Alright, next one. I drew a preview image for this story, but I'm gonna try to add color to it, then I might switch it out. It'll probably be uploaded to my DA before I decide.
Zenna: I agree, a sequel wouldn't really work for this story. I don't know why I keep calling it that, in actuality it would be different. I'll probably just wrap everything up in this story to keep it long, but the sequel would have been everyone making the movie that Farrah had written. I think I can tie it in here to work with everything, so that'll just save time.
Another thing I'll "announce" is that I plan on a prequel to this. Since I ragged on Rigby and Margaret pretty bad in this one, the prequel would give a back story to this story's Margaret, Eileen, CJ, and maybe Martin. It will most likely be an AU, so Mordecai and Rigby won't appear in it until the middle or the end, if that.
Also, thanks for the feedback. I try to respond to every one I receive, but there are times when It slips my mind, so I apologize if I've neglected to respond to any.
But enough of me rambling on about un-important matters, let's get this Benson themed chapter going.
Some info about the song: This was originally written by Wayne Cochran in the early 60's, then was covered by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers in '64. They're both great versions, but Pearl Jam released a cover of it on their charity album, No Boundaries, and I chose this one because I feel the rhythm fit this chapter better.
So, without further ado, let's get started.
Chapter 15: Last Kiss
"We were out on a date in my daddy's car,
We hadn't driven very far.
There in the road straight ahead,
A car was stalled, the engine was dead.
I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right,
I'll never forget the sound that night.
The screaming tires, the busting glass,
The painful scream that I heard last."
- Pearl Jam
[][][]
"Alright," Skips said as he slammed the tailgate and window closed, "That's the last of it."
"Are you sure Benson said to grab all of his stage lighting?"
"Would I be here if he didn't give the go ahead?"
"Good point," Mordecai said as he pulled his door closed.
"I'm telling ya, Benson's excited about this, he's lending out his own personal gear."
After starting the engine, he snapped his seat belt in place and laughed, "Does Benson even have an excited mood?"
Skips nodded and rested his arm on the door as they pulled away from the storage depot, "Trust me, he may not show it, but beneath his professionalism he's still a musician."
Turning onto the main road, he stepped onto the gas, eliciting a small chirp from the rear tires.
"It's amazing to see this thing running again," Skips said as he patted the door.
"What would it take to race in this?" Mordecai asked, testing the subject.
Skips glanced toward him for a moment, "Why would you want to do that?"
"No reason," he answered, doing his best to lower his suspicion, "Just seems like overkill to make a work car this fast."
Skips held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, "You remember that old song, 409?"
"Nothing can catch her, nothing can touch my 409," Mordecai sang, ending on a laugh, "Of course."
"That's what's in here. A performance engine crammed into an SUV."
"Is the number the amount of horsepower?"
Skips shook his head, "It's the cubic inches of the engine. In this case, however, the base horsepower happens to be the same."
"Wow, I didn't think it had that much power."
"Engine wise there are some updates that can be done, but that's not a big problem," Skips said, imagining all the work Benson and him put into it, "The problem is body roll, lack of a roll cage, and weight."
"What's body roll?"
"Jerk the wheel back and forth a couple times."
After checking to assure the road was empty, he did as told. They began to sway back and forth considerably, almost to the point of falling out of their seat.
"The body on a truck flexes a little more than a car when turning. Imagine that at high speed."
Mordecai nodded, the memory of him and the corner in the forest being proof of that.
"The only way to fix that would be to lower the suspension, but the body kit would have to be cut, and it would give it a rough ride."
"Is that the only way to fix that?"
Skips thought for a moment, "Well, they make bars that bolt to the strut bars, control arms, and rear floorboard, but that would only fix the body roll. The truck is still a lot taller than a car. There would still be a point where it would tip under enough force."
"And the weight?"
"The weight," Skips said with a laugh, "There's really nothing you can do about that. Some people gut the entire vehicle. Cut out the dash, interior panels, seats, carpet, but it won't lighten it too much. That's the only downside against and foreign cars. They may have smaller engines, but if they're built right, the low weight of the car will blow this thing away."
"Really?"
"Well, it's mostly the driver," Skips said, making a guess at why he was asking, "And Martin's a good driver."
"How'd you know that?"
Skips sighed and looked out the window, "Trust me, I know all about Martin Light."
[][][]
"Make sure it's level!" Benson yelled as they started hoisting the cross beam for the stage's lighting into the air.
Right in the middle of the soccer field sat the venue the band would be playing on. A seven foot raised platform, braced by twenty foot stainless steel scaffolding and triple zero gauge steel cable. The stage was large enough to the entire band as well as their gear, leaving a large section in front as standing room.
Another twenty feet or so in front were the tables, grill station, and drink stand. He's already taken care of the permits to host the event, temporary dismissal of the noise variance, and received a written approval from Mr. Maellard.
Things were coming together. Until he seen who was walking towards the field, that is.
Benson had trouble believing it was really him, his memory struggling to connect the pieces that didn't fit.
"What's up?" Martin asked when Benson intercepted him.
"What're you doing here? I thought we settled this long ago."
Taking off his sunglasses, he chuckled and looked toward the stage, "Don't worry, I'm here on business. Mordecai wanted me to take a look at the setup."
"Wait, you're the one who's playing?!"
Martin nodded, "Lucky for you, I'm a professional."
Benson remained focused on him, the confusion and embarassment mixing together and creating a tingling, burning feeling over his face.
Martin seen the effect it was having and he grinned.
"Is this really why you're here?"
"Most of it," Martin said, looking toward the stage they were still assembling, "I'm also bringing a warning."
Benson didn't speak, fearing what would come out would cause a scene.
"I'm coming for that truck of yours."
"The truck?" Benson asked, hoping this was all a sick joke, "I'm not even driving it anymore."
Martin shrugged, "I don't care who drives it, it needs to be destroyed."
"You're crazy!"
"Crazy?" Martin asked, his tone staying level while he spoke, "Crazy is the fact my father can't walk without a cane. Crazy is the fact that someone's dead because of your driving. Wanting to make sure it doesn't happen again? I don't think that's to crazy."
Benson held eye contact as long as he could before looking away, knowing everything he was saying was true.
"Anyway," he said while handing him a folded up piece of paper, "Mordecai said you wanted a set list. I've seen enough of the stage from here."
Benson took the paper without saying anything and watched as he walked away, no anger at their brief discussion, no evidence of worry. He could've been out for a leisurely walk. It wasn't long before he blended into the rest of the people enjoying the bright, sunny day in the park.
Looking to the paper in his hand, he pocketed it and walked to the edge of the stage.
"Benson, how's it look?" Mordecai asked as they stepped back to admire their work.
"It looks great," Benson said, visibly shaken.
"Is everything alright?" Skips asked.
Mordecai nodded, "Yeah, you don't look to good."
Benson shook his head and waved around him, "It's just sun today, it's getting to me."
Looking over the lights they'd already begun to hang, he slowly scanned to the joints on the right side.
"Say, would you mind me borrowing the truck tonight?"
Mordecai tossed him down the keys with a laugh, "Of course. I mean, it's your truck after all, ha ha."
"Thanks," Benson said while he ran his fingers over the bow tie emblem and tossed the keys to his car onto the stage, "I'll fill it up before I bring it back."
"Don't worry about it," Mordecai said as he crouched to pick up the keys and another light.
Benson watched them work for a moment more before he checked his watch, "Why don't you finish with the lights and call it a day."
Skips was still watching him carefully when he nodded, "Not gonna complain there. This heat's making me think irrationally."
Benson caught the intention and shook his head before walking away.
[][][]
Rigby flipped through the channels on the TV, finding nothing he cared to watch.
"With all the channels these things have, how can there possibly be nothing good?"
Margaret glanced up from her textbook and nodded, "I know, you'd think there'd be plenty of things to worth watching, but for the most part it's garbage."
"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I punch your face! rerun."
Click!
"Skull Punch documentary."
Click!
"Commercial for Jan's Wallpaper Depot."
Click!
"Hair To The Throne music Video."
Click!
"Night Owl at Noon."
Click!
"Ello Gov'nor," he said with a shiver.
Click!
"Nothing," he shouted while tossing the remote onto the coffee table.
With the TV off, the noises from the guest room became audible. Rigby listened for a moment, the dragging and rustling more entertaining than everything he'd just seen.
"What's with all the noise?" he asked after several minutes.
Glancing up again, "I don't know, Eileen's been moody lately. I try to keep out of her business."
Looking up to the white, textured plaster of the ceiling, he rolled the question around in his head before getting the will to ask.
"Say, why haven't you gone out with Mordecai?"
The scratching of her pen across the notebook stopped and she blinked as if she didn't understand the question.
"Mordecai?"
Rigby nodded, not looking away from the ceiling.
"Well," she began, closing her textbook and setting the notebook aside, "It's not that I don't like him, or anything, I just thought we worked better as friends, you know?"
"Yeah?"
"What brought it up?"
Rigby shrugged and stretched, his joints popping from the hour of not moving, "Nothing, just bored."
Looking at her watch, she realized how much time had passed, "You should probably get back to work. Benson'll fire you if he realizes you're gone."
"Benson's used that threat for years," Rigby said as he turned the TV back on.
[][][]
In the darkness of the road, the amber hue of the emergency lights blinked like a beacon to a lost ship. The headlights illuminated the dismal forest ahead, but still could only do so much. Benson leaned out from under the hood of the Black Tear, grease and dirt smudges covering his face and hands.
The nervousness hung in his throat, making him nauseous despite and empty stomach. Slamming the hood, looked over the dim outline of the truck. Zipping his jacket, he walked to the door, hand resting on the handle but lacking the nerve to follow through.
With a deep breath, he threw the door open and pulled himself behind the wheel. Tossing the wire crimpers into the seat beside him, he buckled his seatbelt.
He sat for a moment, listen to the clicking of the relay for the blinkers, the dull clinking only serving to raise his uneasiness. The memories from twelve years ago began to replay in his mind, the drumming of the rain on the roof, the sound of the tires hydroplaning, and finally, the painful scream he heard last.
His hand trembled as he reached to turn the key and it took several attempts to succeed in finding the strength to do so.
The engine roared, louder than it ever has. He gripped the wheel and pounded on the throttle, the rev limiter kicking in with a hum.
Inhaling deeply, he dropped into four hi and gripped the shifter.
"I know it's been awhile," he said, "Let's wake you up."
Shifting into drive, he slammed on the throttle. Instantly, all four tires broke loose and began spinning, the power of the engine keeping them moving enough to keep the truck standing still.
After he was sure they were warmed up enough, he eased onto the brakes and let go of the throttle.
Shutting off the blinkers, he nodded, doing his best to block the memories out.
Alright, I'm gonna stop it there.
Was going to have the flashback here, but I think it'll be more suspenseful to have it later on.
I'll put some more thought into that prequel thing and see if it's worth doing.
Anyway, thanks for waiting and reading.