CHAPTER FOUR
Stu woke up, his arms strewn in front of him, lying against the crumpled hood. The taxi's front bumper was wrapped around a telephone pole. A pain swelled in his head and it only grew as he picked it up, lifting to see a wash of blood go down in front of his eyes.
"Aw fuck..." he whispered, reaching up to touch the soggy mesh of hair that was covering his head wound. He was sprawled halfway out the windshield, his legs jammed up around the steering wheel, his torso out the shattered window, bleeding in various places.
When he talked, blood dribbled from his lips, his words soggy and barely distinguishable even to himself. His head sloshed as he rose, the blood spilling as he brought his hands back in and tried to sit down.
There was murmuring.
His eyes tried to roll into the back of his head as he slumped back into the seat. Everything hurt like a motherfucker, a pain worse than he'd ever felt before. As he forced his eyes forward, he could see shapes swooning around him, meshing and fuzzy, until they started to separate and become distinguishable.
Sounds started to come with the shattered vision, watery and thin, gurgling about his ears as he reached up to touch one, the scarred one, and found new blood there. His tongue was thick and tasted like a giant slab of copper trapped between his teeth.
He had no control, as of the moment, and his body slumped helplessly against the door, the side of his face pressed against the window. Someone knocked on the glass, making him jump.
"Awe ou awigh?" the words went swimming by him, confusing him as he lifted his bloody palm and pressed it against his hair, squeezing out blood. He brought his other hand up against the glass, smearing it red as it slid across the smooth sheen, before falling away again.
"mistuh....mistuh? ...Mister?" the words became distinguishable when the colors moved back into focus, taking on familiar shapes and shadows, making faces and clothes and expressions.
There was a little girl at the window, dressed in red with blonde hair. She had big blue eyes, big as a doe's that shone in the afternoon sun like giant pools of sapphires. She had her hand pressed against the outside of the glass, she wasn't beneath his tires.
The phone.
His head whipped from side to side, throwing blood, tearing pain as his eyes roved desperately for the phone. How long had he been out? There were people around, standing there, clutched about themselves, not knowing what to do.
"I've called an ambulance, you'll be alright sir..." someone said.
"Are you alright sir?" another asked.
He ignored them.
Kelly? Where the fuck's the phone?
Then. He saw it, cradled in a crimp in the hood, smiling wickedly at him. He sat up, his back numb toward his left flank as he reached out through the windshield, so fast he got a gasp from the crowd.
He strained to reach it, arm stretched, fingers fluttering to touch its cool black skin. His finger pads tapped the cool plastic, once, twice. He could hear the voice, talking, and he could hear Kelly too, screaming.
"No Kelly..." tears welled in his eyes, meshing with the blood, choked by it. "...Kelly..."
He strained again, chest pressed against glass, piercing his shoulders, ripping his torso. He stretched until his arm felt like it was going to snap right off of his shoulder and with one final heave, one final chance at his failing strength, he flexed to his fullest and snatched up the phone.
He cupped it against his bloody head, holding it close. "Kelly? KELLY?!"
"You stopped Stu."
"Where's my wife?" Stu screamed. "WHERE IS SHE?!!"
"You. Stopped. The car." The voice said evenly. "She's dead."
"...fuck..." Stu began to cry, hunkering down into the seat. The pain had control of him, the voice had control of him, he was no longer a man.
"It wasn't my fault." He sobbed. "I crashed..."
"Why? You should have been paying attention."
"You told me to hit the girl."
"What girl?"
"The little girl, in the red dress, you told me to hit her and I - I...."
"I never told you that Stu, you're making it up."
"I'm not! Look, I'm not making it up!"
"Then where is she?"
Stu turned, only to see the little girl standing outside his window, her hand pressed against the glass, looking at him concernedly.
"She's standing...right here..." he couldn't believe it. It was unreal, the whole thing was so fucking unreal.
By now, he could here sirens.
"Oh my god..."
Suddenly, he flipped the keys in the ignition, the motor thrummed and sputtered as the crowd stepped back, astonished. He wasn't going to give the voice any fucking ideas.
When the engine finally clanked to life, a godsend from the looks of the hood, Stu forced it into reverse than pulled back out onto the street, scattering the people like the Red Sea. Most screamed, ran and jumped out of the way as he hammered the gas, the tires sliding and screaming and throwing out streams of smoke until finally they caught and the taxi screeched away on the pavement.
He could feel the wind sucking against his face, blowing his head back against the seat as one hand maneuvered the steering wheel, the other was pressed up against his head which bled in fury. He glanced at the rearview mirror, spider webbed slightly and shimmering with red and blue lights as a swath of police cars roared onto the road.
"Oh my god..." he breathed again, flooring the gas, wanting it to touch the pavement.
"What are you doing Stu?" The voice was calm, collected.
"Did you kill my wife?" Stu asked, his voice strung high and thin as the last note on a guitar, on the breaking point of tears.
"You stopped the car Stu...it was your decision."
Suddenly, the tears broke loose.
"She called for you Stu, up until her last heartbeat." The words were cold, biting. "You should be proud of that, she was calling for you when she died, not pleading for her life. You've both made big accomplishments in your life, it's a pity she didn't get to see the effects of hers."
And all Stu could do was cry.
"There is no compassion in this world, especially not for the guilty. You have no use for running, you're done for."
Stu's tears quieted as he looked in his rearview mirror, the number of squad cars having grown ten fold, until the sky bled red and blue lights. Then, like a wave crashing over him, he became complacent and calm, his breathing went lax, his eyes beginning to close.
He'd lost too much blood, he was beginning to die.
"I don't want to do this anymore..." he decided, suddenly slamming his foot down on the brake, the car screaming. "You have anything on me now."
"You're still not a free man Stu." The voice said, sounding like it was moving, packing up. "How does it make you feel? Knowing that you killed a man that you didn't even mean to and their going to rip you to shreds. And me, back at your house, just committed a cold blooded murder and I'm going to get away scot free?"
He drove off the side of the highway, watching in the rearview mirror as the barrage of cop cars all screeched to a halt twenty feet back, fishtailing and weaving to avoid collisions as officers spilled from their open doors, taking their positions.
They had their pistols and rifles out, their bodies hidden behind their cars, their faces intent.
"Step out of the car sir. You're alright. We're here to help you." Someone was on a bullhorn, spitting out empty words.
"I'm through playing your game you sick fuck. There's nothing left for you to take from me. Why did you do this? Why couldn't you just leave me the fuck alone?"
"I had to show you the truth Stu."
"And what's the truth?"
"You're are afraid of dying. Open the glove box."
"I'm already dead. How can I be afraid of it?" With the glove box falling open, a silver gun slid out and bounced into the seat. He took his other hand from his head wound, reaching down to pick up the gun. Planted for him.
"Sir! I'm asking you to step out of the car!" The bullhorn shrilled.
Stu opened the door and stepped out, the phone pressed against his ear and his other hand leveling the gun towards the swathing group of men in blue flack jackets, who suddenly swarmed into action.
"Drop your weapon!" Someone screamed into the bullhorn. "Drop your weapon! NOW!"
The surge of blue uniforms swayed as Stu waved the gun, not pointing at anyone in particular, but just keeping them on their toes.
"We WILL open fire on you sir! Drop your weapon!"
"There might not be a light on the other side of death." The voice offered.
"I don't care anymore..." the floodlights blinded him as news vans pulled up. He folded his arm and pressed the gun up against the side of his head, feeling its weight at his temple.
"Sir, put the gun down."
"Well then," the voice spoke fluidly, "Before you die, I just want you to know..."
"Know what?"
"You're living a lie Stu. Everything you've ever known, ever touched, ever seen, was a lie. A fabricated world that's been built up around you to keep you safe and warm. How does it feel to get it ripped away from you? All in one single heartbeat?"
There was a pause.
Life was a deception. And deception does not go unpunished. He remembered that.
"How do you feel now Stu?" The voice asked laughing, and Stu's eyes momentarily connected with the officer's. "Unabsolved still? Tell them what you've done..."
Even with his wife dead, the voice still held power over him.
"I killed a cab driver! And I've killed my wife because I don't listen." He screamed to the cops, their faces not falling from their shouldered rifles, all aimed at him. A cloud of red dots against his chest, a perfect line across his chest.
This is what his blood will look like when they tear him apart.
He took the gun from his head and pointed it back out at the police, waving it around, causing jumps in the officer's artillery when it swayed on them.
"DROP YOUR WEAPON SIR, WE'RE NOT GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN!"
"There not going to ask you again," the voice chuckled, "they're very serious." Then, Stu could hear it lighting a cigarette.
"Remember now Stu, this is completely your decision."
"I know. My decision."
"Feel better? Now that the weight has lifted from your shoulders?"
"Light as a fucking feather..."
"It's like déj´ vu all over again, eh Stuart?"
"Fuck you God." He held his breath and pulled the trigger on the pistol, firing towards the dark blue crowd.
There was a returning volley of fire.
And Kelly screamed on the phone.
~
Isn't it funny - you here a phone ring and it could be anybody. Yet a ringing phone has to be answered, doesn't it? Doesn't it?
Stu woke up, his arms strewn in front of him, lying against the crumpled hood. The taxi's front bumper was wrapped around a telephone pole. A pain swelled in his head and it only grew as he picked it up, lifting to see a wash of blood go down in front of his eyes.
"Aw fuck..." he whispered, reaching up to touch the soggy mesh of hair that was covering his head wound. He was sprawled halfway out the windshield, his legs jammed up around the steering wheel, his torso out the shattered window, bleeding in various places.
When he talked, blood dribbled from his lips, his words soggy and barely distinguishable even to himself. His head sloshed as he rose, the blood spilling as he brought his hands back in and tried to sit down.
There was murmuring.
His eyes tried to roll into the back of his head as he slumped back into the seat. Everything hurt like a motherfucker, a pain worse than he'd ever felt before. As he forced his eyes forward, he could see shapes swooning around him, meshing and fuzzy, until they started to separate and become distinguishable.
Sounds started to come with the shattered vision, watery and thin, gurgling about his ears as he reached up to touch one, the scarred one, and found new blood there. His tongue was thick and tasted like a giant slab of copper trapped between his teeth.
He had no control, as of the moment, and his body slumped helplessly against the door, the side of his face pressed against the window. Someone knocked on the glass, making him jump.
"Awe ou awigh?" the words went swimming by him, confusing him as he lifted his bloody palm and pressed it against his hair, squeezing out blood. He brought his other hand up against the glass, smearing it red as it slid across the smooth sheen, before falling away again.
"mistuh....mistuh? ...Mister?" the words became distinguishable when the colors moved back into focus, taking on familiar shapes and shadows, making faces and clothes and expressions.
There was a little girl at the window, dressed in red with blonde hair. She had big blue eyes, big as a doe's that shone in the afternoon sun like giant pools of sapphires. She had her hand pressed against the outside of the glass, she wasn't beneath his tires.
The phone.
His head whipped from side to side, throwing blood, tearing pain as his eyes roved desperately for the phone. How long had he been out? There were people around, standing there, clutched about themselves, not knowing what to do.
"I've called an ambulance, you'll be alright sir..." someone said.
"Are you alright sir?" another asked.
He ignored them.
Kelly? Where the fuck's the phone?
Then. He saw it, cradled in a crimp in the hood, smiling wickedly at him. He sat up, his back numb toward his left flank as he reached out through the windshield, so fast he got a gasp from the crowd.
He strained to reach it, arm stretched, fingers fluttering to touch its cool black skin. His finger pads tapped the cool plastic, once, twice. He could hear the voice, talking, and he could hear Kelly too, screaming.
"No Kelly..." tears welled in his eyes, meshing with the blood, choked by it. "...Kelly..."
He strained again, chest pressed against glass, piercing his shoulders, ripping his torso. He stretched until his arm felt like it was going to snap right off of his shoulder and with one final heave, one final chance at his failing strength, he flexed to his fullest and snatched up the phone.
He cupped it against his bloody head, holding it close. "Kelly? KELLY?!"
"You stopped Stu."
"Where's my wife?" Stu screamed. "WHERE IS SHE?!!"
"You. Stopped. The car." The voice said evenly. "She's dead."
"...fuck..." Stu began to cry, hunkering down into the seat. The pain had control of him, the voice had control of him, he was no longer a man.
"It wasn't my fault." He sobbed. "I crashed..."
"Why? You should have been paying attention."
"You told me to hit the girl."
"What girl?"
"The little girl, in the red dress, you told me to hit her and I - I...."
"I never told you that Stu, you're making it up."
"I'm not! Look, I'm not making it up!"
"Then where is she?"
Stu turned, only to see the little girl standing outside his window, her hand pressed against the glass, looking at him concernedly.
"She's standing...right here..." he couldn't believe it. It was unreal, the whole thing was so fucking unreal.
By now, he could here sirens.
"Oh my god..."
Suddenly, he flipped the keys in the ignition, the motor thrummed and sputtered as the crowd stepped back, astonished. He wasn't going to give the voice any fucking ideas.
When the engine finally clanked to life, a godsend from the looks of the hood, Stu forced it into reverse than pulled back out onto the street, scattering the people like the Red Sea. Most screamed, ran and jumped out of the way as he hammered the gas, the tires sliding and screaming and throwing out streams of smoke until finally they caught and the taxi screeched away on the pavement.
He could feel the wind sucking against his face, blowing his head back against the seat as one hand maneuvered the steering wheel, the other was pressed up against his head which bled in fury. He glanced at the rearview mirror, spider webbed slightly and shimmering with red and blue lights as a swath of police cars roared onto the road.
"Oh my god..." he breathed again, flooring the gas, wanting it to touch the pavement.
"What are you doing Stu?" The voice was calm, collected.
"Did you kill my wife?" Stu asked, his voice strung high and thin as the last note on a guitar, on the breaking point of tears.
"You stopped the car Stu...it was your decision."
Suddenly, the tears broke loose.
"She called for you Stu, up until her last heartbeat." The words were cold, biting. "You should be proud of that, she was calling for you when she died, not pleading for her life. You've both made big accomplishments in your life, it's a pity she didn't get to see the effects of hers."
And all Stu could do was cry.
"There is no compassion in this world, especially not for the guilty. You have no use for running, you're done for."
Stu's tears quieted as he looked in his rearview mirror, the number of squad cars having grown ten fold, until the sky bled red and blue lights. Then, like a wave crashing over him, he became complacent and calm, his breathing went lax, his eyes beginning to close.
He'd lost too much blood, he was beginning to die.
"I don't want to do this anymore..." he decided, suddenly slamming his foot down on the brake, the car screaming. "You have anything on me now."
"You're still not a free man Stu." The voice said, sounding like it was moving, packing up. "How does it make you feel? Knowing that you killed a man that you didn't even mean to and their going to rip you to shreds. And me, back at your house, just committed a cold blooded murder and I'm going to get away scot free?"
He drove off the side of the highway, watching in the rearview mirror as the barrage of cop cars all screeched to a halt twenty feet back, fishtailing and weaving to avoid collisions as officers spilled from their open doors, taking their positions.
They had their pistols and rifles out, their bodies hidden behind their cars, their faces intent.
"Step out of the car sir. You're alright. We're here to help you." Someone was on a bullhorn, spitting out empty words.
"I'm through playing your game you sick fuck. There's nothing left for you to take from me. Why did you do this? Why couldn't you just leave me the fuck alone?"
"I had to show you the truth Stu."
"And what's the truth?"
"You're are afraid of dying. Open the glove box."
"I'm already dead. How can I be afraid of it?" With the glove box falling open, a silver gun slid out and bounced into the seat. He took his other hand from his head wound, reaching down to pick up the gun. Planted for him.
"Sir! I'm asking you to step out of the car!" The bullhorn shrilled.
Stu opened the door and stepped out, the phone pressed against his ear and his other hand leveling the gun towards the swathing group of men in blue flack jackets, who suddenly swarmed into action.
"Drop your weapon!" Someone screamed into the bullhorn. "Drop your weapon! NOW!"
The surge of blue uniforms swayed as Stu waved the gun, not pointing at anyone in particular, but just keeping them on their toes.
"We WILL open fire on you sir! Drop your weapon!"
"There might not be a light on the other side of death." The voice offered.
"I don't care anymore..." the floodlights blinded him as news vans pulled up. He folded his arm and pressed the gun up against the side of his head, feeling its weight at his temple.
"Sir, put the gun down."
"Well then," the voice spoke fluidly, "Before you die, I just want you to know..."
"Know what?"
"You're living a lie Stu. Everything you've ever known, ever touched, ever seen, was a lie. A fabricated world that's been built up around you to keep you safe and warm. How does it feel to get it ripped away from you? All in one single heartbeat?"
There was a pause.
Life was a deception. And deception does not go unpunished. He remembered that.
"How do you feel now Stu?" The voice asked laughing, and Stu's eyes momentarily connected with the officer's. "Unabsolved still? Tell them what you've done..."
Even with his wife dead, the voice still held power over him.
"I killed a cab driver! And I've killed my wife because I don't listen." He screamed to the cops, their faces not falling from their shouldered rifles, all aimed at him. A cloud of red dots against his chest, a perfect line across his chest.
This is what his blood will look like when they tear him apart.
He took the gun from his head and pointed it back out at the police, waving it around, causing jumps in the officer's artillery when it swayed on them.
"DROP YOUR WEAPON SIR, WE'RE NOT GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN!"
"There not going to ask you again," the voice chuckled, "they're very serious." Then, Stu could hear it lighting a cigarette.
"Remember now Stu, this is completely your decision."
"I know. My decision."
"Feel better? Now that the weight has lifted from your shoulders?"
"Light as a fucking feather..."
"It's like déj´ vu all over again, eh Stuart?"
"Fuck you God." He held his breath and pulled the trigger on the pistol, firing towards the dark blue crowd.
There was a returning volley of fire.
And Kelly screamed on the phone.
~
Isn't it funny - you here a phone ring and it could be anybody. Yet a ringing phone has to be answered, doesn't it? Doesn't it?
