Chapter 2
Eli
I’ve never shot anyone before. The gun in my hand and the odor of burnt gunpowder feel so out of place. I’m having a full-on out-of-body experience and I see myself in this horrifying, yet ridiculous scene.
I’m at a Christmas gala, dressed as Santa, to match the other waiters.
In front of me stands Arthur Sullivan, the man who ruined my life, a scumbag mobster who just got elected as mayor.
I must have lost my mind at the injustice of it.
I brought my gun to threaten him in some secluded corner, say my piece to him, and… I don’t even know what.
But then I got close, saw the opportunity, and made the split-second decision.
Now, here we are.
My bullets skewer into his chest, and for a second, I’m frozen like the expensive ice sculptures on the tables.
All it takes is the screams erupting for me to turn around despite my brain being as empty as a bauble.
What a fuck up.
What have I done?
Sullivan deserved it, but did I ruin what’s left of my sorry life? I’m only twenty-five.
Is… everything over for me?
I suppose it’s not like I have anywhere to go to enjoy Christmas this year. Might as well spend the festive season in jail. Har-har.
Guests flee. Others duck under the large tables, but it’s all a blur. The only sharp point ahead is a corridor I can use as my quickest way out of here, as if my lizard brain activated to increase the chance of survival.
Fat fucking chance.
A security officer darts my way like a quarterback speeding for the touchdown.
I might be tall, but months of undereating means I’m skinny as fuck.
If that bulldozer gets his hands on me, I’m done.
But just as he’s about to clash with me, I hear a gunshot, and he falls on his face with a sickening crack.
Who made that shot?
Tumbling past me, the officer slaps my shin with his arm, and that jerks me out of my stupor.
The speakers still blast ‘Jingle Bells’ when I set off past a row of Christmas trees with decorations referencing various countries of the world.
A table crowded with soft drinks is in my way, but it can’t hold me back.
Plastic bottles, cups, and jugs collapse like bowling pins, but just as I reach the other end, damp but whole, a gang of elves descends on me out of nowhere.
I swear that in the corner of my eye I see another Santa being tackled, so at least my disguise is of some use, even if the red stands out like Rudolph’s nose.
I make an instant turn when the men in green costumes close in on me. It would have been a hilarious scene if I hadn’t shot Arthur Sullivan point-blank.
A tower of gift boxes, as tall as a Christmas tree, becomes my target. When I slam into it, some of them fall on me, but most topple behind me. The elves fall over like characters in some gruesome sequel to Home Alone. In my case, it would be called Homeless Alone.
The elves are yelling something, one even manages to jump over the mound of presents, but I turn my gun at him while running, and he falls to the ground. I don’t intend to shoot anyone else, but I’ll do what I can to get to my car.
I have no illusions about what’s to happen next.
I’ve fucked up big time.
I’ve fucked up so bad, I might as well consider my life over.
But even though it might be for the best if I give myself up now, something inside prompts me to try the impossible and run.
There will be a manhunt, with helicopters, trained dogs, and hundreds of cops, and I can’t see freedom in my future, but some tiny voice at the back of my head whispers that there’s always a chance.
Camping out in the deep, deep woods no one ever goes to.
Or, somehow evading capture and settling in a country with no extradition treaty with the US.
For that, I’ll need way more money than my meager belongings are worth, but there’s no point counting my chickens before they’re hatched.
All I know now is I need to keep moving. To change my appearance and disappear.
Inflatables depicting festive creatures stare at me, jeering as I dash past them, bursting through the door only used by staff, then down the hallway, straight for the exit.
I don’t know how, but I’ve managed to lose my pursuers. Even the exit sign above the door seems to be winking at me with its wonky light.
For the split second when I slam into the door, I expect it to be locked, but no, I burst into the cold air outside, and not a soul awaits me here. No cops yet, only the twinkling lights on a row of giant Christmas trees.
I sprint through the dark parking lot like a madman and reach my car in record time.
I didn’t even know I could run this fast. I rip my beard off on the way, and my jacket is already open when I get to my belongings in the back seat.
I did plan for an escape, so I’m fully dressed under the Santa outfit.
All I need to do in order to not appear immediately suspicious is take it off, and put on a jacket.
I change faster than Superman in a telephone booth, and I’m behind the wheel of my junk ride in no time, high on adrenaline.
I release the handbrake, then shove the keys into the ignition, turn and— nothing happens.
It’s as if I’d been stabbed with a hot poker, but when I try again, and then for the third time, my vehicle chokes, trembles… and stays dead.
This isn’t the first time this has happened—it’s a very old car, and the December cold isn’t playing in my favor either, but I wasn’t too worried about the unreliability of my ride when I parked earlier.
Mostly because I never intended to pull the trigger, and the worst I expected was a fine for disturbing the peace.
That ship has sailed.
Maybe I should have chosen a car based on reliability, not how much space it has inside, but that wasn’t really an option when it has to accommodate all the shit I own.
Now, my only choice is to leave it all behind.
My car will be found, and my identity discovered along with it.
With a lump in my throat, I open the car door as I think of all the bad choices I’ve made in my life. And yet, I can’t regret my actions. Sullivan got what he deserved even if I’ll pay for revenge with my life.
My heart sinks when I spot several police cars driving into the parking lot with a squeak of wheels. They stop right by the tall Christmas trees, their headlights on me as cops flood out of the vehicles, yelling something I can’t hear with the thudding in my head.
They’re about to get me, I’m sure of it, but just as I’m on the verge of lifting my hands in defeat, the largest of the trees tips over, descending onto the vehicles like a whale crashing onto a boat in the middle of the ocean.
The cops scatter, for a moment forgetting my existence in favor of saving their lives, and this is my chance.
Unbelievably, I still have one.
I’m about to shoot across the parking lot, out of sight, when I spot someone retreating into the shadows of the building, very close to the base of the collapsed tree.
I swear it’s a real man, not some phantom my mind has created in its panicked state.
I might be a fool, but not enough to squander a chance when it’s thrown at me, so I dash past the steel barrier at the edge of the lot and tumble down a hill, beyond the glow of the streetlights.
Thank fuck I don’t hear dogs.
Christmas miracle?