The Splitting Headache #2
“Huuuh,” I finally groan. I manage to open and close my mouth a few times, as if stretching my lips might somehow make the words easier to form, but my next attempt is just as awkward. “Yuh! Ya!”
The skater furrows his brow. Seconds later, his expression abruptly shifts and he starts to laugh. “Holy shit.” He chuckles. “You’re so fucking wasted.”
Behind him, way down the lane, another figure emerges from the shadows. There’s no question who’s sauntering toward me this time, the faint light of the alleyway just enough to make his sequin-covered outfit sparkle under the luminous moon above.
Regret swells as I’m suddenly forced to acknowledge that I’ve brought someone into this who never should’ve been involved. Eddie claimed he’ll let me go after our night is finished—a claim I’m still deeply skeptical of—but what about some random skateboarder?
Realizing I won’t be able to explain much with my words, I return my efforts to the horn.
I’m not sure what good it will do, but if I can muster up any warning at all, I’m willing to give it a shot.
Maybe I can get the skater to look back and see Eddie coming, or even draw the attention of nearby neighbors.
With this final push, I somehow manage to lower my hands. The pad at the center of my steering wheel compresses as I brace for the ear-splitting honk.
Nothing happens.
No sound fills the alley. No blurt of compressed air causes the skater to jump in alarm and then take off running—just silence. I slam all my force down on the horn again and again, tears filling my eyes as adrenaline overwhelms me.
“Hey there, Evel Knievel,” Eddie calls out. “Why don’t you come over here so I can talk to you for a minute?”
The skater’s expression immediately changes, confusion disappearing as he turns and walks away from me. Crawling tentacles of dread slowly wrap themselves around my heart, tightening their grip.
I helplessly watch as Eddie and the young man have a conversation in the shadows, but the longer I watch, the more my fear begins to slip away.
For some reason, I expected Eddie to be upset, but based on his expression I’d say he’s anything but.
Eddie is actually laughing now, patting the skater’s shoulder.
The young man seems equally thrilled. He gestures wildly as Eddie nods along, then shrugs, then says something to make the young man grin. The skater puts his fist to his mouth in an exaggerated display of enthusiasm.
Finally, Eddie turns and strolls back to me. He opens the door and climbs in as the scent of popcorn floods my nostrils.
“I disconnected the horn,” Eddie says flatly. “I did it at the diner, before we got back in the truck. Remember when I told you I’m in control here?”
“Yes.”
Eddie shifts in the passenger seat, looking directly at me now. His smile is nowhere to be found. “You should’ve listened,” he says.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer.
Eddie holds my gaze for a moment, then softens as he throws his hands up in a shrug that roughly translates to C’est la vie.
“It’s partially my fault,” Eddie admits. “I really should know better by now, I should, but I always like to give you little fuckers the benefit of the doubt. It’s a lot more pleasant this way, and honestly, it’s not my intent to hurt you. I love you, believe it or not.”
I want to ask what the hell he’s talking about, but quickly discover Eddie’s previous command for no questions hasn’t quite worn off yet. Instead, I just grunt.
“You may ask questions.” Eddie sighs, annoyed. “Speak.”
The words suddenly erupt from within me. “What the hell are you talking about?” I blubber. “What is this?”
“That’s what you wanted to ask?” Eddie scoffs.
He shakes his head and faces forward again, still talking, but chatting with himself now.
“The real question is, should I pick up my new outfit at the start of the night or the end, you know? You’d think that should come last, just to avoid situations like this, but after all these years I still think fashion first is the way to go.
Gotta make sure your chorus hook is killer before you go fucking around with the verses. ”
My eyes drift over to the skater, who now stands awkwardly in front of the truck, his body shrouded by night.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Eddie assures me. “Honestly, tonight’s gonna be much more fun now, and what’s the point of living if you’re not gonna have some fun? You know?”
“What did you say to him?” I ask, my eyes still locked on the young man standing before us.
“No spoilers!” Eddie says. “Just remember, I tried to play this differently. I wanted a nice, easy night, but now we’re gonna shift gears. Alright … turn on the lights. Don’t try to escape. Don’t drive away. Just watch.”
Eddie hands me the keys and I immediately put them to use. Our vehicle roars to life, bathing the young man before us in the lights’ yellow glow.
“Aaaaand spotlight up!” Eddie shouts, gleefully clapping his hands together.
The skater stands at attention. “I’m Captain Danger!” he yells at the top of his lungs, shouting like he’s responding to a drill sergeant. “And this is the Splitting Headache!”
“Oh God,” Eddie blurts, his face immediately faltering. He settles into the passenger seat and skeptically eyes the young man.
The skater turns away from us, then stops, considering something. Suddenly, he changes direction, jogging over to the passenger side.
Eddie rolls down his window. “Yes?”
The skater leans in. He acknowledges me with a casual upward chin tilt, then turns his attention back to Eddie. “Hey, can you crank up some Reel Big Fish?”
“I have no idea what you’re saying to me,” Eddie sighs.
“You got any ska?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Eddie retorts, then rolls up his window before the young man can respond. Eddie turns to me. “I’m really sorry about this, sport. I wanted it to be a whole moment, and now it’s just a goddamn clown show … not that there’s anything wrong with a proper clown show.”
“What is this?” I murmur again, now more to myself than to Eddie. My eyes stay glued on the skater as he moves back through our headlights, crossing the alley and approaching a dumpster on the other side.
“It’s an embarrassment, is what it is,” Eddie retorts. “But we’ll find some talent tonight, don’t you worry.”
Our star analyzes the dumpster a bit, then places his skateboard on the closed plastic lid. He grips the side of the bin and hoists himself up.
“Okay, here we go!” Eddie says, excitement brewing. “This is something.”
It takes a moment for the skater to find his footing, but eventually he’s able to pick up the board and toss it onto the roof of a nearby carport.
From there, he takes a small leap and somehow manages to follow it, throwing one leg over the edge of the carport roof and then using all his strength to heave his body after.
“He shouldn’t be up there,” I say, already sensing that this simple observation is the whole point. Deep down, I know something terrible is about to happen, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I’m psychically compelled into this state of observation, watching intently despite the terrible urge to avert my eyes.
The young man stands up, his slender frame balanced on the edge of the carport and facing the alley below. Tears are streaming down his face, defying his otherwise chipper expression. He glances over at us and gives a thumbs-up, then takes his skateboard and holds it vertically before him.
The young man takes the front edge of his wooden board and places it in his mouth, tightly gripping each side with his hands.
“Oh my fucking God,” I gasp.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the skater leans forward and tumbles from the edge of the carport.
His movement is direct and unflinching, a surreal confidence in his technique as he plummets toward the pavement below.
He’s full speed ahead all the way down, diving as though he’s headed toward the safety of a cool, deep swimming pool.
The whole thing takes less than a second.
The board’s bottom tip hits first, striking the pavement and immediately halting its downward momentum. All that energy radiates upward into the wood, which has been placed squarely between the young man’s jaws.
There’s an audible pop as his head snaps back at an inhuman angle, not breaking at the neck like you might expect, but at the dead center of his face.
A slash of red appears across the skater’s maw in a horizontal tear, one giant smile rendered by splintered wood.
His body hits the pavement with a hollow thump, followed by the soft hum of four clay wheels as a cracked, bloody skateboard rolls away.
I’m trying to speak, but no words will come out.
“Alright, fair play. That was actually pretty good,” Eddie proclaims.