Chapter 40
Ihadn’t even planned for this to be my last stunt.
My twentieth and final attempt. It just happened.
Like a serendipitous horror movie. I had been driving through New Jersey with nowhere to be, nowhere in particular to go.
The sun was low and flaming behind me, casting a golden glow over the road, almost making it look molten.
I’d stopped at a gas station and was getting back into the rental car after filling up the tank when suddenly there he was.
Sitting in a gray Toyota Camry. Boring, bland.
Just like him. At first, I thought my brain had conjured him because there was no way the man who had abused me for seven years was eating a bag of chips in his car by the pump next to me at a remote gas station.
Except I couldn’t have made him up, so it was most definitely him.
You didn’t forget the devil. You couldn’t.
The Deacon. The man who stole my childhood from me and called it love.
And now, here he was. Completely unaware that I was next to him.
I didn’t move right away. I couldn’t. I just stared.
If looks could kill, he would have been on fire.
I watched as he licked crumbs off his fingers and then wiped the excess oil onto the corner of the chip bag.
I watched his head bob to some soft rock song I knew he was playing on the radio, although l couldn’t hear it.
But I could imagine it. I knew him well.
I watched him exist like he hadn’t carved open my life and then pissed on the wound.
My heart was beating so fast, I could feel it in the tips of my fingers.
I waited until he pulled out, watched to see which way he went, and then I sped up, going the opposite way.
I was shaking by the time I got off the next exit and cut through a side street, getting back on the highway, this time heading North—my heart was still pounding the entire time.
It only took a few minutes before I spotted him again. On the other side of the road. Probably all relaxed after his little snack. Driving like he had nothing to fear. But he did; I would make sure of it.
I barely thought about it before I did it.
I turned the wheel and crossed the yellow line, heading straight for him.
I was so glad I hadn’t died any of the other nineteen times I had tried because doing it this way was the best way I could imagine it happening.
At first, he didn’t seem to register that a car was coming right at him.
He probably thought I was a drunk driver who would drift back to the other side before he got to this part of the road.
But I kept gunning for him, and I could almost see the moment realization struck him.
I could imagine the flicker of fear behind the windshield.
Could almost see the jerk of his hands on the wheel.
His mouth going slack, in a gasp, in a prayer.
“Well, it was too fucking late for that,” I taunted, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “Where’s your God now, bitch?”
I pushed harder on the gas. For every night he hurt me. For every time he tried to convince me it wasn’t what I thought it was. For every time he punished me for trying to protect myself. I flattened my foot against the gas pedal, smashing it to the floor.
Seventy. Eighty. Ninety.
The car trembled beneath me; the tires sliced through the air like they were begging to leave the ground.
The road blurred at the edges, and everything tunneled until it was just me, him, and fate deciding which one of us had more to lose.
He veered a little. Overcorrected. Then straightened.
He still thought I’d back down. He didn’t know who I was, but I imagined he’d be shocked if he found out that the boy who cowered behind the headboard and stared at the ceiling, praying for mercy, was now the monster gunning him down with my car.
I wasn’t that boy anymore. Say it, I begged silently.
Say my name like you used to. Say Danny boy.
I fucking dare you. We were seconds apart now.
My hands were steady. My jaw locked. I could feel the scream inside my engine trying to match the one in my head.
I braced for impact just as he flinched.
The Camry swerved hard onto the shoulder. The tires shrieked against gravel, fishtailing in a panic. A cloud of dust swallowed his car as I rocketed past, windows rattling, and my pulse detonated in my chest like a grenade.
I didn’t crash. I didn’t kill him. But I could have.
I hadn’t flinched. I hadn’t tried to save myself this time.
And the high that knowledge gave me had me trembling.
I kept driving another quarter mile before I lost the grip I had on myself.
I pulled over to the side of the road and flung the door open so I could stumble onto the cracked asphalt as the December wind tore through my shirt like it wanted at my skin.
I needed to throw up. But I didn’t. I just stood there, hunched over, gasping like I’d been underwater too long, gagging from what had just almost happened.
My vision blurred. My knees buckled. This wasn’t adrenaline.
This was panic. A tsunami of it. And yet, through all of it, I wondered—why hadn’t I been allowed to just finish it?
Why hadn’t the universe let me ram my car straight through his door and end it all right there?
I would have killed two birds with one stone, literally.
Not to protect anyone else. Not for justice.
Just to silence the fucking noise in my head.
Because ever since seeing that interview of him on my TV, every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.
Every time I slept, I felt him. Every time I tried to breathe, my lungs reminded me of the day I lost everything that had made me human.
And now that I’d found him—now that I knew where he lived, where he prayed, where he smiled for cameras and kissed babies, I couldn’t un-know it.
I kept picturing it. How easy it would be, to show up with a knife, a gun, or even my bare fucking hands.
I couldn’t die alone anymore. Not when he still walked free.
If someone had offered me a button that could only kill one of us—I wasn’t choosing me.
And yeah, maybe that was progress. Maybe that was growth.
Or maybe it was just a different flavor of fucked up.
Later that night, back home, I emailed the video from today over to Carter. It was short, five minutes max. It didn’t show much other than me speeding, my heavy breathing and then him swerving. The most impactful part of the video was the silence after.
I planned on titling it: “A Monster On The Garden state.”
Location Tag: New Jersey
Posted To: Die Trying
I imagined the comments would roll in something like:
“Who was in the other car? This one felt personal.”
“This one scared me. It wasn’t beautiful like the others. It felt like pain.”
“Still hot tho. How are you always hot even when you look dead inside.”
“That man in the other car should be thanking God you didn’t kill him.”
“I’m praying for you. Whatever this one was about… I hope you find peace.”
CARTER
Who the fuck was in that car? And why haven’t you been answering my phone calls lately. Fuck you Danny. Stop ignoring me.