Dylan nodded slowly but words wouldn’t come. His tongue was thick and dry. Swallowing painfully, he croaked, “You know I do.”
Jerry leaned forward intensely, “Then prove it!”
Digging into his biscuits smothered in gravy, Gary said, “You’re one talented son of a bitch, but you’ve got to slow down and take it easy on the partying and drinking side. We’re all for having a kick ass time, but know your limits.”
Dylan put his hands on the table in front of him and took a breath. Previously, he would nod his head and just agree before sweeping it under the rug and forgetting about it. Their faces and tones of voice didn’t allow for that this time. They were seriously considering letting him go if he didn’t shape up. He motioned at the cup of ice water on the table and Rob nodded. Taking a drink, he gathered his thoughts before speaking.
“Give me one last chance. Please! We’ve got another show tonight in Miami. I’m sober now and will not have a drop of alcohol at the show, I swear to God. If I mess this up in any way, I’ll leave the band. You have my word,” Dylan said, putting his hand out towards the center of the table.
After a few painful seconds of waiting on Dylan’s part, Rob placed his on top, and the other three soon followed. This would be turning over a new leaf for Dylan. The show in Tampa had ended in disappointment and shame… Miami was going to be blown away by their performance. He just knew it in his gut.
Chapter 4
The engine purred to life as Dylan prepared to leave the hotel and start the next leg of their tour. Following a hot shower and shave, he felt remarkably clear. He considered himself more than lucky that the guys hadn’t pulled the plug on everything back in the restaurant. Dylan racked his brain, trying to remember when he’d last performed a show completely sober… nothing came to him. Maybe he did have a problem.
Shaking his head brought on a twinge of pain in his head. Leaning his head back against the head rest, a conversation poked its head out of the fog he once called his memory. From his pocket came a joint he’d stashed away last night.
“I know how you are Dylan. I’m so happy for you and the band, but be careful.”
Natalie, Dylan’s sister, was four years older and knew him better than anyone else could claim. Since he was fifteen, he’d been sneaking liquor and beer from their father’s stash. She was concerned about what being on the open road, the freedom to do whatever, and alcohol being handed to him on a daily basis, free of charge, would do to him.
“Come on Natalie. I’m not that bad, and I know my limits. Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be great. You’ll see when we get back.”
The look on Natalie’s face betrayed the words that she desperately wanted to say but she shut the door on them. It wouldn’t do any good, and would probably piss him off.
“Just be safe okay. Have fun, but be safe.”
Blinking his eyes rapidly as tears began to appear, he sat up and punched it, trying to escape the last conversation he’d had with his sister and image of her face that was forever seared into his mind. It didn’t work. It was like a switch had been flipped in his head, allowing thoughts he’d try to keep buried to burst free and run rampant through him. He took a long drag before tossing the joint out the window.
On their sixth stop, in Jacksonville, he’d received news from his mother that his sister had been killed in an armed robbery at a gas station, four miles from her apartment. Wrong place at the wrong time. She had been getting gas, and some snacks for the road; she was preparing to come and see him at his next show. As she was preparing to pay, the man had approached unnoticed from behind. Gun digging into her back, he’d made her empty her purse. The cash and credit cards she carried went into the pocket of his coat. Without explanation or reason, he proceeded to shoot her twice in the back before killing the cashier and emptying the till.
The speedometer approached eighty five miles an hour as he sped along the highway, weaving his way around the drivers obeying the speed limit.
The police had no leads due to the man hiding his face behind a black mask, wearing heavy dark clothing and gloves to keep his identity secret. That night had been the first of the shows he didn’t finish. He didn’t have the strength to tell the other band members, and told himself that he could handle this on his own. How wrong that had turned out to be.
The drugs and alcohol were the only ways that helped to keep his anger and sadness sedated. He opened his glove box and withdrew the bottle of Johnnie Walker he’d put there sometime the previous day. Battling with himself, he put the bottle in the seat next to him. The lead singer the band needed and deserved was long gone and had died that day in Jacksonville. He’d gotten stellar at putting on a mask and pretending to be someone he just wasn’t anymore.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, and took hold of the bottle.
* * *
They walked past Dylan’s black Mustang and Jerry kicked one of the tires. Ambling over to their van, which had Forbidden Fruit on the side in crooked letters, they piled in and headed off to Miami. He’d purchased the car right before the tour and insisted on driving it. This trip had driven a solid wedge between Dylan and the other members of the band. It wasn’t worth the argument or time so they didn’t voice their opinions.
With the instruments and equipment in the van, it limited them in terms of the speed they would travel. The drive to Miami was about four hours, depending on traffic, but depending on how long Dylan took, they could end up getting there a hell of a lot sooner.
“Do you think he means what he says this time?” Gary inquired from behind the wheel, breaking the tense silence.
Jerry just shook his head, not willing to give an answer.
“Who really knows? If he doesn’t, then we look at our options and move forward. I hope for his sake that he does. It’ll be a step in the right direction if we get set up and he’s not sitting at the bar nursing a drink.”
Chapter 5
Leaning against the side of the truck, he stared aimlessly at the stars above him. His mind was constantly wandering among random things that caught his attention. The smile that began to appear on his face quickly transformed into a grimace of pain. Rubbing his jaw, he brought his full focus back to the task at hand. The pain in his jaw had lessened but still served as a reminder to keep him attentive. He didn’t relish another “lesson” from his father.
The improvised spike strip was draped across the highway, waiting to deliver to him his next victim. Using the tools his father kept in the old shed and bits of metal, glass, and thick nails, he had created his own unique version that worked surprisingly well. There was that one incident, near the beginning, where his contraption had failed miserably, enacting quite the beating from his father. Bed bound for a few days.
At twenty eight, Gabe didn’t know anything other than working for his parents at their restaurant. His job was simple: to provide the meat. He’d watched his father round up hitchhikers and the like, but as of late hitchhiking was going out of fashion. Gabe was proud of the fact that the current method they employed was his brain child. His baby.
It was one of the few times his father had said the four words he yearned to hear: I’m proud of you.
The only time to put the strip to use and avoid any unwanted attention or notice was at night. Less traffic meant the chances of being spotted were significantly lower. Gabe had no trouble subduing travelers. At six feet, three inches and two hundred and thirty five pounds… he could hold his own. The gender of the unfortunate person made little or no difference, but he did tend to hope that the person was of a huskier stature. They were able to get more out of them.
No headlights approaching in either direction. Crossing his legs, he averted his eyes to the stars once more, listening to the engine of his truck tick as it idled down. It was tucked away off the side of the road so that drivers coming from either direction wouldn’t notice it. A memory from years before crawled its way to the surface of his mind.
* * *
�
�Do you think you can handle it by yourself Gabe?”
His father was entrusting the important task of finding their supply of meat to him. The norm was for him to accompany his father, observe him, and do the heavy lifting. Gabe nodded his head eagerly and couldn’t help but be thrilled at the chance to prove himself to Jameson, who expected nothing less than perfection from his family. His mother’s smile boosted his confidence and reassured him.
“Well, get to it then.”
Gabe had roughly three hours to find someone and bring them back to the restaurant. They opened at ten and it wouldn’t do well for business to have screams coming from the back room. No need to worry Mr. Thomas. That’s just your entrée refusing to cooperate.
It didn’t take too long to find either a hitchhiker or someone broken down on the Alley. It wasn’t a question of if but more so of when. Due to the lessons high school provided, Gabe had become a master at wearing masks. Having practiced smiling in the mirror long enough… eventually it became an involuntary function such as breathing.
The headlights of the truck captured a figure walking along the shoulder with a bag over one shoulder. Gabe pulled up next to them and rolled the window down. The figure turned towards him and he nearly swallowed his tongue.
She was undeniably beautiful. Sparkling green eyes, shoulder length chestnut brown hair, light tan face. She was wearing a dark blue tank top, and a black skirt that ended a couple of inches above her knees. The words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. A small part of him urged him to roar off into the night, leaving her behind. There would be someone else.
“Are you going to offer me a ride or just sit there staring at me?”
Even her voice was lovely.
“Sorry. Yes, of course.”
She tossed the bag into the bed of the truck and eased herself into the truck. Now he was fucked. How could he tell her to get out of the car and not look like an asshole? He was at war with himself and picturing his dad’s angry visage did wonders for narrowing down his options. She maneuvered herself in the seat, getting comfortable before offering her hand.
“I’m Megan.”
“Gabe,” he responded after a slight pause. “Where are you headed?”
“Anywhere. Been on my own for a couple months now. I just had to get away from my parents,” she said, staring out the window. “Do you get along with your family?”
Gabe shrugged his shoulders. “As much as any normal person I guess.”
She snorted and Gabe cringed inwardly. Really, even her snorts are cute.
“Compared to mine, I bet your parents would win the parents of the year prize.”
Gabe grunted in response. Sweaty palms, dry mouth, nervous grunts. She was turning him into a basket case. They were just two miles from the turnoff and he felt as if he was being pulled apart on the inside. Two sides of him were battling it out over his next decision. The side that wanted to please his father dealt the winning blow.
He slowed the truck and pulled to the side of the road. The confusion on her face was evident but he acted before she could voice any concern.
“I’m sorry.”
His hands were around her throat and squeezing within seconds. From her angle she couldn’t put up much of a fight. Eyes bulging with fear, she scratched at his arms, drawing rivulets of blood which only made him increase the pressure. Her strength ebbed as she began to lose consciousness and he removed his hands. A tear dropped onto his cheek and he hurriedly wiped it away before checking for a pulse. Slow, but there.
The look on his father’s face when he handed over his prize was almost worth it. Almost. Her head moved slightly as he watched her from across the room. Please don’t wake up until I’m out of the room. Please! Please!
A moan from her throat signaled her arrival back from dreamland. Silently, he backed up and crept to the door.
A soft but scratchy voice called to him. “What’s going on?”
He could hear his father and mother talking in the other room. His sister was probably asleep in her room. She never had to do any of the hard work. Daddy’s little girl was allowed to get her precious sleep.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered.
Her memory came flooding back and she looked at him with apprehension, anger, fear, and confusion.
“Just let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even know who you are.”
She continued to plead her case. To his astonishment, his weaker side started to listen and rationalize it. Who would she tell? He could say she escaped and then find someone else to take her place. One moment of compassion led to him having a kind of outer body experience.
He watched, bewildered, as his hands undid the rope and his voice whispered, “Don’t say a word. Go out the door to your left. Stay away from the woods. Get to the road and just keep going.”
What the hell was happening? A small part of him was relishing this moment and felt good, while the other part was experiencing a mixture of shock and curious fascination.
She stood and hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek then whispered in his ear, “Thank you!”
He found himself standing alone in the store room, watching her close the door quietly behind her before seeing her shadow streak off towards the road. A commotion from the direction Megan had run distracted him from his thoughts, and he rushed outside.
Elena was standing over Megan, who lay sprawled among the trash cans. From what Gabe could tell, Megan had come around the corner at the same time as Elena and his sister had thrown or knocked her into them.
“Look what I found.”
The glee in her voice was unmistakable.
His father’s voice echoed from inside.
“What the hell is going on out there?!”
Gabe lowered his head. He couldn’t bear to look in Megan’s eyes or his sister’s. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. His father stormed out and looked among the three of them. Realization sunk in and he looked to Gabe with disdain. Elena had Megan’s hair twisted in her hand, keeping her in place on her knees. Seething, Jameson went back inside. His outline could be seen walking to the living quarters which were connected to the restaurant. Heavy breathing was the only sound as they waited.
Jameson returned with his shotgun in his hands.
“For a moment I was actually proud to call you my son. Elena, go inside with your mother. I need to talk to your brother alone.”
Always the obedient one, she released Megan and darted inside without a word. Megan’s eyes darted back and forth between Gabe and Jameson.
“Run.”
Megan didn’t move, not sure whether she’d heard him right. His eyes were wild fury and he nodded his head once. She looked to Gabe for some sign of what to do but his head was still down. She stood up, gave one last look to Gabe, and then took off towards the road at an awkward run. She must have injured her leg when she fell.
Jameson roughly grabbed his son by his hair, pulling his head back so that he could see Megan.
“I want you to remember this the next time you decide to defy me,” he said, raising his shotgun to his shoulder.
Chapter 6
Windows down, hair blowing in the warm breeze, Dylan sped down the highway. According to the directions, he was about two hours away from the club. Occasionally the Mustang would veer to one side or the other but he quickly corrected it. Opening the glove compartment to check for a second bottle frustrated him. One bottle will have to do.
He tossed the empty bottle to the back seat and directed his attention back to the road. It had been at least half an hour since he’d passed another car. His mood instantly brightened upon remembering that he had stashed two bottles upon leaving the bar the previous night. Checking to make sure no one was coming the other way, he began foraging around in the center console. The first few seconds resulted in nothing as his hand brushed cassettes, food wrappers, something sticky that caused him to cringe at the thought of what it could be, but no bottle.
Searching for the mysterious, vanishing bottle, he failed to see the strange obstruction in front of him that stretched across the width of the road. The tires blew upon impact, throwing him forward and to the side. At eighty seven miles an hour, what else could one expect? Sparks flew as the metal grated noisily on the road. Not knowing what happened or really what to do, he struggled to regain control of the wheel but overcorrected. The car fishtailed left, and then spun to the right. As the ruined tires lost contact with the road, the car flipped, and time slowed to a crawl for Dylan. He had a moment to recollect that the second bottle was lying empty in the trash bin of his hotel room before his head connected with the roof and all went black.
Chapter 7
Young, decent build, minor head wound that wasn’t life-threatening. Gabe was proud of his catch but at the moment was sweating heavily as he threw the man over his shoulder and marched towards his truck. The bed of the truck was spacious and clear of any clutter. He placed the man in the back before covering his body with a tarp. He grabbed the can of gas and a set of matches for this next part.
“Looks like I fucked up your vehicle real good,” he said to himself. “Damn lucky the crash didn’t kill you. Pops would have had my head for that!”
He stopped before giving the car a healthy splash of gas. Something glinted from the interior and he smiled at his luck: an empty liquor bottle. Peeking in through the side window that had shattered, he assessed the situation as best he could. Unable to find any remnants of alcohol on the seats, roof, or floor led him to believe this man had been intoxicated while driving.
“That would explain the reckless driving,” he said, nodding to himself as he decided not to douse the car and strode back to his truck. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. The thought and issue of the missing body when someone eventually came across the accident scene failed to register any significance in his mind.
Good Home Cookin': A Novel of Horror Page 2
