“Did your uncle really make it to California and back when he was on the run?”
A snort and then a gurgling sound leave Jody’s mouth. He doesn’t look up from the floor when he begins to speak.
“He said he wanted to swim in the Pacific Ocean before he was forty.” A chuckle passes from my belly and through my throat as memories of stories about Jody’s family flash through my head.
“Kidnapping, wasn’t it?”
“Aunt Crystal said she was going to leave him,” Jody says, his voice commanding a bit more energy than before. I miss every third or fourth word because his throat is so hoarse, but I’ve heard enough versions of the story to fill in the blanks. “Uncle Joe threw her in the trunk of his car and left her there until she agreed to stay. She went to the police the next day while he was passed out drunk and when he found out, he hopped in his friend’s car and headed to California to see the Pacific Ocean because he wasn’t sure how long he’d be going away. Always said he would go while he was young. He made it there and when he got back, he gave back the car.”
“Son of a bitch. They didn’t catch him,” I say, the story bringing an absurd smile to my face.
“Turned himself in. They showed up at the house when he got back. He told them he’d turn himself in the next morning. Said he wanted one more night of drinking and steaks on the grill. They said they’d head on down the driveway and drag him if they had to, but he didn’t budge. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ he said. They left and he showed up bright and early at the station the next day.”
“Motherfucker,” I say.
“When they arrested him,” Jody added, forcing his words after a small coughing fit. “He said, ‘no probation, no good behavior, no early release. I don’t want your fucking charity.’”
A hearty laugh leaves my body and the sound surprises even me. I’m also surprised to hear a collection of gurgles and grunts from Jody that suggest he is doing the same.
The laughing makes my insides twist and convulse at a more rapid speed than before, but I don’t care.
The room works its way back to a level of quiet, one threatened by the chaos from all around us, kept back only by the thin walls and the sole window in the room.
There is a change in the air and I know that Jody feels it too. I almost say something about it, but then think better of it.
I focus on the gun as hard as I can as a distraction. It’s perfect in its simplicity. Every piece of it has a function. It’s a thing that will never fail you so long as you simply keep it clean and untarnished. It functions the same way every time. It doesn’t care what it’s pointed at or who is holding it; it simply works as it should.
Indiscernible chants worm their way through the cracks of the window and scratch at the outer layer of my brain. It takes only a moment before they make their way in and I finally hear what is being yelled in unison.
“Ten!”
I can’t remember a time I heard so many people at once. I wonder for a moment if the voices in my head have joined in on the chanting, but I quickly toss the thought away, it having little value now.
“Nine!”
I look to Jody through the broken glass of my eyes. He’s quiet now, steady even.
“Eight!”
The shouts quake the floor, threatening to swallow me and Jody whole.
“Seven!”
They are clear as day, as crystal as when the voices first came to me.
“Six!”
My grip on the gun grows tighter and tighter, sending fierce charges through my arm, one of the last things reminding me I’m still among the living.
“Five!”
I watch the gun makes its flight through the air settling between me and Jody.
“Four!”
His eyes don’t touch mine. They are far-off. His lips quiver and move rapidly, but there’s no way to tell what he says to himself.
“Three!”
My eyes tighten and focus as well as they can on the blurry image of skin covering skull. The ring makes a brief appearance in my mind, but quickly dissipates leaving only me and Jody.
“Two!”
My arm absorbs the blowback as it has so many times before.
Jody drops to the ground and there is only me.
My hand falls, relief briefly blowing through me like a cool, intense breeze. I don’t feel the gun slip from my hand, but I hear a distant thud against the floor.
My eyes settle on the mess left of Jody.
I close my eyes.
“One!”
The world ends.
About the Author
Zachary Leeman is an author from New England. He currently lives in Tennessee. Nigh is his first book.
Nigh Page 15
