Chapter 39 Haven #2
Because I make sure the car’s in reverse this time, so that when I slam my foot down on the gas, I don’t off myself—I off Uncle Lenny like I’d fantasized about so many fucking times.
And the only ‘almost’ today is that I almost got raped.
That’s never happening again.
I’m going to college. I’m starting a new life.
And Lenny?
Lenny’s getting railed one last time…just like he wanted.
The dealer is at Lenny’s side, trying to help him up. When he hears the car coming, he looks ups. His eyes go wide.
“What the fuck—”
The dealer throws himself out of the way.
But Lenny, Lenny—ha ha—can’t move.
Lenny can only lie there, broken and bleeding and most definitely not fucking dead enough, as two tons of metal bear down on him.
I’m fully aware of the impact this time.
Every delicious thud.
Every glorious squelch.
Even as my stomach flips and I taste the most bitter of bile in my mouth, I’m grinning because fuuuck it feels sooo fucking good.
Lenny doesn’t look much different in the headlamps. His limbs have moved around a bit, and there’s a lot more blood reflecting the lights, but I swear I can still see one of his fingers twitching.
Calmly, carefully, so fucking intentionally I can feel every push-pull of my muscles working to get me there, I put the car into drive.
Then I floor it, turning the steering wheel just a little so I can make sure the tire goes over Lenny’s motherfucking head.
The bump makes my teeth snap, and that briefly cuts off the manic giggles filling the cab.
Briefly. Because when I look in the rearview mirror, I swear Lenny’s trying to crawl away.
“Motherfucker!” I hiss, throwing the gearshift into reverse.
I don’t know how many times I do it.
Reversing. Going forward. Reversing.
At some point, the dealer runs off. I should be worried about the cops coming, but I doubt the dealer is the kind of guy who’d run to the police if a deal went south.
At some point, the car’s fuel light comes on.
At some point, it starts to rain.
Fat drops splatter against the windshield, blurring the world into streaks of shadow and light. I turn on the wipers automatically, watching them sweep back and forth, back and forth.
I can’t see Lenny all that well anymore, and now it’s impossible to tell if he’s still moving or if the rain is making his clothes dance. I drag myself out of the car, wincing at the rain stinging my face, and go to look at Lenny.
At what’s left of him.
I stand there for a moment, trying to identify what’s what, but most of it’s turned into pink mush.
My stomach heaves, but nothing comes up.
Shouldn’t I be feeling something?
Horror. Guilt. Satisfaction…something?
But now that my laughter’s subsided, there’s…nothing.
I haven’t checked out. My brain just switches to autopilot.
I fetch a few strips of plastic from a tent, wrap up the larger pieces of Lenny, and load the trunk. Piece by piece. Then I stand in the rain until my clothes are soaked, get in the car, and turn the key.
I have to find a gas station soon because I imagine being discovered stranded on the side of the road would be a dangerous situation to be in. Anyone could come by and try to hurt the damsel in distress.
Although I’d run them over if they tried.
I pull into the nearest gas station, staring dumbstruck at the sign on the pump.
PRE-PAY AFTER 10PM.
Right. I need money for gas.
Which I’d have, if my last ten bucks hadn’t fluttered away by the underpass.
No worries.
I pop the trunk and rifle through the plastic-wrapped chunks of Lenny until I find the one that still has his pants pocket attached.
There’s a wad of bills inside.
Four hundred bucks.
I stare at it for a moment as a single thought plays on repeat in my head.
He had enough money to pay the dealer.
He had enough money.
He had enough…and he still tried to sell me.
This makes me laugh. I’m still laughing when I walk inside, rain-soaked and muddy, to slap a twenty on the counter.
“Pump three and a Red Bull.”
The guy behind the register keeps throwing side-eye my way like he thinks I’m on something. Must be the manic grin I can’t wipe off my face.
His curiosity gets the better of him.
“What’s so funny?” he asks warily.
“Oh, nothing.” I chuckle. “Just my uncle. Turns out he’s not broke after all.”
The cashier doesn’t laugh.
I do.
I don’t know where I’m going at first. I’m just driving away from Ashwood Crossing, away from the horrendous years of my life I was forced to spend with my dad and uncle in that festering hole of an apartment.
But my body knows. My hands turn the wheel without conscious thought, guiding me through streets I haven’t seen in years, toward a place I thought I’d left behind.
The woods.
The creek.
The maple tree.
I park as close as I can, then carry what’s left of Lenny through the darkness. Trip after trip, my arms aching, my legs shaking, the rain soaking through to my bones.
I don’t have a shovel, so I use my hands, digging through the rain-softened earth until my fingers are raw. When I’m done, I sit with my back against our maple tree and watch the sun come up.
I don’t cry because I don’t feel sad.
I don’t feel anything at all.
I just sit there, covered in mud and rain and disgusting organic things I don’t want to think about, and I wait for something to make sense.
Nothing does.
Eventually, I get up and drive to the closest gas station.
I wait in the parking lot until the car wash opens, then I run Dad’s junker through it three times and pay for them to steam clean the trunk.
The attendant looks at me like I’ve lost my mind…
or maybe he’s just worried the car will dissolve under the pressure washer.
When I’ve made sure there isn’t a trace of Lenny left on the car, I go buy myself a coffee and something to eat at a diner called the Pie Palace. It was the first restaurant I spotted that didn’t look like they served free e-coli with every meal.
The waitress manning the counter asks if I’m a local, a student, or just passing through. She laughs when I tell her all three. And then she says they’re looking for more wait staff, if I need something to keep me busy until the start of the semester.
I order a slice of apple crumble, and she has an application form with her when she brings it to me.
The pie tastes like heaven, and that should make me feel guilty as fuck.
But I don’t feel guilty.
I feel…victorious.
Like I’ve been fighting a war my entire life, losing battle after battle after battle, until now.
The war’s finally over.