The Reject Pile: “AM Voices”

I’ll be honest; it’s been a few years since I have been formally published. In 2018, I netted my third or so credit in a little quarterly mag, and then it kind of dried up for me. I think it mostly had to do with the fact that I’d started my podcast, The Lost Signal, and writing the scripts was taking up a lot of my time. Speaking of which, if you haven’t listened, you can do so here.

Now, some five years later, I’ve begun a shift back into good old fashioned prose work. It has been wonderful to stretch these muscles yet again; I’ve even cranked out a couple of new stories that are currently making the rounds to publishers.

However, when one decides to tackle the publishers, they are typically quickly met with a wall of writing’s oldest obstacle: the rejection letter. They are a necessary, frustrating part of the publishing process. They often come in large slews, and sometimes a story simply cannot crack into the proclivities of the market.

That doesn’t mean that these stories are bad, of course. Sometimes a story just isn’t what editors are looking for. However, given that I pay for this website that you’re currently squatting on, I have inadvertently given myself a super power of sorts: I can always be published, regardless of what the editors are looking for at the moment.

So today, I reach into my reject pile to bring you a fun little story I wrote a few years ago, in college. I call it AM Voices, and it’s about an old car and a desperate kid. It’s a little cheesy, but that’s the point. I hope you like it.

JOYRIDE

by

Tilsen Mulalley

 The Mercury’s throaty growl punctured the silence of the night, its headlamps lancing through the dark like heat beams from a dimestore superhero comic. Jay could smell the pomade in his disheveled hair mixed with the sour stench of the sweat drenching his face. The blood that spattered his white t-shirt and the interior of the car had its own copper smell that intermingled, becoming a patented stench of stress and death. He looked at the speedometer, saw the needle was tittering around 70, and romped on the gas. The engine’s growl became a roar as the speedo needle flew down through the numbers until it hit the 85 and hesitated, dancing and tittering behind the glass as the Flathead V8 under the hood was pushed to its limits.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Jay screamed. His teeth tightly clenched a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. It bounced and wavered up and down as he swore, dumping ash into the crotch of his jeans. He cast a glance at the pistol that lay discarded on the passenger side of the bench seat, hating 

it for what it was and what it had done to him. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, banshee-screaming through a rubbed-raw throat. He lost his cigarette, letting it fall by his feet and roll under the seat. He wished he knew what time it was. Late, definitely; probably past midnight. He didn’t have a watch. Denny said watches were for squares and old-timers. 

What did Denny know? He was just a two-bit hood, didn’t have enough brains to see he didn’t have brains. Of course, he was also the guy who’d gotten Jay into this situation, because Jay had wanted to impress him; so who _really_ didn’t have any brains here?

The car’s engine was the quietest loud noise Jay had ever heard, the kind of silent clamor that bites at the back of your mind like a starved dog driving you up the tree of your own sanity. He needed to drown the dull brown sound of the V8. Grabbing  the radio knob, Jay twisted hard enough to nearly pull it off. He slid through the static and whines, searching for snatches of music or laughter; there weren’t  many clear signals on the back roads. As the radio reached the end of the spectrum though, he found something. Brushing radio snow from its shoulders, a music show emerged from the airwaves. It wasn’t the rock n roll he liked, but it was something. Quiet club music, the big band kind, with lots of sax and trumpet and a honey singing with a voice sweet as the name. Jay cranked it and let it fill the cab and his ears. It covered the desperate rumble of the motor. Finally, Jay could think.

 “Dammit Denny,” he said, “Why’d you have to wanna go joyriding tonight, huh? You fucked me, you sonofabitch.” 

 The song on the radio ended in an uproar of applause, and the singer’s voice rang through, prettiest thing you’d ever heard.

 “Thank you, thank you,” she said, “That was one of our favorites to play. As we come into the 3 o’clock hour, we’d like to wind down with you all tonight. Here’s a little slow something called ‘Starlight,’ for the couples out there.”

The band commenced right on her last word, a practiced cue. Slow was right; it was a real sleeper, the kind of music Jay’s parents would have listened to on the old phonograph player in the 

living room after they thought he was asleep, holding each other close. Jay realized he might never see that living room again, and his eyes brimmed with angry tears. He couldn’t think about that now. No, what he had to do was find a place to lay low for a while, until the heat died down. He was just a kid, but murder was a stiff rap to beat for anyone, especially a delinquent like him. 

Except Jay wasn’t a delinquent, not really. He got A’s in school, worked at his dad’s shop three days a week. Tinkered around with cars in his spare time. He was a good kid. Then he’d gotten mixed up with Denny’s gang. Went from tinkering with cars to racing them, stealing them. Grifted girly-mags from the corner store; just trying to fit in with the cool kids. He had to admit it gave him a bit of a rush. But tonight had gone way too far. “He screwed the prize pooch,” as Denny would have phrased it. 

Jay kept the gas nailed to the floor, hugging the line as he hauled around corners. There was nobody else out on the road this late, and Jay was driving recklessly, focused more on speed than agility. He took a deep breath, trying to steady the wheel. Wouldn’t do any good to get pulled over. The band on the radio played on into the night, their tune a thin thread keeping Jay tied to reality. As the adrenaline finally began to fade, he realized he was exhausted. As he drove on down the road, it became harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open.. He slapped his face to keep from getting too cozy and turned up the radio, but the gentle music coupled with the singer’s voice made it worse. He could feel himself slipping down into sleep.

A burst of harsh static from the speakers spooked Jay back awake. He shot a look down at the radio dial, thinking that the signal was just fading out. Instead, he saw the tuning knob twisting around of its own accord, the needle slipping through static and snippets of music before stopping at the opposite end of the range. A voice filtered through the speakers. Denny’s voice.

“C’mon Jaybird,” he said, his voice tinny over the radio, “Just take the gun and point it at the guy. He’ll hand over the keys no problem.”

 “I dunno, Denny,” Jay’s own voice replied, “What if he fights back?”

 “If he fights back, just conk him on the head with the butt of the gun. I’ve done it a million 

times! He’ll go down like a sack of bricks and wake up a few hours later with a nasty bump. We’ll take his car and drive around a bit, then when we get bored, we’ll leave it on the side of the road for the police to find later. They’ll give it back to him and everyone will have gotten what they wanted; it’s the great circle of the joyride.”

“But still… a gun…”

“Don’t be such a pussy! It’s not even loaded. C’mon, before he drives off, huh?”

Jay could hear the other members of the gang goading him on. It was the same conversation he’d had earlier that night, right before it had all gone to shit. He knew what happened next. He’d taken the gun from Denny, the same gun that was laying on the passenger seat now, and he’d gone out of the bushes they were all hiding behind and approached the Mercury as it sat idling alone in the lot behind the grocer. Now, as he raced along the deserted road, Jay could hear his own doomed footsteps crunching the gravel on the radio, picturing every moment with perfect clarity in his mind, where it was burned like a cattle brand. He’d tapped on the driver’s side window with the barrel of the revolver (tap, tap tap, from the radio) and the John had rolled it down.

 “What do you want kid,” the John said, his voice loud and clear in his car’s speakers. He’d had black, beady little eyes and an angry, craggy face.

 “I want your car,” mumbled Radio Jay. Fuck, his voice sounded shaky. He’d stuck the gun in the guy’s face and pulled back the hammer. The click of the cylinder was crisp and clear.

“What do you think you’re doing, waving that cannon around like that,” the John said, “you’re gonna shoot somebody, the way you’re shaking. Gimme that thing!”

He’d gone for the gun. Jay could hear the struggle coming over the radio. In the midst of it, the sound of a shot rang out along with a grunt of pain from John.

 “Oh fuck,” Radio Jay said. There was a smattering of footsteps as the rest of the gang came up behind him.

“Holy shit, Jaybird shot him,” he heard V-man say. Both Zef and Skip had been too stunned to speak.

 “You said it wasn’t loaded, Denny,” Jay’s own voice yelled. He cringed a little at how panicked it sounded.

“Well fuck I didn’t know, why didn’t you check the chambers,” Denny yelled back.

 “I’ve never even held a fucking gun before, Denny, how the hell was I supposed to do that?

Now we’re completely screwed!”

 “We? I didn’t blow anyone to kingdom fucking come tonight. You’re the one that’s screwed, Jaybird.”

 “What? You’re gonna pin this on me?”

 “I can’t go to jail, Jaybird, not for something I didn’t do.”

The other three grunted agreement.

“This was your shitty idea,” Jay screamed, “if you hadn’t wanted to go for a joyride tonight this wouldn’t have happened!”

“We didn’t pull a trigger tonight,” Denny said, “We didn’t do jackshit. You’re screwed, dude, and we’re getting the hell out of here.”

They’d run off then. Their frantic yet fading footsteps could be heard despite Radio Jay’s yelling.

 “Cowards! Some friends you are! To hell with you all!” 

Jay heard a car door open and his own labored grunts as he pulled the body from the Mercury, letting it collapse in a crumpled heap on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot.

 “Oh shit, oh shit,” Radio Jay mumbled.. The door slammed and an engine roared to life, straining the speakers and getting in tune with the one that was currently motorvating the Mercury down the road. Tires screeched as the car on the radio drove off, fading from earshot.

Jay couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed the dial and twisted it so far to the left that the knob broke off in his hand. The radio went dark and the audio testimony of his guilt went silent. Jay threw the knob at the windshield, where it bounced with a clack and flew into the backseat.

“Whoa there, kiddo, no need to be so rough on the wheels.”

The voice was so quiet that Jay wasn’t even sure he’d heard it. He twisted around to look in the backseat, swerving over the yellow line. There was nobody; he was alone. Jay turned his eyes back to the road, realigning into his lane and slapping his face. _Hallucinating_, he told himself. Unconvinced, he mashed the pedal down to the floor once more.

“Don’t be so damn hard on the motor, nobody’s following you.”

Jay jumped, looking throughout the car again. “Where the hell are you,” he said.

The voice chuckled. “Technically speaking, I’m about 80 miles back in a parking lot, taking an extra long nap,” it said, “But right now, you’re hearing me live on the good ol’ AM.”

 Jay looked at the radio, its face once more aglow with a dull green in the dark. The needle shifted through static whine until it was as far right as it could go, tilted and hanging just past 16. The remaining knob on its face turned the volume up as high as it would go.

“I’ve always wanted to be a singer,” the voice continued, louder now. It was rough, the voice of a smoker. 

 “I always thought that I could be the next Sinatra. I suppose this is my only shot now.” It sang a few notes in a broken tenor and laughed.

“Wow, I’m really shitty. They always said you sound different on a record. I guess they were right.”

“I must have fallen asleep at the wheel,” Jay said,  “this has to be a nightmare.” He tore at his hair. The panic was creeping up inside him again; He felt as though there were somebody sitting on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

The voice laughed. “This is a nightmare for you? I’m the one trapped in a radio. I’m going fucking looney-tunes here.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Jay said, “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Yeah? I’m sorry too. What’re they gonna tell my old lady, huh? What about the kids?”

“Your–? Oh God,” Fear and guilt tore at Jay’s throat.

 “Yeah,” said the voice, “Don’t feel bad though, you did me a favor. She was the ugliest stump of a bitch you ever saw.”

 It punctuated this statement with a hacking laugh. It resonated through the entire car.

 “Ah, shucks kid, I’m just kiddin’. You should have seen your face. I ain’t married!  Prettiest thing I ever bagged was this car.”

The engine roared, the Merc accelerating hard and pushing Jay back into the leather seat, hot and slick from the sweat matting his shirt to his back. Jay let go of the steering wheel and screamed, his hands biting into the leather bench as he held on for dear life. The Mercury flew over the crest of a hill, catching air for a brief moment before crashing down onto the asphalt with a bang and a rattle. Up ahead, another set of headlights was approaching, coming up fast. The Mercury veered hard into the other lane, somehow going even faster.

 “Ever play chicken, kid?” The voice asked. The Mercury shifted up and pushed the speedometer needle over its max reading of 110 mph. It careened toward the other car with no signs of getting out of the way. Jay screamed louder, ripping at the steering wheel, trying to jerk it any way but straight. It was locked in place, and no amount of turning would budge it. The other car was honking now, moments away from smashing into the Merc’s grille and sending Jay through the windshield. Jay pushed himself as far back into the leather as he could, bracing for impact as a metric-ton of Detroit steel-clad death rushed him. 

The other car swerved moments before the crash, strafing the passenger side door with a scream 

of scraping metal and a spray of hot orange sparks. The passenger side window shattered, and the wind whipped into the cabin in a flurry of summer night coolness. The revolver flew into the shadows of the floorboards and disappeared.. The Merc never skipped a beat, veering back into the right lane at speed. 

 “Woooo-eeee,” the voice said, “We won! What a rush, huh kid? I always loved romping on the gas in this thing. Got that V-8 _power!_”

“What the _fuck_,” Jay screamed. He slammed his foot on the brake, pinning it to the floor with a dull thud, but it did nothing. He tried it again. And again. One more time for good measure. Nothing. The gas wouldn’t gun it, the shifter wouldn’t shift it.

“Fuck,” Jay said. He slammed his hands hard on the wheel. Even the horn didn’t work.

“My,” said the voice, “you certainly have a varied vocabulary. Would you quit that? You’re gonna fuck something up! Oops, there I go using your favorite word.”

“This can’t be happening,” Jay said.

“Oh, it’s happening. What’d you really expect, anyway? You killed a guy and ran off with his car. Ever heard of consequences? Bad things happen to bad people, kid.”

“I’m not a bad person.” 

 “Could’ve fooled me.”

“It was an accident,” he said, “Denny was the one that wanted the car, not me. I was just along for the ride. I’m not a thug!” He twisted the volume knob to the left.

“Whoa, whoa, don’t do tha-” The dead man’s voice was cut by the click of the radio as it turned off. The green backlight of the radio face went dark and the car became silent, the engine’s dull rumble the only sound. Jay leaned back in the seat, rubbing his eyes

“OH BABY, NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, YOU CAN’T TURN ME OOOOOOOOOOOOFF!” 

 Music flooded the car as the backlight of the radio flashed on, the broken tenor singing loudly 

over a jazz band. The voice laughed. 

“You really think you can get rid of me that easily? Turn a switch and “poof” the ghostie is gone? That’s not how it works kid.  Hey, cut out the racket, boys, show’s over.” 

The jazz band stopped, dying instruments falling over each other.

 “Anyway kid, let’s talk, huh? I know how this ride is gonna end, and between you and me, it ain’t pretty for you, or the car. So let’s stretch her out for a while, eh? What’s your name, pal?”

Jay was at a loss. “Jay,” he said finally.

Well hi there, Jay,” said the voice, “You can call me Frank. Franklin Jessup is the whole label, but I think you and I have reached the point where Frank will do just fine. So, how old are you, Jay? What’s the magic number we’re stopping on tonight?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “It means how it sounds, the number you’re stopping on. Look, I don’t want to come off as harsh here, Jay, but it’s not like I can let you live. What kind of vengeful spirit would I be if I didn’t get my, you know, vengeance? You killed me, now I gotta off you. Circle of Life and Death, you know? Nature and all that mambo.”

Jay’s brimming tears broke their dam and flowed freely. He angrily wiped them away.

“Oh come on Jay,” said Frank, “Take it like a man, huh? You don’t really wanna go out crying like a little pussy, do you? Now, I’ll ask again. How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” Jay croaked. 

“Seventeen, huh? That’s a fun age. I was a wild one like you when I was seventeen. Never killed nobody, though. That’s too crazy even for me!” Frank laughed. “Those were good times. Drivin’ around, pickin’ up girls. What about you, Jay? You got a girl?”

Jay nodded, the knot in his throat too big to speak.

“Oh yeah? What’s her name?”

Jay swallowed hard, tried to speak, and failed. He swallowed again and managed to spit it out.

“Gina,” he said. 

He could see her face painted on the black canvas of his mind. He remembered how her lips felt, full and warm and soft on his. He remembered the midnight make-outs in the roomy backseat of his Packard, the one he’d bought from his pops and fixed up himself. He remembered their six month anniversary the week before, when they’d made love for the first time in the backseat to celebrate. He thought the term “Doin’ it” sounded cooler, but she’d liked “made love,” so that’s the one he’d used. It’d been quick–only a minute or two tops–and then they’d laid there together on the seat, sharing one of his cheap cigarettes and enjoying being so close to one another. He’d brushed her soft brown hair away from her ear and whispered that he loved her. She’d giggled a little, and he’d gotten embarrassed and tried to pull away, but she’d grabbed him, pulled him in for a kiss, and told him that she loved him too. Then they’d done it again, and it lasted a little longer and felt a little sweeter. Clouds had parted and moonlight had shone through the back window like a spotlight, framing her naked body in its shimmer. He climaxed at that moment, her image burning into his memory during the moment of clarity that came with it. Her warm eyes looking into his, her full breasts and curves glowing in the moon’s soft glow; that was his favorite memory of her. Clean and pure; real love felt for the first time.

“She pretty?” Frank asked, jerking Jay from the memory.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Hey, that’s great kid. Me, I don’t care much for looks, so long as she fucks good. This Gina broad of yours fuck good, Jay?”

 “Shut up.”

“What was that, Jaybird?”

“I said shut the hell up!”

Frank laughed lightly. “Simmer down, Jaybird, it was just a question.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what? Jaybird? I kinda dig it. Tough guy’s nickname.”

“I said don’t.”

 “My, someone’s mood went sour. You got a predisposition to mood swings? One minute it’s all tears and bitchy bitchy, the next you’re some kinda firecracker, making demands and being rude. I thought we were friends, Jaybird. I betcha I know why you don’t like that nickname, though. I betcha your friend Denny called you that.”

“Denny isn’t my friend.”

“Oh, that’s right. He got you into this, you said.”

 “He’s a punk.”

“And you were one of his cronies. So what’s that make you, shitkicker?”

 “I wasn’t a crony.” Jay’s tears were gone, panic and guilt changing to anger.

“Sure you were,” Frank said, “Let me guess: Denny led the tough guys. The douchebags that are always skipping class and smoking out in the bathroom. I’m guessing you had something to offer them, so they took you in, made you feel cool. What’d you do, do their homework for them?”

 “I fixed their cars,” Jay said. The fact that he had done Denny’s homework a number of times was a fact that did not need divulging. 

“Oh,” Frank said, “So you were their grease monkey, then. Emphasis on monkey.”

 “Fuck you.”

“No thanks, I prefer gals. Flattered though.”

Jay stayed silent, a scowl on his face as he looked outside. The night zoomed past, hues of black midnight mixed with flashes of yellow corn from the fields on either side of the road melding into a blur. His gaze turned to the shattered passenger window. He could try jumping out. At the speed they were going, it was gonna hurt like a bitch, but if he tucked and rolled, he thought he could manage it.

Jay began inching his way over to the window. He didn’t notice the seatbelt slithering like a snake around his waist until it clicked neatly into place, cutting off his breath. Jay struggled to undo the belt, but it only tightened more. 

“I’ll tighten that belt until it cuts you in half or collapses your lungs, whichever comes first,” Frank said.

Jay gave up. The belt loosened enough so that he could breathe, but still kept a firm grip around his waist.

“There, isn’t that more comfortable? Real safe.” Frank said. Jay barely heard him. 

An hour passed, dragging on for eternity. Frank kept talking, joking and taunting. Jay tried to ignore him, but Frank would snap invisible fingers impossibly loud in his ear, cracking him back to attention. “Don’t you ignore me, Jaybird,” he said, “I’ll cut this little confab of ours early if you keep it up.”

Frank’s voice cut to squealing brakes and twisting metal. The sounds of wreckage faded and Frank’s voice returned with a laugh. 

 “If you’re gonna do it, just do it,” Jay said. 

“What, and spoil the fun?”

 They crested a hill and a roadside sign caught Jay’s eye. The paint was peeling, and the overhead lights illuminated a mural of a grinning family picnicking on a sunny hillside. Block letters slanted across the blue sky above the family proclaimed: PORTERVILLE IN ONLY 10 MILES! C’MON DOWN!

Jay’s heart began to race. He looked at the Merc’s speedometer. The needle held firmly at 100, and Jay knew this stretch of road was 65 the whole way through. The Mercury raced past the sign, and Jay held his breath as he looked in the rearview mirror, praying for the miracle that he hoped was there.

Red and blue lights flashed from the shadows as the patrol car nestled behind the sign whipped out onto the highway, moving up impossibly fast as its siren howled like a shrill-voiced wolf. Jay let out a whoop of joy. 

“Ooowee, we got a game now!” Frank yelled. The Merc lunged forward, the speedo needle jumping. The cruiser took the hint and accelerated in kind, nosing up to the Merc’s bumper. A voice boomed over a loudspeaker. 

“Pull over,” it commanded.

 “BITE ME BLUE BOY!” Frank shouted so loud that it felt as though Jay’s ear drums were about to burst. The Merc zig-zagged, coming grievously close to the ditch as Frank tried to throw the cop off the road. It was a no-go, the cruiser staying close and following at the same break-neck speed. The Merc took a sudden right, thudding and rattling down into the ditch, tearing through barbed wire and  into one of the endless cornfields that surrounded the road like a green and yellow ocean. The stalks laid themselves across the hood, flying up over the top of the car in waves. A scarecrow bellyflopped from the post he hung from as the Mercury tore it down, cracking the windshield before sliding off to the side and under the tires. The patrol car had stopped on the road, its lights continuing to flash. 

“Let me out,” Jay screamed.

 “Hell no,” Frank yelled, “You’re mine Jaybird, ain’t nobody taking my payback away tonight!”

Jay clawed at the seat belt cinched around his waist, tearing at it until it gradually became looser. He leaned over, feeling beneath the seat as a last ditch idea brewed in his head. He touched dust, dirt, and small round cold spots that could only be coins. Finally, as he dragged his fingers across the farthest area of their reach, he found purchase on cold steel. His hand scrabbled over the edge of the gun’s surface, dragging it  as close as possible until he could grab hold. At last, he got his hand around it. He jerked it up, aimed, and discharged the last five rounds into the radio. Sparks flew as the 

backlight flickered and went out. Smoke drifted from the bullet punctures, twisting on the wind and out 

the shattered passenger window in a black plume. The car began to slow, rolling to a stop in the middle of the corn stalks. The engine coughed and died.Jay leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed. He rested there awhile, breathing in the fresh night air as relief flooded him, paired with a sudden exhaustion.

He fought the urge to sleep and opened his eyes. Jay noticed that the rearview was askew, giving him a fine view of the car’s ceiling. He reached up and adjusted it, the view slowly transitioning down to the backseat.

Frank was there, his visage perfectly framed in the rearview. He was pale, his eyes sunken red mirrors ringed with dark purple. His cheeks were pitted and his hair hung lanky, half concealing the small, dark hole dead center of his forehead from which a clotted, black stream of blood traced its way down to his chin. He smiled, showing rows of crooked yellow teeth.

“You thought shooting the music box would get rid of me?” Frank croaked, “Ride’s over, Jaybird. My payback’s due.”

The living corpse lunged, his cold fingers wrapping around Jay’s neck and squeezing, cutting into his windpipe. The engine roared to life and the Merc lurched forward, crashing through the field and out into a clear cut patch. Jay’s sight was fuzzing at the edges, the lack of air pushing him down into the black depths of unconsciousness.

“Payback is a bitch, and you’re gonna die fucking her,” Frank screamed from somewhere far away. The car raced through the clear-cut patch, kicking up grass and dirt behind it, rushing in a beeline towards the road. In his fading vision, Jay casually saw that the road was lined with concrete barriers. The Mercury smashed into them, the front end scrunching up like an accordion. Jay flew forward, out of Frank’s grip, smashing through the windshield in a crescendo of shattering glass. He took in a gulp of the air, closing his eyes and waiting for the thud and splat of himself hitting the asphalt. A few minutes later, he was still waiting. Jay opened his eyes.

He was flying. Below him, farmland spread out in green and brown and yellow patchwork. The road threaded through it as a thin black line. He could see flashing lights as policemen raced towards the area where the Mercury had gone off the road. He looked toward the horizon, the sun coming up and seeping over the land with its warm, golden glow. Jay felt a sudden air of calm wash over him.

_I’m dead,_ he thought to himself. 

A green flash erupted across the horizon, detonating at its center and spreading out like lightning toward Jay. It smashed into him, sending an electrifying tingle down his spine that leaked into his extremities until his whole body felt, as though he was filled with TV snow. He felt himself begin to fall, picking up speed at an alarming rate. He was a meteor, plummeting to the ground where he would burrow down, down, down until he reached Hell. 

There was a pop in his ears, and suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore. A cool breeze kissed his face, and he could smell hair gel and sour liquor on the breath of someone nearby. He kept his eyes closed, too afraid and confused to open them.

 “Open your fuckin’ eyes, Jaybird, we got work to do.”

Jay’s eyes popped open. Denny and the guys stood in front of him, looking at him with mild amusement.

“You done dreamin’,” Denny said, “Because, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to get this show on the road.”

 Jay looked around. He was standing in the parking lot behind the grocer again. The Merc was idling under the streetlamp at the far end, its purple paint the color of a summer midnight in the yellow glow.

 “Let’s go for a ride Jaybird,” Denny said, pushing the gun into Jay’s hands. Jay looked at the gun, then looked at the car. It was sleek and powerful looking, crouched like a big cat ready to pounce.

_Prettiest thing he ever bagged_, Jay thought.  He looked himself over in the dark, felt along his 

arms and face for cuts and bruises. Nothing. He’d gone through a windshield, and there was nothing to show for it. 

“What the hell…” he muttered.

“Hey, schizo,” Denny said, “Quit talking to yourself and go get that car. The gun ain’t loaded. Just show it off, let it glint a little, and he’ll be off into the dark. Easy-peasy.” 

Jay looked at Denny. A dirty hoodlum, doing his third senior year and getting ready for a fourth, dumb as an ox and the big dog purely because he had the brawn of one.

“No,” Jay said, handing the gun back.

“The fuck you say to me,” Denny said.

 “I said no, Denny, I’m not doing it.”

   Denny’s eyes gleamed, shooting daggers at Jay in the dark. Denny’s cronies stared at him in mild amazement, nervously waiting on what their leader would do to punish this anarchy within the group. Jay kept his eyes pinned to Denny’s, staring him down. Denny’s eyes wavered, broke away.

“Fine,” he said, “The pussy doesn’t wanna do it? I’ll do it.” He pocketed the gun, turned to walk towards the car. Jay grabbed his shoulder.

“Denny, don’t do it,” he hissed, “It’ll be bad if you do.”

“Get your puss-hands off of me,” Denny said, shrugging out of Jay’s grip. He approached the car slowly, sneaking deliberately and quietly so as to avoid detection. Jay shook his head, turned, and took off at a run in the opposite direction, away from the nightmare that was about to take place. The other boys watched him go, none making a move to stop him. Jay had reached the end of the block when he heard the gunshot. A moment later, an engine roared and tires squealed. He turned around and saw the Mercury turn out of the lot and race toward him. It shot past and through a stoplight without slowing, a panicked looking Denny at the wheel. He met eyes with Jay for a split second; his scared 

and alone, Jay’s calm and pitying. Then Denny was gone, the taillights fading out into the dark. Jay watched the two red beacons disappear, then turned for home. He needed to call Gina.