simon anytime.
Who am I kidding, she thought to herself. I’m never going to get away with this. She looked back, scanning the road with her eyes. At the horizon she could see cop cars, many of them, but they were still far away, far enough to lose Simon.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she whispered, suddenly hopeless. “If you’re not going to have mercy on me, then at least have mercy on my baby,” she continued, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Your baby, aye?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow at Della. “You know what you and Prescott are? You’re just a bunch of irresponsible brats who think you can bring a child into this world and raise it right. You know what you are? You’re a bunch of freaks.” At that point, tears were starting to gather in Simon’s eyes. His voice was trailing off and he was sniffing as he spoke, his nose glowing red with fury and desperation. He looked in the mirrors, catching a glimpse of two cop cars, which were now catching up to him. “Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath, shifting gears and stepping on the gas pedal. The car rocketed at an unbelievable speed andDella ducked down between seats.
“I can’t take this anymore,” she said, shaking.
“You can’t take it anymore? Did you remember to say those words to Prescott while he fucked you?” Simon asked, his nostrils flared. At that point the car was shaking violently, like it would come apart at any second. “And you know what your baby is, Della?” Simon asked again. “Your baby’s a bastard, and if you have the least bit of integrity you shouldn’t even bring it into this world!”
Della let out a loud cry. She couldn’t handle Simon anymore. She held onto the door handle, wishing she could just pop her door open and jump out of the car, and then she looked at Simon again, her eyes growing wide. He was reaching into his pocket, trailing circles with his fingers before he finally pulled his gun out, reaching behind him and pointing it at Della.
“Oh my God, oh my God!” she said, ducking down and crouching on the floor.
“Shut up!” Simon said, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding out the gun and pointing it at Della. He wasn’t even looking at her, but she could see his finger going to the trigger and dancing around it. “You don’t like what I have to say about you and Prescott?” Simon asked, twisting his wrist around. “And your baby? You don’t like what I have to say about it, too?”
Della crouched down even more. There was no space for her, but she tried her best to fit into the space between the backseat and the driver’s seat. She thought that if she hid all the way back, it would be harder for Simon to reach her. But he jerked up in his seat, reaching his gun as far behind him as possible, and he kept his finger to the trigger, threatening to pull it at any second.
“You know, Della, I’ve always hated myself,” he said, swinging the gun loosely in his hand. “Do you ever feel that way? Like you hate yourself?”
There was a pause. Della didn’t know what to say without messing up, without provoking him. “Of course,” she breathed. “All the time.”
“You’re a liar!” Simon said, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. “You don’t know me, you know nothing! Nothing!”
Della peered around her again. The cops were getting close. But Simon was distracted now; he was lost in his own thoughts.
“I may not know exactly how you feel, but I can understand,” Della sighed. “You feel alone all the time, like you’ve got no one,” she said, reaching out and putting a hand over his shoulder. Simon didn’t flinch. She knew she was taking a chance by tearing down this wall, this tension between them, but a part of her felt like she was calming him down rather than pissing him off. “It’s going to be okay,” she muttered, squeezing at his arm.
Simon started sobbing again. He was racing down the highway, his gun still pointed at Della. But she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She knew he was vulnerable, that he was going to give up at some point. She just hoped the cops were fast enough. Suddenly, Simon’s grip on the gun loosened, but he grabbed it again, and this time, he pointed it to his own head.
“Wait, what are you doing?!” Della asked.
“I’m putting an end to this,” Simon said, the gun shaking in his hand. Della jumped up in horror. If Simon pulls that trigger, they’d both be dead.
“Wait, wait,” she said, rather gently. “Just hear me out.”
“Hear you out?!” Simon asked, his pointer finger dancing around the trigger. “You’ve pushed me away so many times, Della, what else do you have to say to me?” he asked, his voice trailing off. “I did all of this for you, for you.”
Della looked at Simon in the rear view mirror and she could see him clenching his eyes and muttering things to himself. “No!” she said, turning to look behind her. “Help, help!” she squealed. At that point, the cop cars were catching up with them.
“Fuck!” Simon said, dropping the gun and stepping on the gas pedal. His eyes were fixated on the cars behind them, and he weaved in and out of the empty lanes like a maniac. The cops were nipping at his heels, and he could feel the roadside meld into blurs as he jetted past. He whizzed by an SUV, barely avoiding clipping its side view mirror as he pivoted and turned blindly onto a side street. But the flashing red and blue lights were still hot on his tail. “Shit, shit,” Simon said as he tried to shake the police off. But they were close, so close that Simon was on the verge of losing his mind. His brain was on overdrive, causing his driving to be more erratic than ever.
“Simon, Simon please! Just slow down!” Della yelled, her eyes darting from the flashing lights of the police cars, to the back of Simon’s head, and then to the cars again. She feared for her baby’s life. Simon was going at an unbelievable speed, and all Della could think of was the possibility of them getting into a crash.
What about the baby? She couldn’t think of anything else but that. She didn’t even care for her own life anymore. She wrapped her arms around he
r belly and looked on, Simon turning onto the main road again. The cops were still on their tail.
“I’m not slowing down, I’m not slowing down,” Simon said, turning to look behind him.
“Careful!” Della said, motioning for him to turn back around. Simon wandered a little, and Della held on as one of the cop cars started ramming his car from behind.
Simon let out a groan, rocking in his seat and slamming his hands against the steering wheel repeatedly. He kept honking, spitting profanities and muttering things that even Della didn’t understand. She just hoped he would give up and stop the car already. A siren sounded behind them, and one of the cops was talking into a megaphone, his voice firm.
