Chapter One
Shit, shit, shit. Not again! Why can't I control myself anymore? Why has killing become so natural for me? I wasn't always like this…just one time and I snapped…..I fucking snapped…
I swerved a tight corner. A dead end alley. I could hear the ear-splitting screech of the damned police cars as they rounded the corner after me. I could practically hear the labored breathing of the cops on foot and the loud barking of the ferocious German Shepherds at their sides. Fuck. The only option that I had was to throw myself over the cement wall in front of me and hope to lose them. Fuck, man. Just turn yourself in, get it over with, suicide on the electric chair is nothin' but a long sleep.
No.
No I wouldn't escape, whatever punishment that they dealt out I deserved. I took a deep breath in. Time to wave the little white flag.
"Alright!" I threw my hands up in submission. "Alright, I give-" That was all I could say before one police guy fired at me. I felt sick, dizzy, and yet strangely tranquil as I fell to the ground, clutching my thigh, screaming in pain. I reached for my empty pistol to throw to the ground in a supreme act of submission but the police took it as a threat and another shot was fired at my arm.
"Please! Stop!" I yelled, my voice cracking like a little boy's.
Then the worst of worst happened. One of the German Shepherds was startled by the shot and it lurched forward. All of my senses snapped as I saw nothing, but heard crunching and gushing liquid, yet I could not see. I tasted the blood splattering into my mouth, yet I could not feel anything. I could smell the spittle of the dog as many policemen (ironically) tried to yank the beast off of me.
Wait a minute, this ain't right, this ain't right and you know it. It's not your time to die yet, another faltering voice told me as I experienced a moment of true darkness. Try one more time, Vince.
I opened my eyes a bit; a crimson sheen blocking my vision. I took a deep breath and then bolted up. I heard the dogs barking profusely and the police yelling profanities, but I was already on the other side of the wall. I'd landed with a muddled thoomp on a merciless sidewalk, feeling every single rib that cracked on the hot asphalt. For a few minutes I lay balancing on my stomach, panting, and a making what must have been the equivalent of a gaping-fish face. Then I shot up and was running.
I don't know how long I ran. It could have been three hours or three seconds before I saw the van. I shoved pass everyday citizens who screamed when they saw me and pulled out their cell phones to call 9-1-1. I think I might have knocked down a whole outdoor book shelve but I couldn't be sure. All I knew at the moment was the word run. And then I saw the van. It was a dusty, white delivery van, going slow, but fast enough to match my speed. The thing that I remember most clearly that day, more than the godforsaken pain, was the look on the driver's face as he watched me through the window of the van. He looked over at me really slow, like slow motion, and...His face...it showed no surprise whatsoever. One hand lazily clutching the steering wheel , he watched me running besides the van, as if he was used to seeing bloody, torn up men running down the street. His eyes, when they met mine, almost seemed to say, "I can help you, I can be your savior…but why should I?" There was something about this guy…the angular shape of his face, the way he narrowed his eyes in disgust…an evil nature…
Before I knew it the van swerved and stopped with a screech centimeters in front of me. The door was thrown open. "Get in," a dark voice commanded. And get in I did.