Title: All About Us
Author: Riariti no Iru-jon
Fandom: Transformers 2007 Movie-verse; AU
Genre: Drama/Sci-fi
Rating: T [for the time being]
Warnings: Alternate universe; language [mostly Sam]; violence; some sexuality; crude humor; all around poor writing and unreliable updates; insane author; you get the picture
Synopsis: Meet Samantha Witwicky, an ordinary teenager who's about to get her very first car. But she gets more than just a car — an adventure of a lifetime, a friendship to last beyond a lifetime, and a purpose to life as never imagined before. After all, there's nothing like big mean robots after your great-great-grandfather's glasses, is there?
[All About Us]
by [Riariti no Iru-jon]
Disclaimer: As stated in the original, I don't own Transformers or any associated materials. I have not a dime to my name — college is paid with federal grants, lovely things those are. So kindly refrain for legal action; I am merely indulging in twisted fantasies concocted by my sleep-deprived and math-riddled brain.
FYI, as usual, credit for lyrics, etc., will appear at the end of each chapter, if applicable. Thanks for reading!
Recap:
'Lo, my name's Samantha Witwicky. I'm your average teenage girl — sarcastic, a little hormonal, but overall rather agreeable. My life has officially hit the accelerator with my first — first — car. I'll be frank, the car itself is a little odd, but, you know what they say: birds of a feather flock together. So this is my first taste of freedom outside the cocoons of parental security and I'm psyched. I just wish my friend, Milli, would exercise some common sense before she does something to get herself hurt.
[Chapter II: Bleeding Out]
Ch. Warnings: Language; character death
It was almost 2 A.M. when her cell phone began to ring and it took her almost until her voice mail picked up to wake up enough to answer it, groping in the dark for it at her bedside table. Bleary-eyed, she couldn't make out the name on the caller identification and didn't want to exert the effort to turn on the lamp. She opened it and leaned back into her pillow before answering. "'ullo?"
Instantaneously, she was assaulted by a stampede of voices and revving engines on the other end. She was awake. "Milli?"
"Hiya, Sammy!" came the delighted voice of her friend, their altercation after school forgotten. The slur in her words suggested the girl was drunk and or high, and in a rush, she remembered the street race Trent and his friends were hosting… the one Milli had been invited to and accepted.
"Mills, are you okay?" Sam sat up and threw back the bed covers. She was fighting through a fog of sleep in her mind and she strained to decipher the words, both in the background and from Milli.
Milli didn't seem to hear her. "Sammy, we're having a blast! Trent brought some beer, someone else has vod…d…ka," — a drunken giggle — "and they're about to start a race, Sammy, you've got to get down here and see for yourself!"
Beer and cars, the perfect ingredients of a death wish. Sam turned on the lights despite her body's complaint at being awake and began to change while still talking on the phone. "Mills, I'm going to come pick you up and drive you home, do you understand?" She wanted to talk fast, but resisted, enunciating carefully in hopes that Milli might actually make sense of anything she said.
"You got a car! Oh, and Michael's here!" Milli giggled like a maniac.
Sam felt her insides turn icy and churn. Michael… Michael Banes. Her crush since forever. That was low for Milli to bring up, had she been in her right mind, but she wasn't. She was drunk and she was in the company of others who were more likely than not also drunk. But she wasn't concerned for Michael, though she admitted to herself that it would be a dream come true to meet him at night somewhere and perhaps…
No. She needed to get Milli. "I'll be there soon, Mills. Just promise you won't get into someone's car before I get there!" She didn't receive an answer, however, as Milli gave a squeal and laughed and the phone was overcome by chatter all over again. She waited; perhaps Milli would recover her phone and resume talking, but she didn't. Ending the call, she jammed her feet into her shoes, not bothering to untie them.
She frantically uttered prayers under her breath, pleading God to protect her best friend, at least until she could get her out of that place. Snatching the keys off her desk, she hurried out of her room and downstairs, trying earnestly to be quiet so not to disturb her parents. To her knowledge, they didn't stir at all… She fumbled with the house key, to unlock the front door, then lock it back when she was out on the porch. Mojo was barking; she winced.
She sprinted across the grass, not caring how much her father detested it when someone did just that. What he didn't know didn't hurt him. She had just as much trouble unlocking the car door as she did the front door that she nearly burst into tears, but finally, it worked and she fell into the seat, blinking rapidly and taking a moment to gather herself. She plunged the key into the ignition and turned it… the engine sputtered, but didn't start.
"Damn it," she hissed. It was just a coincidence… her hands were shaking so she fumbled with the ignition… that's it. She tried again. And again. And…
… all it did was sputter, and the noise echoed mockingly in her ears.
She slammed her fist into the dashboard, tried once more. It had worked just fine earlier; in fact, it had worked like a dream. But now it might've been a fucking lawn ornament from the junkyard. "Damn it! Piece of shit car, I need to go get my friend before she gets herself killed! WORK, damn it!"
A forbidden sob erupted from her throat and she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, her mind torturously mulling over all the horrible things that could happen to Milli while she was out there. She was starting to wish that she'd just left the Camaro and agreed to buy the Volkswagen; she'd always heard foreign cars were more reliable… No matter how attractive the racing stripes had been, it seemed now it'd only go a speed of nil miles per hour. And then…
Like an answered prayer, Samantha both heard and felt the soft rumble of the engine coming to life and her eyes snapped open. A chill crawled its way down her spine, but she didn't care how or why the car started, she just knew that now there was a possibility she could get to Milli. With new resolution, she wiped her eyes, a relieved, if not rather manic, smile on her face. She didn't hate her piece of shit car as much as she thought, so long as it didn't give out en route…
She backed out of driveway, squinting through a bit of exhaust that betrayed the car's true age. It cleared up, though, as soon as she was on the street. She accelerated, inwardly marveling at how fluid the car drove as it gained speed, once the damned thing got started. Had that Bobby B. guy even know what he had sold them? It felt natural, for a girl that just got her first car. Couldn't ask for much more, though, could she?
On long stretches of road, she topped the legal speed limit. With hardly anyone out at such an hour, she didn't fear being caught. Not yet at least.
She couldn't help but jump a little as the radio crackled, the tuner went crazy, and now she knew what Bobby B. had meant by 'shortage in the wiring.' She eyed the radio, but hell, she didn't care what was playing. At least it was catchy…
"Turn on, I see red
Adrenaline crash and crack my head
Nitro junkie, paint me dead
And I see red"
"A hundred plus through black and white
Warhorse, warhead
Fuck 'em, man, white knuckle tight
Through black and white"
How appropriate, she couldn't help but muse. Maybe she had a psychic car?
"Oh, on I burn,
Fuel is pumping engines,
Burning hard, loose and clean,
And on I burn, churning my direction,
Quench my thirst with gasoline"
She hoped Milli would be okay… if something happened to her that morning, she'd make sure Trent got the backlash. For Trent's sake, she'd be able to get Milli home safe and sound.
"Gimme fuel, gimme fire, gimme that which I desire!
Turn on beyond the bone
Swallow future, spit out hope
Burn your face upon the chrome"
"Take the corner, going to crash
Headlights (head on)
Headlines
Another junkie, lives too fast"
"Yeah
Lives way too fast, fast, fast
Oh"
"Oh
On I burn
Fuel is pumping engines,
Burning hard, loose and clean—"
She was pushing eighty now, and the car transitioned smoothly, to her surprise. It was exhilarating, addictive — she didn't dare go faster, even though the Camaro handled flawlessly in high speed turns. She'd gotten a kick ass car, just with a deceptively outdated frame. Goes to show what really matters is on the inside after all.
"So gimme fuel, gimme fire, gimme that which I desire!"
Sam passed the lake and began to slow down as the asphalt turned to dirt. She switched off the radio, though how it had initially came on was a mystery to her. Within minutes she could see taillights, perhaps half a dozen pairs. Only when she got closer could she see the individual lights they'd brought with them to illuminate their track, dust particles visibly hovering. Otherwise, it was black. Not a good sign…
Coming to a stop, she parked, tugged out her keys, and literally sprinted out of her car to seek out her friend, ignoring mutters from the fair-sized crowd that had gathered for the event, most about her car and how lousy it looked. "Milli!"
From a handful of jocks and their concubines she saw the redhead emerge, stumbling on her feet and holding an aluminum can high in one hand. "'Ey, Sammy, you made it! T'ey're jus' about to do anudder race, since Trent said t'e last one wuzza tie…" The spew on her shirt suggested she might've already thrown up once, but went for a second drink anyways. She smelled like smoke and marijuana. In fact, the entire lot did. And the stench of alcohol was unmistakable.
"What is that?"
Sam found herself watching as Trent curled an arm sloppily around Milli's waist while the free one was pointing in the general direction of the Camaro. His breath reeked of booze and a goofy grin contorted on his face to emit a snicker that was anything but pleasant. She had the distinct impression that he was trying to sound condescending, but the effort was all in vain because, really, a drunk never put out good arguments.
Nevertheless, she scowled at his disrespect for her Camaro. "It's called a car. You know, has four wheels and goes vroom-vroom?" Grasping Milli's nearest wrist, she tugged her away, guiding her friend to a distance so she could try and talk without interruption. She made mental notes of each stumble, counting them to know how many times she'd punch Trent when the first opportunity came. She led her to her car and let her lean against it. "Mills, let me drive you home, please," she said, taking the beer can from and pouring it out on the dirt to make a puddle of dark amber. Milli was too drunk to care and smiled with glassy eyes.
"I'm fine, really. See?" She shifted her weight to her feet as she tried to stand straight, and swayed. Sam caught her and pressed her back against the Camaro.
"You're not fine, Mills, you're dead drunk and wouldn't make it half a step without diving face first onto the ground."
Milli regarded her as if she'd grown another head, but her gaze drifted over her friend's shoulder to a figure she suddenly noticed. "'ey!" She grinned childishly and waved at the young man. "Mike, come an' take a look at Sammy's ride!"
A cold sensation washed over Sam as she realized whom exactly Milli was waving down. Michael Banes. Oh, why did Milli have to call him over?! She couldn't be distracted from her goal: getting Milli out of that place before she got hurt.
Michael was the personification of a dark beauty that had many girls fawning over him, and it was clear why. Skin tanned and freckled, flawless, large angled eyes, rich ebony hair cut to about jaw-length. He was slender, lithe, and muscular without being overbearing, dressed nice, smelled nice. Just being near him was intoxicating…
He strolled over casually, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked so confident in himself and… he didn't seem to be drunk or high, or at least, not too much. Point for him. "Hey, Milli," he greeted with his mesmerizing velvet voice before peering at Sam, who had made herself busy scrubbing a nonexistent smudge on the car with the end of her sleeve. "How's it drive?" he asked, approaching to stand beside her and rest his hands on the top of the Camaro, completely oblivious she was smitten.
"Err…" She shifted her weight anxiously as he peeked through the windows at the interior. "F-fine, I s'pose," she stammered, lost in a haze of awe that she only half-heartedly tried to break free of.
"Looks good." He walked around to the front. "Mind if I take a look?"
"Err…" Rather timidly, she opened the driver's side door to lean in and pop the hood. When she looked back at him, he was out of sight behind the hood, immersed in examining the Camaro's engine. At least he wasn't poking fun at it like Trent would do.
Michael looked thoughtful, creasing his forehead between his eyebrows. "How much was it?"
"Four thousand… got it at a used car dealer." She hesitated before slowly rounding the Camaro to see what he saw. She stood stunned. "Whoa."
"Whoa's right." He gestured. "Whoever had this car before you really liked it fast and took good care of the engine. No grime or buildup whatsoever." He closed the hood and led the way to the driver's side. "May I?"
"Huh?"
"Drive. May I drive it," he elaborated with the utmost patience.
"Oh! Uh, sure… why not?" Sam extended the keys to him and stood back as he got in, turning the key in the ignition. The engine started up on command with a satisfactory rumble. She watched as he throttled it forward, leaving her to stand with her arms crossed in wistful longing while he got to drive her Camaro around, though she'd given him permission to do so. She was hit by a surge of jealousy, but ignored it, pushing it aside to confront later. Her mind was suddenly elsewhere when she realized she couldn't see Milli. No doubt she'd flagged down Michael to distract Sam from keeping a close eye on her.
She winced; that couldn't be the case, as Milli was too inebriated for such sneaky deception. It was probably just coincidence, but that didn't quiet the unease in her stomach.
"Milli," she called out, picking up her pace as she ventured back into the masses of drunken teenagers. It was a fairly large crowd, considering. Most likely it had been something between Trent and a few of his close friends, but word spread and no one could really keep away with such promise of entertainment, especially when entertainment included girls and cars. They had both.
She bumped into a few people she recognized from around school and held short snippets of conversation with them, but she was only partly listening, eyes scouting faces for the most familiar of people, her best friend. She could hear Get Stoned by Hinder playing from someone's car radio over revving engines. She spared a glance at the highlighted path, where cars were lining up. The crowd suddenly became denser as everyone moved in a single massive wave to become avid spectators, and Sam was helpless to escape.
Momentarily distracted, she caught sight of a yellow car with black racing stripes in the lineup. Her anger escalated. What was Michael thinking? Using her car in the race? She simmered, standing on tiptoes to give a heinous cry. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY CAR, YOU ASSHOLE?!" She lunged for the sidelines to try and intervene, but bodies were wedged so close together it was hard to move at all. She didn't even deny it when she stomped on several different sources of feet and did a bit of elbowing and shoving.
Sam was torn between rescuing her car or rescuing Milli, wherever the latter was. Only out of the corner of her eyes did she see a chunky boy run out to signal the start of the race by waving around his discarded shirt high up in the air. The cars rumbled with anticipation until finally he threw his shirt down in a signal to start. A roar erupted as wheels tore down the dirt road, kicking up a dusty cloud. She paid no more attention and again fought her way through the crowd; the decision had been made for her. It would be easier to get to Milli than the car.
Absently as she continued her quest, she wondered what time it was, and how long it would take for the police to realize there was a hazardous gathering. There weren't any houses along this stretch of road, though, so who was there to make a complaint? 'It's an accident just waiting to happen,' she thought, troubled.
"Hey there, cute thang—" drawled a young man who had actually noticed her efforts to squeeze through.
She wasn't going to have any of it, though. "Oh, shove off," she grumbled, giving him a firm push in the chest to remove him from her path. She hadn't necessarily meant to push hard, though, as he stumbled back in surprise, knocking into a quarterback, who slopped beer all down his front.
"Why the hell'd you do that?" the football player snarled.
"I—I didn't mean—"
She detoured around the two men just as a punch was thrown and a fight broke out. "Boys," she groaned in disgust.
The cars were returning in the same direction they'd left in, but were still some distance away. She couldn't see that far out in the dark, the many headlights too blinding to even try, but if she could, she'd have seen her Camaro and Trent's truck neck-to-neck in the lead position. She was too preoccupied as she saw the slight frame of her best friend dangerously close to the sidelines, waving hands in agitation as she talked to a girl she wasn't familiar with. It was an argument of some sort and both females were growing impatient and violent.
"MILLI!" she tried to yell over the engines of the approaching vehicles. The female without a name slapped Milli, leaving her momentarily stunned before retaliating; she grabbed the girl's collar and shook, screaming something incoherent from Sam's location.
They stumbled onto the ground, Milli leaping on Mystery girl and pummeling her face with her fists. The girl under her shrieked and threw her arms up to protect herself, but when that didn't stop the assault, scratched up at Milli's eyes, digging into her cheeks.
Milli screamed and in seconds, her hands were closing around her opponent's throat, eyes brimming with a psychotic fury brought on by intoxication and provocation. The cars were now perfectly visible and coming closer and Sam's world seemed to progressed in slow motion.
She wasn't aware that Trent was losing control of his truck, zigzagging on skidding wheels, and that her Camaro had relinquished the wheel from Michael's hands and steered on its own accord, as, in a last ditch effort, Mystery girl kicked her feet into Milli's gut and flung her back into the dirt path, where she hit her head and laid sprawled out, dazed. She was too horrified to notice the Camaro fall behind to come around Trent's truck and attempt to nudge it away to avoid her fallen friend collapsed directly in their path. Trent was too stoned to care, too high with drugs and adrenaline of a top speed race. Giving the Camaro and it's no-longer-driver the finger, he rammed them maliciously. The Camaro decelerated to avoid the brunt of the attack, its hood barely getting clipped, as the truck skidded sideways, spinning out and—
Sam sprinted forward as fast she could. Someone had already tugged Mystery girl out of the way, but had left Milli, who in her stupor could only watch as the grill of the truck advanced on her. Tires lacking traction, there was nothing to be done as it closed in, Trent visible through the windshield trying regardless to alter the direction of their momentum, but to no avail. "SOMEONE GRAB HER!" she shrieked… but what drunk teenager was going to risk their life? They all just stared in frozen, morbid fascination.
She didn't see the impact, eyes swimming in tears and dust, but she heard it and it was the most awful sound she could ever imagine. She emitted a terrible scream just as her chest constricted on itself and she felt almost as if it was she who had been hit — who had been run over. "Oh, God," she breathed, inaudible over the crowd's cries, screams, and gasps. Several voices yelled for someone to call 911, but most were watching as Trent's blue truck finally regained control just before hitting a poor spectator's car. He fell out of the driver's seat after the door opened, only to be supported by a nearby dedicated posse. Other drivers were vacating their cars in dazes to inspect the damages; Michael Banes hadn't been given much of choice. The Camaro's door flung open and he was booted by some unapparent force.
Samantha dropped on her knees beside her best friend's mangled and bloodied body. Milli had been dragged by the truck nearly ten meters, and she thought she saw the remains of an arm in the tracks left behind. She sobbed, unashamed, patting the ashen face before her, but she knew in her heart its owner wouldn't stir, and that was probably for the best, because if she did, she'd be in so much pain… clothes were torn and an imprint of a tire sat over her chest… there was another one on her right shin… she couldn't bear to examine her friend any further and instead pulled her into her lap and cradled her lovingly, barely managing to sweep trembling fingers down over her eyes to close them.
She rubbed her eyes to peer over at Trent, who was staring at the remains of his now deceased girlfriend. What was he thinking? He looked horrified, but she couldn't discern whether it was triggered by the realization of what he'd done or of what might happen to him if he were caught. His posse, made of strong and bulky classmates, took the liberty of beginning to herd out the shocked spectators. She was pretty sure she heard them murmur threats if anyone repeated of that morning's events. They were all running away… had anyone bothered to call an ambulance? The police?
It was suddenly icy cold. "C—cowards," she spat midst a fresh wave of tears. In her peripheral vision, she saw Michael, torn between leaving with his friends or coming to mourn with her, to wait for help. He was eventually pulled by someone close to him into a car. Engines were firing up and everyone was fleeing… cowards, all cowards…
It took over ten minutes before Sam was finally alone with the lifeless Milli and her Camaro, somewhere along the dirt road. She couldn't remember if she had her cell phone in the car or if she'd left them on the bedside table on accident. She feared it was the latter, but it didn't matter either way, because her body was too busy racking from her heaving sobs to be able to check, to call 911.
So many things Milli had wanted to do, and now she couldn't. Go to college, travel out of the United States, have a family, write a novel… So many unaccomplished goals and dreams… she'd kill Trent if he didn't come forward and admit what he did, ruin his life, make sure he spent a long time in jail, make sure he couldn't do the many things he wanted to do… make him sorry.
Her body ached and she moved Milli's head so she could lie down beside her, curl up around her, protect her from the elements, all alone. She wasn't aware of the blood she was getting on her by doing this, but if she were, it was unlikely she'd care.
In the distance, was that sirens she heard? Were the police and an ambulance coming? It was about time… but were they coming for Milli? Or were they responding to a different emergency, leaving Milli forgotten? A nobody? An insignificant American teen who made a mistake and paid for it with her life? Never, ever again.
Soon she was convinced the sirens were actually coming in her direction for a reason, she sighed in relief. Someone would be here soon and take Milli somewhere warm and safe… And she wasn't the only one; the Camaro could confirm they were indeed responding to a 911 call associated with Milli, but they couldn't be found. If Sam was sent to jail because they thought she was the culprit, then there was no way he could protect her when the Decepticons would surely come for the glasses pictured in her genealogy report, which was featured online for all to see. A Decepticon wouldn't care about casualties while pursuing a lead to the location of the Allspark. He couldn't allow the girl, a descendent of Captain Archibald Witwicky, fall into the wrong hands.
Transforming was nothing out of the norm for Bumblebee. Though he hadn't planned to take his bipedal form so soon, to reveal himself, he wouldn't be able to get Sam away from the crime scene if he didn't. The only other person in the vicinity to witness it was dead, and chances were Sam was so distraught, she'd subconsciously repress the memory and think, if anything, it was just a bad dream when she woke up to get ready for school. She didn't look in the slightest as he shot up, car parts shifting themselves like nothing on Earth to construct a yellow and black humanoid figure.
He moved stealthily — well, as stealthily as a giant robot could be — over closer to the two humans and knelt down. It took extensive diligence to be gentle while handling fragile creatures such as humans. Sam was resistant at first when he tried to pick her up between two metallic fingers, unwilling to let go of her friend's dead body. It sent her into another fit of sobs that soon wore her out and he could then easily pry her from her hold on the corpse to gingerly put her in the palm of his robot hand. He could feel the warm tears, small as they were, dripping on his palm as she curled up in a dissociated state, where she slowly ceased crying and went emotionally and mentally numb.
He shielded her with his other hand, though there wasn't much to shield her from; it was predominantly instinct. He headed off, the police and emergency vehicles to arrive within visual range of him at any moment. As a scout, Bumblebee was good with keeping track of his surroundings. He remembered exactly how to get to the Witwicky household, though if he needed, he could consult the internet's Map Quest. The problem wasn't finding his way. It was more of getting there without being seen. He was a resourceful Autobot… he'd figure out a way. And once Sam was safe at home, he'd signal the other Autobots… it was time.
The alarm clock buzzed it's morning greeting. Groggy as ever, Sam slapped the snooze button and rolled over to bury her face into the pillow at the head of her bed. It couldn't be time to get up, could it? Felt much too early. She sighed into the cloth below her face and twisted onto her back to blink sleepily up at the ceiling. She'd had such a horrible dream… gosh, she was actually glad to be awake. It had been awful, absolutely awful. Michael driving off with her car, Milli hanging out with a drunken party, Milli getting hit by Trent's truck, Milli dying… Her eyes watered at the imagery filling her head. It had been a dream, a downright lousy one, but, nonetheless, a dream. Had to be a dream, because in it, the Camaro morphed into a great, big robot, and tore her away from Milli's dead body to return her home. Cars didn't transform. It was definitely a dream.
She was completely unaware of the day clothes she was wearing, instead of pajamas, and that the clothes she wore, she had on throughout the early hours of the morning when she drove out to meet Milli. She was oblivious to the stains of blood and the dirt that coated her clothing and her own body. She just knew she was sweaty and wanted to change.
Sam grabbed a pair of khaki cargo pants and a lavender spaghetti-strap shirt, heading for the shower. Her dirty clothes were discarded carelessly into the laundry hamper without a second thought. She took the majority of her shower with her eyes closed, still half asleep and therefore noticed nothing of the grit and blood that washed free from her body. Far too tired to notice, to care… to realize what had happened.
She left the bathroom with her honey-bronzed hair wrapped up in a towel. The shower had helped restore her energy and she hopped down the flight of stairs to the living room, where her parents were huddling on the couch with troubled faces. "Good morning," she chirped, expecting a cheerful welcome that didn't come. She examined her parents; they were shocked by something and her mother's eyes were welling with tears. "Oh, gosh. Mum, what's wrong?" She crawled onto the couch beside her mother and gave her a one-armed hug.
Judy Witwicky turned her ghastly face to her daughter and clasped both her hands. "Oh, honey… I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry."
Sam was confused. "What? There's nothing to be sorry about." She looked from her dad to her mom, and back again several times. There was something they knew and they were having trouble coming out and telling her. "Mum, what's going on?"
Mrs. Witwicky instead began to sob and leaned into her husband's chest. Sam looked at her father quizzically. "Dad?"
He swallowed hard and gave a wet snort, blinking rapidly. "Samantha…" he began awkwardly. "There's… there's been an accident."
"Oh my… I'm really sorry to hear that." She chewed on her bottom lip. Why was she all of a sudden feeling anxious? Was it someone she knew?
"It… it was on the morning news broadcast and the local newspaper…" Her dad's voice cracked, so unlike his typical self. What the hell happened? Why were they hesitating to tell her who it was?
"C'mon, just tell me… I'm a big girl, I can handle it," she urged. "Was it someone at school?"
Her parents looked doubtful and both seemed to not be able to find their voices.
Sam's anxiety was replaced with impatience. "Come out with it already!" she exclaimed, jumping out of her seat to stand above them and begin to pace. "Mom! Dad!"
"Oh, God…" her mother cried. "I'm so sorry, Sam, I'm so sorry…"
"TELL ME!" Her voice became shrill as she came to a stop and she was suddenly scared to hear what came next.
"It's… oh, my God, how do I say this? … Oh, Sammy, I'm sorry — it's Milli." Unable to continue any further, her mother shoved the newspaper into her hands for her to read herself.
It was Milli? Puzzled, numb, Sam unfolded the paper and scoped the articles for any clue to what was going on. She flipped it back to the front page and there it was, staring her straight in the face: Teenage girl found dead near lake; Illegal activities suspected. She felt a chill run down her spine and she found herself glued in place, eyes sweeping the script to absorb all the information, scrutinize it, rake it for clues that insisted it wasn't real. But it was and as she read further through the article, she found a single name that made her heart leap into her throat.
"Milli," she echoed the name hoarsely. "No… not Milli! Oh, my God, NO!" Her voice escalated in intensity and she flung the newspaper aside. Climbing back up the stairs and to her room to grab her cell phone so she could call her friend. The phone rang as she held it up to her ear with shaking hands. Three rings, no one had answered. And with each passing ring, the further her stomach sank in horrible realization.
"No…" The phone dropped from her hands, fingers unable to continuing grasping it. She meant to sit on her bed, but it wasn't what was under her at the time and she was suddenly sapped of all mobility, so she flopped onto the floor instead beside her cell. She buried her face in her hands, trembling like a leaf in the wind. "No no no no nonononono…"
She was oblivious to her parents' presence as they joined her in her room, trying with all their might to comfort her, to console her, to soothe away the pain… but no mortal could possibly do that.
It was real. It had happened. All of it. The dream hadn't been a dream at all, but a memory, a dreadful memory. Trent had killed Milli and her car… it couldn't have transformed. That was impossible, unrealistic. Perhaps her mind had concocted it midst raging emotions… yeah…
As she crawled back into bed, she heard her parents' voices in the distance, saying they were sorry and that they weren't going to make her go to school if she felt this bad. The majority of their words held little to no meaning to her and she curled up tight under the covers until they finally retreated and left her alone. Her body ached all over as sorrow flooded through her entire being, crying tears like a leaky fountain. She wished she had died instead of Milli… she wailed in agony and beat her fists into the bed mattress.
"Why…" Sam continued sobbing, until perhaps half an hour later, she cried herself into a restless slumber.
For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Sam sunk in and out of a tear-filled sleep, which was interrupted regularly by crying fits from visions of Milli's death searing through her dreams. There wasn't a moment that her pillow was completely dried of tears. And at lunch, her mom brought up a tray of food that she barely touched, before resuming her grieving. Several times in brief spurs of hope, she'd fetch her phone and send a text message to Milli, though deep down, she knew she wouldn't get a reply. She then cried again.
She finally removed herself from her bed to carry the tray down to the kitchen. Disposing of the remains, she rinsed the utensils to be placed in the dishwasher. A note on the fridge informed her that her mom had gone to run some errands and would be back in a few hours. She absently traced the doodle of a smiling face at the end of the note, then took a can of soda and retreated into the living room to watch television. She curled up on the sofa and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, purposefully evading news channels, eventually settling for an old horror film that barely held her attention anyway.
Ten minutes into the show and the phone rang. Sam groaned — it was just getting good — but left the warm space on the sofa to answer. Caller I.D. came up blank and she picked up the receiver. "Witwicky residence, how may I help you?" she recited monotonously.
There was nothing but a calm silence on the other end.
"Hello?" she tried again. The lack of response was quickly pissing her off. This was a complete waste of time… She waited a few seconds. Nothing. "Say something or I'll hang up."
With a noise of anger, she slammed the phone back into the cradle and stalked to the living room. As she passed a window, she glimpsed a police car parked across and down the street out front, facing towards the house. Odd. Shaking her head in dismissal, she plopped down and tried to focus on the movie. She'd missed something vital to the storyline however; there was no point trying to follow it now… so she flipped channels again.
When nothing proved worthy of watching, she hesitantly risked a peek at a local news station. A commercial… but then, wait — what was this? An update on breaking news? She'd obviously missed something. According to this, soldiers previously thought lost in a camp in Qatar had been recovered and brought back to the States. Something about the U.S. military mainframe being hacked by possible terrorists. 'Great, just what the world needs… another crisis. How much longer till we just blow each other up?'
She turned off the T.V. and trooped back upstairs to her room. She was weary, though she'd been in bed all day. Was this how depression felt? She couldn't remember a time when she felt this bad. At times she was pessimistic, but never depressed.
With one last detour, she swung by the bathroom and stared at her haggard face. In her misery, the disfigurements were even more pronounced, so different from Milli's perfect complexion. Her eyes sluggishly followed the expanse of skin that went over her shoulder and disappeared under her shirt. So ugly. Feeling disgusted with herself, she put on a long-sleeved shirt and smeared foundation over her flaws until she looked as she normally did, bar the completely lifeless glaze over her hazel eyes. She removed herself from the presence of her despicable reflection, intent to mope some more on other issues, such as the death of her best friend; if she ever got her hands on Trent—
And the day ticked away.
"Sam." A sharp rap on the door jerked her out of slumber again and she slowly pushed herself up. The door opened and revealed her father's stubbly and tanned face. "Someone's on the front porch and wants to talk to you. Think you come down for a bit?"
She rubbed her face and glanced at the clock. School had let out forty-five minutes earlier. A sympathetic peer? She hoped not. Even worse, the police. Perhaps someone had let slip she'd been at the crime scene, and was also a close friend of Milli's. She wasn't in the mood for an interrogation. So who else would bother dropping by to talk to her? Oh God, was that why the police car was parked out front? Waiting to see if she'd leave the house so they could corner her and try to weed out what had happened without the protective guidance of her parents?
No, police wouldn't do that. Even they have rules to follow. They wouldn't harass a teenager in a delicate state such as herself at this point of time.
Mace gave an alarming bark, hackles raised as he stood rigid at the door, ready to lunge if anyone tried to get in. "Good boy," she murmured, giving him a hearty scratch down his spine before nudging him away so she could pry open the front door and slide out without him trying to get loose. Closing it behind her, she turned to look at the visitor.
"Hey." It was Michael Banes, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans and looking sexy in a black muscle shirt under a denim jacket. "I wanted to check on you after…" He trailed off and had the decency to make eye contact. "Well, you know."
It took all her self control not to gawk and she shifted her weight anxiously from one foot to the other. Never before had he talked to her, excluding early that morning. On a regular basis, she could've been nonexistent. "Err, yeah… uh. How'd you get this address?"
His smile was slight, but evident on his tanned features. It held a warmness she'd never witnessed before. "School directory." However, he wasn't letting the focus of his meeting stray. "Listen, about Milli—"
She cringed, reality crashing back down around her with a vengeance. "Don't."
"It's hard, I can understand that but—"
She cut him off. "Is Trent going to at least turn himself in?"
Michael fell silence and abruptly looked regretful. "Trent? No… he doesn't want to lose the scholarships to get him into college and play football."
Sam snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, haughtily. "Son of a bitch." Visibly fuming, she began to pace back and forth, her arms unconsciously shifting to hug herself. She wanted to fall into a gory fantasy of all the things she could do to him, to make him sorry, to make him turn himself in. Milli's death needed to be avenged…
"This is hard for Trent, too. He killed his girlfriend — it was an accident. Have you any idea what he's going through?" he asked calmly.
"If you came here to defend Trent, then forget it. Get out of here." She fought the instinctive urge to curl her upper lip in a snarl.
"No. No, that's not why I'm here." He looked sincerely apologetic for making a stand on Trent's behalf, then regained an indifferent mask. He watched her from behind a few wisps of dark hair.
"Then why are you?"
"Can we walk?" Michael removed a hand from his pocket to gesture at the sidewalk.
"I s'pose…"
It was a casual stroll down the street. Samantha busied herself by studying the cracks in the concrete walkway, feeling strangely exposed of her emotions and thoughts. Only the steady pat-pat of their shoes on the ground, the occasional rustle of clothing, and perhaps even a sigh. The silence was awkward; Sam never imagined Michael to lack the words to say. At school, he'd seemed perfectly outgoing, especially around his friends. In class, he was observant and a listener. If he ever said anything then, it was precise and thought out to the last syllable. Suave, even.
"What'd I miss at school?" she forced herself to speak. Did he even know they shared the same classes? She had a tendency to be invisible when around groups of people.
"Nothing worth repeating." He grinned with full, seductive lips.
Another lapse of silence and they took a turn.
"So, why'd you come? Felt sorry for me? Pitied me?" Sam was struggling inwardly, trying to decipher the meaning of this unexpected visit. Michael Banes was the last person she could imagine winding up on her front porch, requesting to speak with her. Perhaps this was a dream? Her subconscious at work?
"Actually," he hesitated, though just momentarily. He was debating how to say what was one his mind, but the best way was always just to come out with it. "I want to talk about your car."
Sam stopped in her tracks at a sensation of a foot being thrust into her gut. "My car?" She felt her innards begin to stew. He'd come all this way and requested her presence from the comfort of her room to talk about her car? What the hell was wrong with him?
"I know this sounds completely ludicrous but…" Michael stepped in front of her to stop her from walking any further while turning to stare her in the eyes. "Your car tried to prevent Trent from hitting Milli."
Samantha stared as she processed this odd detail coming from her crush. Tears started to prickle behind her eyes and she released a shrill bark-like laugh, frantically shaking her head. "You're enjoying th-this… aren't you," she stammered out, her arms swinging at her sides anxiously as she tried to control the monster of rage stirring in the depths of her chest. She wanted to run, but she couldn't make her legs move. They were numb and unyielding. "M-mocking Milli's death… God, you think this is funny!!"
Fighting back a fresh torrent of tears and losing, she pushed past him, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides as she resisted the tremendous urge to punch someone –– and regardless of her feelings, Michael was a suitable target.
Michael had expected a reaction like that and tried again, naturally composed. "I'm telling you the truth, Samantha. Your car drove itself — I had no control over it. The wheel… it was driving itself."
"Yeah, after you drove it into a stupid street race that killed my best friend!" She pivoted around on her heel, almost reluctant to show her tear-streaked face, and contemplated for the briefest moment giving him the nastiest right hook she could manage. Not too far away, she heard squealing tires, but that was no concern to her. She wanted nothing more than to make Michael feel the pain she did.
"Your car literally booted me out of the driver's seat," he stated. How could he act so indifferent?! "Your car — the Camaro… I've never seen an engine like the one it has, not in a piece of scrap, at least. I don't know how, but—"
This was a sight she never imagined before. No, not Michael, something else. A police car, lights flaring, and barreling straight at them, having evidently started from a distance judging by its speed. Sam's breath caught in her throat; this must've been what Milli felt as she saw Trent's truck swiveling towards her. They were going to be hit…
"MOVE!" Fight or flight response had kicked in just in time and she grabbed Michael by his shirt, throwing him forcefully out of the way and onto the ground and just barely dodging herself. The police car's engine roared and she watched in shaky horror as it reversed. It occurred to her almost instantly — there was no one in the driver's seat.
"Shit." She didn't look to see if Michael had gotten up, though he had, and instead did the most logical thing when an apparently homicidal vehicle was trying to run you down — get somewhere that it couldn't get.
If there was one thing Samantha Jamie Witwicky was good at, it was running — well, at least, she used to be good at it. She'd been in track for as long as she could remember, until a stupid accident left her with a broken ankle and sprained foot, and the recovery had been a tricky one with complications that made her swear off even the idea of track. Running had once been a passion, something she enjoyed. Now running was the best plan she had at staying alive. Never thought her life would depend on how fast she could run… until then.
She sprinted down the sidewalk, arms pumping, and feeling a sensation of exhilaration she hadn't felt in a long time, despite the criticality of needing to run as fast as she could. She risked a glance backwards and her fears were confirmed — the car that was supposed to help save lives and put bad guys in jail had jumped the curb and was now pursuing her as if it was still on asphalted street. How did you trick a car? A car that has no driver? Had she had the time to run to a busy intersection, she'd risk going across it in hopes of the traffic blocking the police car from advancing. But she didn't have the time and the police car was right on her heels. Why didn't it just ram her already?
She cut into the front lawn of a family's house she knew nothing about, hoping her sudden detour would make the car hesitate. It didn't… figured. It rolled through the flowers and bushes and even the hedge, without the slightest pause. Sam found herself leaping for the nearest tree with the lowest branch, which actually wasn't all that far, and gripped it with her hands while scuffing her feet up the trunk until she had enough leverage to swing her legs around the limb to secure herself. She was almost upside down.
"Sam!" She heard Michael yell just barely over the car's angry revving.
And as if things couldn't get any worse, well… they did. She struggled to right herself on the branch as an odd variety of sounds erupted from a place much too close for comfort. She begged herself not to look, but the sounds were growing, coming up all around her, consuming everything. Clanking, grinding, hissing. She trembled so bad she feared she'd lose her grip.
One leg on the branch, she swung the other off to hoist her chest up with shaky arms. A series of 'don't falls' became a mantra in her head that she repeated silently. The shadow on the tree was dark… darker than normal for the time of day, for its positioning. She crawled to the crook of the branch and clung to the trunk's bark, trying to hide in its leafy confines, but she knew whatever it was the police car had become was perfectly aware of her location. She hugged the tree and edged around, groping with one foot for a nearby branch to transfer onto.
A cruel laugh swelled around her. "You think you can hide? Descendent of Captain Archibald Witwicky?" The voice was mechanical. And if evil had a sound, that voice owned it.
She shrieked when she saw the metal face looming through the branches, directly at her. Her body was gripped with terror for her own life. Her mind was racing frantically. What was this thing? What did it want with her? What the hell was going on?!
"Leave me alone!" Sam screeched. "I've done nothing wrong — I don't have anything you want!" Her own voice sounded distant as the blood pounded in her head, like ceremonial drums preceding an execution or burial or even a battle. She didn't want to die, no, she wasn't ready for that. She wanted to live so bad, so bad, so bad. "Please don't kill me!"
Something had been ejected from the giant black and white mass, something much smaller in comparison, but she had the impression it was equally dangerous. She didn't see it at first, just heard it as it purred and chittered, hacking its way through bark and leaves toward her. The big monster growled to it an order. "Apprehend the human and drag her out, but don't seriously harm her. If she has the glasses—" The smaller thing sounded as if it grumbled, "I know, I know," impatiently in response.
The tree was no longer safe. Panicking, Sam swept her gaze beneath her. In her hurry to evade whoever — whatever — the now taller and humanoid police car was, she'd scaled further up, maybe ten feet. If she jumped, she knew it wouldn't do her any harm, but recovering from it might give the police car and its accomplice the opening they were looking for to snag her.
Then it was above her, an odd looking thing with manic glowing blue optics. It could've been a toy, for all she knew, but she knew that toys didn't move. Or at least, not with as much ease as this thing did. She had to get down, but after that, there'd be no place to escape to, no place…
"SAM!" It was Michael again, but this time, his yell was followed by two urgent honks. "JUMP!"
She twisted her neck towards the call. Michael Banes had just leapt out of the passenger side door of… her Camaro? Her Camaro, which was actually just stopping at the end of a controlled skid so that the driver's side was facing her. The door flew open, no one in the seat. Another honk, and Michael was beckoning to her while running, though dodgy in her direction. "JUMP!"
The small robotic creature was less than a foot above her and it was about to pounce, metallic claws extended — she jumped first with a yelp as she plummeted the ten feet, half through the tree's clinging appendages, then a free fall the last five or so feet. She toppled backward onto her butt and scrambled around to her knees, getting up just as Michael grabbed her arm and tugged. The robot jumped after her, but it was too late. Half dragged to the car, Sam clambered into the driver's seat while Michael hurdled across the hood to take the passenger's side. The doors slammed shut and the tires squealed.
"AUTOBOT SCUM!" the police monster roared as the Camaro accelerated away. Furiously, it collapsed down back into a car and chased after them, sirens blaring.
Sam leaned back in the seat after watching the large robot's transformation back to its car form. She was still shaking and out of breath, absolutely terrified but so alert, adrenaline doing its duty. Gradually, she became aware that indeed the Camaro was driving itself, the steering wheel operating independently as they sped away from the neighborhood. She held her hands up, not sure what to do with them — should she try to drive? What was driving? Her hands dropped in her lap and as inhaled deeply, her eyes landed on Michael.
"You were telling the truth."
Michael nodded mutely and both turned one last time to look back at a street that was filled with scared and befuddled citizens of Tranquility, Nevada, staring after them in the Camaro and the police car that really wasn't a police car.
She licked dry lips and sunk further into her seat, lifting a hand to place upon her forehead. Things had happened so fast and without warning — her car had a mind of its own, and a faux police unit was after what, again? Oh yeah, Archibald Witwicky's glasses, the hell was that? How was she going to explain this to her parents?
"Well… shit." Since when did her day go from bad to worse?
Fuel by Metallica.
