For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapters 10 and 11 Chapter 12

The work on Pamela seemed to be taking forever, but I could begin to see the progress we were making. And while we were fixing the damage from the accident, we were also fixing some of the other less pressing issues I’d put off; the passenger window crank that kept sticking, the weather seal on the trunk that leaked if it rained too hard; little things like that. Weed even suggested replacing the radio with one that actually worked but I hesitated. Only, I don’t know why. I had no problem replacing the broken parts with ones from the junkyard but Finkenbine didn’t have an original radio so I’d have to put in a modern one and I wasn’t quite ready to do that.

“That’s probably a good stopping point,” Weed said, tightening the bleeder valve on the last brake caliper. We’d completely replaced every brake line, with Weed doing most of the bending and flaring. I tried bending a couple pieces and wasted twice as much as we actually used so he took over from there. I just had to crawl underneath the car and install the new lines while trying to keep the rust from the old lines from falling into my eyes and mouth.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was almost 9:30 pm, which gave me just enough time to make it home and into the shower before heading to bed. Then it dawned on me; I’d completely forgotten about dinner with Shawna and mom. How the Hell had I forgotten?

“I’ve got to go,” I yelled to Weed as I grabbed my helmet and ran to the KZ.

He just stared as I fired up the bike and literally burned rubber as I pulled from his driveway.

I made it home in no time, but even as I pulled up I knew I was way too late. The house was pitch black, which I should have expected. Mom had to work and Shawna would have been completely pissed at me, and rightfully so. I don’t know how I let it slip my mind so completely. I’m sure the thought of my next assignment had something to do with it but I couldn’t use that as an excuse with her.

Making my way into the house, I flipped on the kitchen light and saw a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the table, but no note. Part of me would have prefered if mom or Shawna had left a little note telling me how upset or disappointed they were with me. Not having one just seemed to make it worse. I thought about tossing the plate in the microwave but I didn’t have the appetite and instead headed towards my room. Crawling under the car for several hours had taken its toll on me and I was sure I’d be able to sleep like a baby once I climbed into bed. I contemplated waiting to shower until the morning. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the hallway mirror on my way upstairs. Bits of rust and dirt were scattered throughout my hair, and there was enough grease on my face to lube an entire chassis, so shower it was. Only as I reached my room, I knew the shower would have to wait.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Shawna. She was sitting on my bed, not ten feet away but she didn’t even turn to face me. Instead, she just kept staring forward as she spoke.

“Your mom left you a plate on the table.”

“Yeah, I saw it. Was she pissed?”

“We had a nice time talking, catching up while we waited for you to show up. Eventually she had to head to work.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know how…”

“I wanted to come over, to know that things were still okay between us. I think I got my answer.”

“That’s not fair. I’m not the one who changed things between us.”

She finally looked at me, and that look said it all.

“Staying here to talk to you was a mistake,” she said, pushing past me.

“Wait,” I said, instinctively grabbing her arm as she pushed past me.

“Don’t touch me,” she yelled as she pulled her arm away. That’s when I saw the bruises.

“What are those?” 

“Nothing,” she said, moving to the staircase.

“Did Matt do that to you?”

She just kept going. And I just kept standing there like an idiot, unsure what to do. Unsure what she wanted me to do. I was angry at myself for forgetting dinner, at her for blaming me for the way things were between us, and at Matt, for whatever he did to her. I wanted to do something to convince her she was wrong about me and wrong about Matt but I was sure going after her would only make things worse. The sound of the front door closing brought me back around and I remembered how filthy and tired I really was.

Letting my exhaustion win out over my anger, I stripped off my grime covered clothes and hopped into the shower. The hot water did nothing to keep me awake either, so as soon as I towelled off I was ready to fall into bed but as I stepped from the bathroom and saw the television glowing I knew that wasn’t going to happen right away.

“Come on, not tonight,” I said before I even made my way around to the front of the set.

“You can do it whenever you like,” Lucifer’s voice boomed from the TV.

“I’m exhausted and I’d never make it to wherever I need to go.”

“It’s probably best that you wait until tomorrow anyway, seeing how you’ll both be at school all day.”

My exhaustion faded a little as my interest piqued.

“You want me to get rid of someone at school?”

“Again, you can do it wherever and however you like,” he said, and I could hear the grin on his face even if I couldn’t see it.

A hundred possibilities rushed through my mind but I couldn’t even venture a guess who it might be. The soccer coach who only seemed to like his star players and detested any other students? The assistant principal who seemed to enjoy finding any reason to punish anyone? Or maybe even the lunch ladies who looked like they’d rather be serving prisoners in the state pen? It could have been any of them.

“So who is it this time?” I asked, before immediately knowing I’d regret it. But I couldn’t not know, so I braced myself as I moved around the television. The face that appeared on the screen was probably the last one I would have expected.

“Mrs. Reader?” I asked. “There’s no way.”

“I told you I’d only assign you the killers, rapists and child molesters so you know how it goes, you touch her and you’ll see exactly what she’s guilty of.”

Lucifer’s voice coming from the Special Ed teacher’s face was one of the most disturbing things I could have imagined.

“ You send her on and you’re one step closer to being done. Or if you’d prefer we can just forget about the deal. I’ll even let you say goodbye to your mom…”

“Enough. You’ve made your point.”

“Good. So our deal stands.”

“Yeah, but I just…I just can’t believe she’s done something to deserve that. I almost don’t want to know what she’s done.”

“Well tomorrow you will and you’ll send her on just like the others.”

The screen went black and I was left in darkness, with only a sliver of moonlight peeking through the window to see by. I thought about turning on a lamp but I made my way to the bed without it, even though I knew I was no longer ready to sleep. For some reason staying in the darkness felt a little better as I laid there with a thousand thoughts running through my head. What could she have done to deserve to die? And if it was really that bad, how was I going to send her on? Could I make it easy on her? Did she deserve something worse? But even if she had done something that bad, could I really do that to her? It had been hard enough to take care of Sowers, even though he was trying to kill me.

I really didn’t know Mrs. Reader personally but everyone at the school, hell, everyone in town and possibly in the state, knew everything she’d done for the kids she was in charge of. She was almost like a local hero, and I was going to have to put an end to everything she had done. The thoughts of her and what I was going to have to do kept running through my head until thoughts of Shawna took over, causing another round of restlessness. Eventually my mind gave in to my body, letting me sleep a little though it was anything but peaceful.

When morning came around I was no better off than I’d been the day before. I thought about asking Weed for some more of his energy potion but decided the chance of death wasn’t worth it. Worst case, I might have to use a couple classes to catch up on my sleep.

Two cups of instant coffee gave me enough energy to leave the house but I took my time getting to school. I don’t know who I was avoiding more, Weed, Shawna or Mrs. Reader. All I knew was that I was in no hurry to stop riding and by the time I pulled into the last available parking spot the final bell had already sounded.

Mr. Baker, the American History teacher, was writing a bunch of useless facts on the whiteboard and had his back to class as I entered the room and slipped into my seat. Somehow luck was on my side, or so I thought, until he started talking to me without even turning around.

“Nice of you to join my class Mr. Holden,” he said. “Maybe next time you can try to do so before the bell rings.”

Several comments jumped to mind but I bit my tongue, pretty sure pissing him off wouldn’t make me feel any better. Instead I nodded silently.

“No excuse or at least a snide remark?” He said, finishing his writing and finally turning to face me.

“No sir,” I replied, though I could feel my face starting to turn red.

“I was hoping for something good; maybe “I was abducted by aliens” or at least “I had a flat tire”, but nothing?”

I don’t know why, maybe it was the lack of sleep, or everything with Shawna, or even the whole Grim Reaper thing, but I just wasn’t in the mood to put up with some teacher who thought his class was the only thing that mattered. Grabbing my bookbag, I stood up and threw it over my shoulder, then turned and headed to the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mr Baker asked as I turned the handle.

“This,” I said, flipping him the bird as I walked out of his class.

I heard him start to yell something but the laughter of the entire class drowned out whatever he was saying as I kept walking. I made it back out to the parking lot and even managed to get my helmet on without seeing another person but just as I kicked the KZ to life I saw the assistant principal rush out the doors. He was too late though, only reaching the bottom of the concrete stairs as I took off. I didn’t know where I was going, or even why, I just knew that I wanted to go, so I did.

For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapters 10 and 11

I really don’t know why the tears came. Sowers was a bad man, so I really shouldn’t have felt bad for what I’d done to him. But then again, maybe the tears weren’t for him but for what he’d done; maybe they were for those boys. Those boys, any one of which could have been me. It didn’t really matter why the tears came though; there was nothing I could do to stop them. All I could do was wait for them to pass. And when the tears finally stopped I realized just how late it was and just how exhausted I was.

But sleep came only fitfully before the sun started to rise. I thought about skipping school, but then I would have to come up with a good excuse for mom and that wasn’t going to happen, so I forced myself out of bed and into the shower, though that barely helped. By the time I shut off the water I was even more tired than I’d been when I started it. I couldn’t see myself making it through second period without a little help, so against my better judgment I hopped on the KZ and went straight to Weed’s place.

“Give me some of your devil’s elixir,” I said, flinging open his curtains as he pulled his pillow over his face.

“Go away!” He mumbled through the pillow.

“I’m serious, I need your help.”

“Making it through a school day drunk takes a lot of practice,” he continued, not taking the pillow away from his face, “and you’re not ready for it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, pulling the pillow from his face, “I need some energy, and lots of it.”

He slid the pillow from his head, a grin showing on his face.

“I knew this day would come.”

“Don’t make a big deal of it, I just didn’t sleep last night, or really the night before either.”

“You sure you’re up to this?”

“I said don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“First you have to tell me I’m a genius.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Then at least tell me I was right.”

“Fine, You were right.”

And now to fulfill the bet…”

2 years ago, after a weekend long party, Weed had come up with some concoction that combined high levels of caffeine with ginseng, vitamins, pre-workout supplements and asthma medication. He swore it not only cured his hangover but also gave him superhuman energy; I called him an idiot and swore he was just trying to kill himself. He ended up bouncing off the walls and not sleeping for two days, but he didn’t seem to suffer any lasting problems from the stuff so he bet me one day I’d beg him for his recipe. I hated that he was right, but knowing what was coming made it even worse.

“Where do you want it?” He asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

I rolled up my sleeve and braced myself but I still wasn’t prepared when the electrical charge hit me, practically dropping me on the spot.

“Damn,” I said, as I tried to shake it off. I don’t know where Weed had gotten the cattle prod but we’d been trading shots with it for several years, usually the result of losing a bet. Even with that much experience, though, it still hurt like crazy.

“Now let’s get you wired,” he said.

“After that jolt, I might not need anything else.”

“Trust me, you’re going to thank me later.”

He was right, again. After chugging the nasty concoction Weed mixed up for me I started to feel better and by the time I reached school I was wide awake, even a bit more energetic than normal. I didn’t sleep through a single class but by lunchtime I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

“Yeah, that happened to me the first few times too,” Weed said, “but it’ll go away before long.”

‘Before long’ turned out to be another couple hours, just before the final bell rang. As I made my way to my bike I was finally beginning to feel like myself again, and for that I was thankful. I was even more thankful to see Shawna standing there beside the KZ.

“Hi,” she said.

She had her books clasped in one arm, her other arm was resting on the handlebars.

“Hi.”

“You look like you’re doing good.”

She had no idea how far off she was.

“You too,” I replied, and I meant it. She looked very good but with a sadness in her eye. It was a sadness that had been there when I first met her but that had faded over the years. I wasn’t sure if something had happened with her and Matt; though the thought did bring a little smile to my face and I hated myself for it.

“I thought maybe we could get together tonight, just to hang out.”

I felt my smile grow a little bigger.

“That’d be good; Mom’s been asking about you.”

“I’ve been meaning to stop by but… you know…”

“Yeah. Why don’t you come over for dinner? She’d be happy to see you.”

“That sounds nice.”

“And then maybe we can throw in a Monty Python DVD?”

“Make it a John Hughes movie and it’s a deal.”

“Deal.”

“Uh, I’ve got to go,” She said, the smile fading from her face. I glanced over my shoulder to see what she was looking at and saw the red Corvette pull into the parking lot. I didn’t know what to make of it so I just waved as she made her way towards Matt’s car.

“Please tell me you’re not going down that road again,” Weed said. I didn’t even see where he came from.

“We’re friends. Period.”

“With benefits?”

“Just friends. She’s coming over for dinner with Mom. Nothing more. Besides, she’s with Matt.”

“For as long as that lasts.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my interest peaked.

“I’m not even going there. You’re looking for any straw to grasp.”

“I’m over her entirely. Completely.”

“So you’re ready to move on to someone else.”

“If the right girl comes along…maybe…wait. What’ve you done?”

“Trust me,” he said with a grin that terrified me.

“I know better than that.”

“Have I ever led you astray?”

“Only always. Like that time you convinced me to get on that sled tied behind your car.”

“That was a blast”

“Yeah, up until you floored it, got me up to highway speeds, then slammed on the brakes.”

“We never got above 50.”

“I still face planted onto your rear bumper.”

“And you lived.”

“Or like the time you told me that mound of wasabi was guacamole.”

“Now that was funny.”

“I couldn’t feel my tongue for a week!”

“That’s what made it so funny.”

“Or that time with the jumper cables and nipple clamps…”

“Okay, that one might have been a little too mean, but in my defense I didn’t know body hair could catch fire that quickly.”

“So whatever you have planned, I’ll pass.”

“No you won’t.”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

“Two words – boarding school girls.”

“You realize boarding school is two words, right?”

“But schoolgirl is one word.”

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s how they spell it on all of the movie titles in the back of the video store.”

“Yeah, because pornos are known for their grammatical accuracy.”

“Don’t be putting down the most American of arts.”

Regardless, of where you take your spelling lessons I’m saying no to the whole thing, whatever it is you have planned.”

“Come on, this weekend will be their first one home after being stuck on a campus with only girls…”

“How do you even know any boarding school girls?”

“Boarding school, correctional facility, same thing.”

“No it’s not even close.”

“Hot girls locked up with no guys, only other hot girls, doing god knows what to each other…”

“Life is not a porno. It’s not only hot girls that get put in those places, and I really doubt they’re doing what you picture them doing.”

“Why do you have to kill the dream?”

“Have you even met these girls?”

“Kind of. I mean, we’ve exchanged letters and pictures.”

“Do I even want to know when or how you became a penpal to girls in a correctional institution?”

“It’s been a little while. Last summer, while you were busy fawning over Shawna, I joined through a church youth group for a couple weeks. I thought it would be a good way to meet some chicks.”

“The youth group or the pen pal program.”

“The youth group, at first, but when that didn’t work out I moved on to plan B.”

“You’re going to hell, you know that, right?”

“That’s where the hot naughty girls will be.”

“You really need help,” I said, slipping on my helmet.

“That’s not a no.”

“Because I already said no.”

I fired up the bike while shaking my head at Weed.

“Fine,” he said. “Your loss. You still coming over to work on Pamela?”

I hesitated to say yes. I wanted to work on her. I wanted to get her all fixed up and back out on the road, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to say yes if He came to me again with another assignment. And what would happen if I said no? But then I realized it didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing, the first assignment came while I was at home, asleep. Avoiding my car wouldn’t keep him from coming to me again. And I had made a deal, it was time to live up to it.

“Nate?” Weed asked. “You coming over?”

“Yeah,” I responded. “Let’s get her done.”

This week was not as productive as I had hoped, so still no new cover. But to make up for that, and the fact that Chapter 10 is pretty short, I’m including a bonus chapter this week.

For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Mom was already up, showered and working on dinner by the time I got home, which meant she probably had a rough night at work and didn’t sleep well.

“Are you making progress at Weed’s?” She asked as soon as I walked in the door.

“Yeah, it’s coming along nicely,” I lied a little.

“That’s good,” she replied, “I’ll feel better when you’re back to driving a car instead of the bike so much.”

“I’m very cautious,” I lied a little more, “maybe even more so on the bike.” That part was true.

“It’s not necessarily you I’m most worried about,” she said, continuing to stir the spaghetti sauce. “Other drivers aren’t always so careful and it’s easy for them to overlook someone on a motorcycle.”

She wasn’t wrong, and I knew nothing I said would change her mind, so I decided to change the subject instead.

“So while I was at Weed’s I heard that Mr. Dinkle, the librarian, died last year. I’m a little surprised I didn’t hear about it back then.”

“Why were you talking about Mr. Dinkle?”

“I’ve got an assignment so I’ll probably go to the library a little later when you head to work. It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but I thought I would have at least heard about Mr. Dinkle.”

“I’m glad to hear that you’re taking school seriously,” she said, once again steering the conversation away from Mr. Dinkle’s death. “I know it can be easy to slack off in the final stretch.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I replied, “but why are you avoiding talking about Mr. Dinkle?”

She stopped stirring the sauce, but still didn’t turn from the stove. Instead, she sighed, grabbed another pot and began filling it with water before answering.

“Well, he was getting up there in age and had a few health issues, so it wasn’t completely out of the blue. And he wasn’t married and didn’t have any kids of his own, so there wasn’t a large funeral service or anything.”

“The same things could be said about that beautician, Ms. Wilson. She was old and alone but half the town still showed up for her viewing. I mean, I wasn’t a huge fan of Mr. Dinkle, but I thought I would have at least heard something.”

“With Mr. Dinkle there were certain circumstances that some people felt would be best to keep quiet so they could fade away quicker.”

“Like what?”

Again she paused, then moved back to stirring the sauce while still not facing me.

“Do you know what autoerotic asphyxiation is?” She asked. It was a question I’d never expected to hear from her.

“I’ve heard of it,” I replied, feeling my cheeks blush a little. That really wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with my mom.

“That was the official cause of death for him.”

“Oh,” was all I could say. I mean, how else do you respond to something like that?

“And some of the pictures found near him were very disturbing, especially to mothers of young boys.”

I got what she was saying, but it didn’t add up with what I’d been told in the garage.

“But he’s dead,” she continued, “and most of those who know about how he died want it to stay buried with him.”

“I won’t say anything,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I meant it. If Dinkle was the pedophile, then maybe Mr. Sowers wasn’t guilty. And if Lucifer lied about Sowers, then what about the biker? But then I remembered the visions I saw when I touched the biker, and I knew he was guilty. And though I couldn’t touch Dinkle to see what he had done, I would be able to see what Sowers was guilty of. It would only take one touch, and then I’d know. 

“So it’s my turn to make you uncomfortable,” mom said, clearly ending that conversation, “How’s Shawna doing? And why haven’t I seen her since she’s been back?”

I think I preferred the other discussion.

“You know how it is with school just starting and everything,” I said, trying to keep it vague.

“Surely she can find a few minutes to swing by,” she replied, not letting it go. “You two used to do homework together every night, you were practically inseparable.”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea; we’re in completely different classes this year.”

“Well I’m sure…”

“And she has a new boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she said, going back to the sauce.

“Well there are plenty of girls…”

“Mom,” I said, a little more harshly than I meant to. “I’m fine. We’re fine. And I’m sure she’ll be over sometime soon. Right now it’s just a matter of priorities.”

“There’s a cute new CNA at the hospital. She just graduated from Southview last year. I could…”

“I really need a shower,” I said heading up the stairs before she could begin to rope me into anything. I wanted to take a long hot shower but mom would be heading to work shortly and I had to get to the library before the doors closed.

Dinner was ready by the time I got out of the shower and made my way back downstairs. Mom had made her soft breadsticks and I could smell them before I even reached the kitchen. It was times like that that made me feel everything was going right; but then she had to go work herself like crazy and I had my own job I had to finish. But at least I saw an end for what I had to do. She, on the other hand, had been working herself to death since before I could remember. The only way it was going to end was if I could do something to help her out. In order to do that, I had to finish my next assignments as quickly as possible. That thought made heading to the library a little easier.

Chapter 11

The sun was already pretty low by the time I pulled into the library parking lot. There wasn’t a single car in any of the spaces, but glancing at my watch I could see that it was still a few minutes before eight, so I hung my helmet on the handlebars and hurried towards the building. Back when I knew him, Mr. Sowers didn’t drive; he rode a mountain bike everywhere. As I reached the front doors I was actually thankful to see his bike chained up to the bike rack but when I pulled on the door handle, it refused to open.

“Damnit,” I mumbled, as I plopped back against the door, pissed that I’d missed my opportunity. Sure, there’d be other chances, but psyching myself up to do what I had to do was tiring, especially when it was for nothing.

A knock on the door behind me shook me from my thoughts, and as I turned around, I could feel a smile forming on my face. Mr. Sowers was standing there unlocking the front door.

“Sorry about that,” he said, without fully making eye contact with me. “It’s just been me here for the past hour so I thought I’d close up a few minutes early.”

“No problem,” I said, trying to act casual. “I just need a book for a report I forgot was due.”

“School just started and you already forgot about a report? That’s really not a good way to start the school year.”

“Yeah, uh, that’s why I rushed over here.”

“So what kind of book do you need?” He asked with a smile, that might have been genuine, but with everything Lucifer told me, it just looked creepy as Hell. That made it even harder to come up with a good lie.

“Uh, Napoleon,” I said, blurting out the first thing remotely scholastic that came to mind.

“Those books are back here,” he said, leading me towards a slightly darkened corner packed with history books. I stared at the books, moving from one title to the next while not really paying attention to them as I tried to think of some way to touch his arm casually. I needed to see that he was the one guilty of what I’d been told, but before I could come up with anything, he grabbed me, spun me around and shoved me against the shelves of books.

“What are you really doing here?” he asked, the gentle face now looking terrifying.

“I just need a book for a report,” I stammered.

“Napoleon is taught in freshman history, and no reports are assigned about him until the second semester. So I’m going to ask you again, what are you really doing here?”

When I didn’t answer right away, his giant hands moved from my shoulders to my neck, slowly gripping tighter. I grabbed hold of his wrists, trying to break free and that’s when I was flooded with images. I saw him with several different boys, all young, all innocent. Then I saw what he did to them. What started gently, timidly at first turned more violent when they started to cry, begging him to stop.

I yanked my hands off his so the images would stop, but then he started squeezing my throat even harder. I could feel myself getting lightheaded and knew I had to pull his hands off of me, but convincing myself to touch him again was harder than I would have imagined. The thought of just going to sleep was much more appealing than having to see those images again, but once I was asleep there was no telling what he might do, or even if I’d wake up again.

Grabbing his hands once again, more images flooded my mind, this time I saw a boy I kind of recognized, possibly from the park, or supermarket. Sowers had him in a small storage room, showing him pictures of other boys, the ones from the earlier visions. He must have taken them, either as trophies, or even just to convince other boys it was okay because others had done it. But then Mr. Dinkle burst into the room. I could see the anger in his eyes and feel the shame and horror Sowers felt at being caught. But then the shame turned to fear, and fear turned to rage. Jumping to his feet I saw through his eyes how he grabbed Mr. Dinkle’s throat, just as he had mine, and how he had choked the man to death with his bare hands.

The kid screamed, and started crying so Sowers did the same thing to him, only requiring one hand to stop the noise. I could feel the relief and pleasure he felt at the silence before looking at both bodies. It was then that I could feel the tears start flowing. But then his tears turned to fear of getting caught, and once again the fear turned to anger, so he took off Mr. Dinkle’s belt and wrapped one end around his neck and the other around the storage room door handle. Leaving his prized pictures beside Mr. Dinkle, Sowers grabbed the boy’s body and shoved it into the contractor sized trash bag and took it out back to the dumpster.

It was only then that I realized where I’d seen the boy before. His face was on missing person posters. A year ago they’d been all over the area and even featured on the local news. But over the passing months, they’d all just kind of faded away. With the timing of the boys’ disappearance and Mr. Dinkle’s death, along with Dinkle’s assumed guilt for all of Sowers’ other acts, everyone probably just assumed the kid was one more of his victims too.

Sowers’ hands squeezed a little tighter, and the visions of what he’d done were replaced by a swirling sensation and I knew I was about to pass out. With every ounce of strength I had left, I pictured him having a massive heart attack right in front of me. I felt the same energy pass through me that I had that night at the bar, and instantly Sowers froze, his grip loosening enough for me to get a breath. The ice cold burning sensation finished coursing through me as the swirling sensation started to fade, I felt his hands leave my neck completely. His eyes glossed over as he grabbed at his chest and dropped to the floor.

I stared at him for a moment before the overwhelming warmth flooded my body, just as it had the night before,  intoxicating me with its energy. I just wanted to stay there and enjoy the moment, but I knew I needed to get out of there. I mean, there’s no way I could have been blamed for Sowers’ heart attack, but I didn’t want to take any chances. 

Rushing out of the front door I couldn’t shake the image of his face; it was the first time I’d witnessed anyone die in front of me, and knowing I was responsible for it made the whole thing worse. Immediately my stomach tightened and flopped. I leaned into the nearest bush lining the sidewalk from the parking lot to the building and started heaving. It refused to stop until I’d gotten rid of every ounce of the wonderful dinner mom had fixed for me.

It took me a minute after I was completely empty to stop shaking and to gather myself enough to stand back up and finish making my way to the bike. It took another minute of sitting on the bike before I convinced myself I was good enough to ride. The vibrations of the engine beneath me did nothing to help my stomach, and I seemed to hit every pothole on the way home but somehow I made it back without having to pull over. Once home though, I rushed into the nearest bathroom and started dry heaving until my body was satisfied there was nothing left to get rid of. That’s when I sat with my back against the wall and let the tears fall.

This week is spring break, so I will probably have a chance to work on the cover some more, but for now it’s still the same.

For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

My mom didn’t have a shift at the diner that night so she would be home for a bit before heading to the hospital and I’d already spent a good amount of time at Finkenbine’s, so as soon as we got the Hearse done I skipped going to Weed’s place and headed home instead. Starting back on Pamela would just have to wait another night. And part of me was actually glad to have an excuse to get away from Weed for a little while. I couldn’t be certain that I’d killed Finkenbine’s friend, but I was pretty sure I had. And Weed had to assume the same thing. How did he feel about that? How would I feel if my best friend just killed someone? I really wasn’t prepared to find out, so a night at home and spending a couple hours with my mom, would do me good.

Unfortunately, my mind was so preoccupied with what happened at Finkenbine’s that I completely forgot about hiding the bike from my mom. I realized that as I was walking up to the back door, pulling off my helmet.

“That’s new,” Mom said, before I’d even closed the back door. She was sitting at the circular dining table drinking a cup of coffee.

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to play it off, “I’ve got Pamela at Weed’s so we can do some more on her, and he had a bike laying around, so…”

“You know I don’t like those things,” she continued, but in a softer tone, “but you are about to be 18, at which point I can’t really control anything you do…”

“Now mom…”

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to be riding a motorcycle, be safe.”

With that, she tossed a pamphlet to me. It was for a local motorcycle shop who offered fee classes.

“You knew?”

She just nodded as she took another sip of her coffee.

“I was going to tell you, I was just working up the courage. It happened so suddenly. I wasn’t planning on getting a bike, Weed just had it and…”

“You don’t have to explain it all to me,” she said, stopping me from blabbering on too much. “I just want you to know you can tell me anything. You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

I knew she meant it, or at least she thought she did. I also knew there was no way I could tell her what happened the night of the crash, or even what had happened last night, as much as I might have wanted to.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, trying to put on my best smile.

“At least you’re wearing a helmet,” she said. “But the skull on it?”

“Yeah, it’s not really my style either, but it was from Weed”

“He really is a good friend, isn’t he.”

“One of the best,” I said, hoping it was still true.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll see what I can put together for dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mom ended up fixing us pizza bagels and mozzarella sticks, probably because they’re my favorite. Then she put in Goonies which I’d seen a thousand times, and which I could have watched a thousand more, only I knew she really didn’t care for it. I couldn’t tell if she was setting me up to hit me with some bad news, or if she just really wanted me to have a great night. Regardless of her intentions, she never dropped a bomb on me and by the time she left for the hospital I was more relaxed than I’d been in a very long time. I’d almost completely forgotten about all the other crap I had going on.

“Don’t stay up late,” she said as she headed out the door.

“I won’t,” I replied, and I really meant it. I had no intention of being up late, but someone else had other ideas.

Once again I found myself being awakened in the middle of a perfectly good sleep. This time it wasn’t the TV that interrupted my sleep, but a thumping at the window.

“What the Hell?” I yelled to Weed as I unlatched the window. “Why didn’t you come up the stairs?”

“I didn’t know if your mom was working and I didn’t want to wake her.”

“But you’re cool with waking me?”

“I didn’t know how much sleeping you’d be doing, and I didn’t want to miss it if you got another assignment.”

“So you’re cool with it if I did do what we think I did?”

“What, rid the world of someone who even Finkenbine didn’t think should still be out there doing God-knows-what?

“I doesn’t bother you that I might have murdered someone?”

“Don’t think of it like that. You got rid of a bad guy. You’re like a superhero using your superpowers for good.”

“Not even close.”

“Well, however you want to think of it, you’re not a bad person. You’re just doing your job, and in the end, some little part of this world is better off for it.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little better knowing that Weed was on my side.

“Now that that’s taken care of,” he said, pulling out a baggie, “we could both probably use a little something to help us get some sleep.”

“We’ve got school in a couple hours,” I protested, though even I barely believed the words coming out of my mouth.

“Which is why we need a little rest, and this is just the bag to help us do it.”

Ten minutes later we were both silent. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was out at that point but a few minutes later I was enjoying peaceful dreamless sleep. There were no thoughts of car crashes or motorcycle accidents; no voices or smiling faces. It was perfect oblivion. Exactly what I needed.

The alarm woke me, the next morning though it didn’t even begin to faze Weed. He’d apparently fallen asleep in my recliner with a grin on his face. Thankfully the window had been left open enough that there was no residual smoke hanging around the room. And though I should have been at least a little groggy, I was actually more rested than I’d expected so I grabbed some clean clothes and headed to the bathroom, enjoying a longer than necessary shower before waking Weed up. I tried to think of a creative way to start his day but the best I could come up with was to plug in my guitar, crank the volume to 11 and do my best Jimi Hendrix Star Spangled Banner impression. It barely woke him.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, with his eyes still closed.

“You look like you’re going to need something a little stronger than Jimi to get you going.”

“So you’ve got coffee ready?” He replied.

“Instant’s the best I can do.”

“We can’t be friends any more.”

“Tell you what, you get your ass up and I’ll try to figure out the coffee maker.”

“Counter proposal,” Weed said, slowly pushing himself up from the recliner, “We’ll take the KZ to my place where we’ll get a decent cup of coffee and a bowl of something sugary.”

“I’ll drop you off at your place,” I replied, “but I think I’ll pass on the coffee and diabetes.”

“You still going to try to smooth things over with her?”

“We’ll see…”

“There’s no ‘We’ll see’,” Weed said, visibly frustrated, and rightfully so. Shawna had her Ken doll, and even if she didn’t, I had no idea what the hell was actually going on with me. I didn’t want to drag her into my mess, at least not until I’d made good on my end of the deal. But I also didn’t want her to leave my life completely. 

“I just think a bit of a ride would do me good before school,” I said, trying to shrug off his implication and failing miserably.

“Just promise me you won’t go to her place. Nothing good can come from that.”

“Promise,” I said, “Now if we don’t get going we’ll be late.”

“Sure,” he replies, “just one more thing…”

“What’s that?”

“You’re riding bitch,” he said, grabbing the KZ keys and jumping halfway down the stairs before I could even catch what he’d said.

“Oh Hell no,” I yelled, rushing down the stairs after him, but it was already too late; he was on the bike before I was even out the back door.

“That’s not cool,” I said, as he kicked the bike to life. “I don’t want anyone to see me riding bitch on my own bike.”

“Then you should have called it first,” he grinned, “but at least my place isn’t that far.”

And he was right about his place not being too far, but in those few blocks I swear we saw half a dozen people I knew staring at us as we went by, me holding on to Weed’s waist, and him screaming the lyrics to U2’s “One” as we made our way down the street. I know he was going as slow as possible just to embarrass me as much as possible. Thankfully I had the helmet on, so no one could see how much it was working.

When we got to Weed’s house I didn’t stick around, opting instead to find an empty road to enjoy, once I was back at the front of the bike. There was something therapeutic about being on the bike, so much so that I completely lost track of time and almost ended up inadvertently playing hooky. By the time I pulled into the school parking lot, my head was almost completely clear. There were no thoughts of that biker, or what I’d done, or even Shawna. But the cherry red ‘vette commanding attention in front of the building changed all that. I just kept driving past it, pulling into the last open parking spot, right beside Weed’s Chevette.

“Say the word and I’ll help you key his car,” Weed said without even getting out of his car.

“No you wouldn’t, it’s much too nice for that.”

“True,” he replied, “but to be honest, I didn’t think you’d take me up on it; you’re not that type of guy.”

“I’m not,” I said, “but the thought was nice.”

“You want a puff before the bell rings?” He asked, holding out his silver bowl.

“Nah, I’m actually feeling pretty good, all things considered. Then again, I might just not be completely recovered from last night.”

“Maybe after school then.”

“I was hoping to get to work on Pamela after school.”

“Definitely; we’ll just save a little of this for when the work is done.”

“It’s a deal,” I said, just as the last bell rang, telling us we had to get our assess to class.

Weed spent most of each class trying,and failing, to stay awake. I tried actually concentrating on what was being taught but found my thoughts drifting to anything else. Hanging with Weed definitely helped me deal with all the shit going on in my life, but talking to Shawna would have probably helped too, not that she’d believe my story any easier than Weed had. But her perspective would have definitely been different than his. From his point of view I was the good guy who got rid of a bad guy, but the world isn’t that black and white. And killing is killing, isn’t it? I mean, even though I didn’t shove that guy in front of the train, I was still responsible, wasn’t I? Good, bad, Maybe it is all subjective, but that didn’t make it any easier.

 Trapped in class after class, the philosophical debate went on in my head all day until finally the last bell mercifully rang. Only by then I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t budge from my seat.

“You ready to go get started on Pamela?” Weed asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, trying to shake off the haze that clouded everything. Unfortunately it wasn’t the fun kind of haze that Weed and I prefered.

“Cool. You head there while I pick up a couple things from Steve’s Tow shop. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Sounds good.”

Weed took off and I headed towards his house, before taking a slight detour towards Shawna’s. I knew it wasn’t the best choice, and Weed would have killed me if he found out, but I just wanted to see her for a minute, to make sure things were still cool between us. Half a block away from her house I realized just how bad my choice had been. Before I even got close, I saw Matt’s Corvette sitting on the street in front of her house, right where I should have been parked. The two of them were still inside the car, their faces locked together, their hands doing only God-knows-what. 

With a twist of the throttle, the bike took off, the exhaust roaring more than I’d anticipated. But once again I really didn’t care who heard me, I just wanted out of there as quickly as possible, and the bike obliged. I thought about keeping the throttle pinned and just seeing how far a tank of gas would take me but Pamela was waiting in Weed’s garage, and I knew he’d be back there shortly, so I let off the gas so the bike could return to a more acceptable speed, before I reached his place.

The driveway was still empty as I pulled up beside the garage, but the garage door was open and from there I could see Pamela waiting for me. Slipping off the helmet, I made my way around her, checking out the progress we’d made, along with all the work we had yet to do. She did look much better with the new headlight in and all the dirt and corn stalks off of her. Weed was grabbing some wheel ramps so we could check out the underside of her a little easier, but even if we didn’t find anything else, it was still probably going to be another week before she was road worthy. The thought was a little depressing, but at least I had the KZ to get me around until she was done.

“You did well,” the voice said. The light in the garage was dim enough that I could see the red glow from the stereo without even looking inside the car.

“Thanks? I guess?” I replied. I mean, how do you respond to that?

“So you’re ready for another one?”

“Another one?”

“Another assignment; one step closer to completing your end of the deal.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I figured you’d be in a hurry to get them done and have everything return to normal.”

That was what I wanted, more than almost anything, but for some reason the way he said it made me a bit apprehensive. And I wasn’t sure I had really come to terms with what I had done the first time, let alone being ready to do it again.

“What’ve you got?” I asked, with as much confidence as I could muster. I mean, what did it hurt to at least know what the assignment was before making a decision.

“This one’s an easy one,” he replied, and I swear I could hear the grin on his face even if I couldn’t see it. “He’s a pedophile, working out in the open at the library. His job puts him in contact with a lot of young, trusting kids. You’ll be doing your community a great service.”

“My community, like this town?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around a pedophile working at the town library. It’d been a few years since I’d been there, but as a kid, mom used to take me there every Saturday to pick up enough books to keep me busy during the week. I had fond memories of some of the books I’d read. Those memories brought to mind one person.

“It’s Mr. Dinkle, isn’t it?”

Mr. Dinkle had been the head librarian for what seemed like forever. He was a small, slightly hunched man with a long hooked nose, who always seemed to be popping up suddenly anywhere and everywhere in the library. I can’t count the number of times he’d caught Weed and me goofing off on school trips there. He always gave me the creeps, appearing out of nowhere.

“Not even close,” the voice said with a chuckle. “Mr. Dinkle was actually the reason there weren’t more victims. He always suspected, and did his best to keep an eye on all the kids that came and went from there, but he died last year and the pedophile, your next assignment, has been a bit more free to pursue his desires.”

The thought of a predator hanging out at the library, searching for his next victim to do unspeakable things made my skin crawl. As conflicted as I had been about the first assignment, I knew I had to take this one out, but more than that, as I thought about what he might have done to those kids, I wanted to end him. Someone like that, I would almost consider pulling the trigger myself, but thankfully I didn’t have to. I just had to choose how he would go; it was that simple. The thought almost made me smile.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“Don’t you want to know who it is first?” He asked.

“It doesn’t really matter. Someone like that needs to go.”

“That’s the spirit,” the voice called out. “But it needs to be done soon before he can find another victim.”

“Gladly,” I said, “so who is it?”

“His name is Glenn Sowers.”

“Sowers? Mr. Sowers the Janitor?”

“After Mr. Dinkle passed away he was promoted to a librarian position.”

“There’s no way. I mean, he always seemed so nice; quiet, but nice. He always had an extra stick of gum…”

“Always nice to little boys, offering them gum and candy. I see why it’s hard for you to believe he’s a pedophile.”

“No, what I mean is, he never even came close to trying anything with me.”

“You mean when Mr. Dinkle was keeping an eye on everything, sure to pop up anywhere and everywhere.”

He was right, and I didn’t like it.

“I get it, but it’s still hard to believe.”

“One touch and you’ll believe it, but remember what I said, you can’t unsee what he’s done.”

The red glow disappeared from the front seat of the car and I knew he was gone. He hadn’t told me where to find this assignment, but I knew where Mr. Sowers would be. The library was open until 8:00pm, which meant I still had plenty of time to decide how I was going to approach him, and how he was going to meet his end, but I still found it hard to wrap my head around. Sowers, as the janitor I knew, was a large man, at least six foot and 250 pounds but even with that size, he was never intimidating. And he always had a comic book in his back pocket to read when he wasn’t cleaning. And he always made time for us, keeping us up-to-date on the latest superhero exploits, and he was just as excited about them as we were. It was almost like he was one of us kids.

“I thought for sure you’d be at Shawna’s,” Weed said, his voice causing me to jump as he turned on the overhead lights. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn’t even heard him pull in.

“Why would I want to see her, when I can be here staring at your pretty face instead?”

“Such a sweet talker,” he replied, with a grin, “but I know you’re only here because of Pamela.”

“Truer words have never been spoken. I get enough of your ugly mug in class.”

“Okay then, enough with the flirting. How about we make some progress on her.”

“Works for me,” I said, cranking up the old boombox on the corner of the workbench. Nirvana, doing an acoustic version of one of their songs, echoed off the garage walls. Kurt Cobain had died just a few months after that performance was recorded and for some reason hearing the dead man’s voice hit me a little harder than I would have expected. For a minute I just froze.

“You okay man?” Weed asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, shaking my head . “I’m good.”

“Good,” he said, “then let’s get started.”

I helped Weed get the ramps from his car. It took a bit to get Pamela onto them, but once she was up in the air it was much easier to see her underside. There was one brake line dripping some fluid, but other than that and the dried mud caked into every little crevice, she was in better shape than I expected. We spent a couple hours trying to clean out every bit of mud we could, and the menial work was just what I needed. By the time I left Weed’s place I was almost feeling normal so I headed home to spend a little time with Mom before she had to go to work. Once she was gone, I wanted to get on with my next assignment.

I haven’t had the opportunity to work any further on the cover, so this week it’s the same as last.
For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6

By the time I got home Mom had already left for the dinner shift at Max’s Place. Everyone called it a diner, but it was barely even that. The place had a couple tables, four booths and one long bar that held a half-dozen people if you didn’t mind sitting a little too close to your neighbor, which most people in town seemed to enjoy. Not me, though. I preferred having some space of my own. So even though I could have gotten a free burger and fries if I’d gone to visit her, I just grabbed a cold-meat sandwich and a bag of chips and went to my room.

Being the first day of school, only one teacher had assigned any homework but I didn’t even feel like doing that. Instead I popped in an old John Candy film, something to take my mind off everything. And it worked for a while. Around 1:30 in the morning I woke up, realizing I had fallen asleep and missed most of the movie. The TV was still on, but with only static coming from it so I rolled out of bed to shut it off. The static stopped just as I reached for the power button.

“Are you ready to live up to your end of the deal?” His voice asked. It might have been coming from the television, but unplugging it didn’t seem to help. He just laughed.

“You want me to go kill someone at . . . 1:36 am?” I asked, glancing at the clock beside my bed.

“You are already up.”

“I also have school in the morning,” I replied towards the TV, unsure where else to direct it.

“The choice is yours,” he continued. “You get to choose when and how, but you will honor our deal.”

“Of course I will,” I said, still feeling a little self conscious about talking to an unplugged television. Sitting back on my bed, I thought about what he said. He wasn’t wrong, I mean I was already up, and I fell asleep early so I wasn’t exactly ready to go right back to sleep.

“Are you serious about giving me an assignment?” I asked, not sure what to expect.

“Of course.”

“Then I guess I could at least check the guy out,” I said, standing back up.

“Who said it’s a guy?” The voice asked, and I just stopped in my tracks. I hadn’t even considered that I might have to kill a woman.

“Relax,” he continued. “I’m just messing with you.”

A face appeared on the television screen but it wasn’t Lucifer’s, or at least it wasn’t the same as he’d looked the other night. This one was rough, covered in scars and tattoos, like he was purposely trying to make himself as unattractive as possible. I couldn’t make out the lettering tattooed on his eyelids but I knew the tear drops inked beneath both eyes were most likely prison tattoos. And the SS and 88 on each side of his neck meant he probably part of a white supremacist gang.

“This is the guy you want me to go kill?”

“No, I want you to take him to brunch,” the face on the TV snarked back. “Yes, he is your assignment.”

“Are you trying to get me killed?”

“If I wanted you dead, would I have made the deal with you in the first place?”

He had a point.

“I guess not, but this isn’t the sort of guy I can just walk up to.”

“So find another way, unless you just want to call off our deal.”

It didn’t really matter which face it came from, I was just really beginning to hate Lucifer’s voice.

“No,” I replied, I’ve got this.”

On the television, beneath the face, was an address, flashing like a late night infomercial phone number. “

He’ll be there for a little while yet,” the voice said. “If you hurry you can take care of him and be back to bed in no time.”

I wasn’t thrilled about leaving the house in the middle of the night, but I was a little excited to have an excuse to take the KZ so I grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen, jotting down the address, then grabbed my helmet and keys. With mom out of the house I didn’t have to worry about sneaking the bike out of the driveway before starting it so I fired it up while I was still behind the shed and let it run while I tightened the helmet on my head.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” I thought as I pulled out onto the road and headed towards the address one town over in Southview.

Even at two in the morning the temperature was in the 60’s so the ride was quite comfortable with only a jacket on. The moon was mostly full, which meant there was plenty of light, and had I not been on my way to try to kill some ex-convict, it would probably be a relaxing ride.

Southview was only fifteen minutes from my house in Rosewater but even the short ride had calmed my nerves a little by the time I pulled up across the street from the address I’d written down. Then I saw exactly where I was.

“Seriously?” I asked myself as I looked over the biker bar where I was supposed to find my first assignment. Normally I figured spotting a guy with facial tattoos would be pretty easy, even from a distance, but at a place like that I didn’t like my chances.

The sign out front said “Dogtown Pub”, and unfortunately I’d heard some stories about that place. I don’t know how many were true and how many were just urban legend, but I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t be able to just walk into that place. I was parked across the street with my helmet on, so it would be hard for anyone to tell I was underage, even with my faceshield up. And it wasn’t like being in proximity to a bar was illegal or anything, but I still felt a bit out of place.

Even at that time of night, though, a few cars drove by, and each made me feel a little tense until they continued past without stopping to ask what the hell I was doing. 

I continued to stare across the street as several guys left the bar, none of them trying to be quiet as they made their way to the parking lot next to the bar, and each one revving their engines louder and longer than necessary before taking off one direction or the other. It was really hard to make out any identifying marks from my distance, but each of them had really long hair and the guy I was looking for was practically bald. None of them seemed to pay any attention to me, until a pair of large guys stepped out. One headed to the parking lot while the other stopped to light a cigarette and looked directly at me. Every ounce of my being told me to get the hell out of there, but then I noticed the tats on his face and neck. It was quite possible they were an SS and an 88, but even with my visor up I couldn’t tell exactly what they were from across the street. I needed to get closer but as I racked my brain trying to come up with a plan, I realized I didn’t have to.

“That’s a KZ isn’t it?” He said, crossing the street and walking towards me.

“Yeah,” I replied, my hands starting to shake as I tried to figure out if I should split or not.

“Man, that takes me back,” he continued getting a little too close for comfort. Even with my helmet on I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I wanted to leave but from up close I was finally able to get a good look at him and his tattoos and I was sure he was the guy I was looking for.

“My first bike was a KZ,” he said, bending down to get a better look at the engine. “I rode that thing like it was the baddest bike on the planet, and I thought it was, until I tried my first V-twin. Even though it doesn’t have the torque of a ‘twin, it was still a great bike. No matter what I did, I couldn’t kill that thing. It took every bit of punishment I threw at it and it still kept going.”

Sure he was a bit drunk, but he didn’t really seem like a bad guy. Which didn’t make things any easier. I mean, could I really kill a guy just because some voice told me to?

“This one’s a little rough,” he continued, “but I bet she still runs like a scalded dog, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” I replied, trying not to let on what was actually going through my head.

 “Just remember to keep an eye on the spark plugs. They tend to foul out a little too easily.”

“I appreciate the advice,” I said, still not sure how I could make my move.

“Hey, anything for a fellow biker. And I appreciate this little walk down memory lane,” he said, leaning in and putting one hand on my shoulder and holding out his other. I knew it was probably my only chance, so I shook his hand and Instantly focussed on trying to see what sort of things he’d done that might have earned him a death sentence, only I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Images of him slashing a throat and stabbing a chest were only the beginning. My mind was flooded with so many violent visions it was overwhelming. Murder, rapes, and bassically every deadly sin; he’d done it all. And I was seeing all of it through his eyes, but I wasn’t just seeing it, I was feeling it; feeling how much he actually enjoyed it. His enjoyment scared me, but it also fuelled my own anger and I suddenly knew I could do it. I could picture him dead, not just because of the deal I’d made, but because he deserved it.

He’d been drinking at the bar, so of course my first thought was of him having an accident, but a simple wreck didn’t seem fitting enough. There was a set of train tracks just outside Southview. I pictured him racing to beat the train as the crossing guards started to lower but not making it. A shiver went down my spine, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end. All at once I felt electrified as an ice cold yet burning energy passed through me. That’s when I knew there’d be no open casket for him.

“I’ve got to get going,” he said, suddenly. “My old lady would kill me if I’m not home soon.”

I’d never even considered him having someone to go home to. If he had a wife, or a girlfriend, he might have had kids. How bad would things be for them without him around?

“You be careful, and take good care of that bike,” he said, over his shoulder as he made his way to the parking lot beside the bar.

“You too,” was all I could think to say.

I stayed where I was until he’d fired up his bike, revved the engine and headed towards those train tracks. Only then could I finally kick the KZ back to life, riding away in the opposite direction.

Unlike the ride to Southview, the ride back home was anything but calming. Had I actually done what I thought I’d done? I mean, I didn’t pull a gun on the guy or anything like that; I’d only pictured him hitting a train. There’s no way an image in my head actually had actually done anything, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. But then I remembered the energy rushing through me. Clearly something had happened. And if what I saw in those visions was true, then he really didn’t deserve to keep living his life. He wasn’t a good man. If I’d done anything, it was justified.

Parking the bike behind the garage and making my way to my room seemed like a dream. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even change out of my jeans and t-shirt before climbing back into bed. Pulling the blanket up over my shoulders didn’t get rid of the chill I felt throughout my entire body but I clutched it tighter anyway. I laid there just like that for several minutes until another jolt of energy hit me, then sent a gentle warming flow through my body. The chill was gone, replaced by an almost euphoric sensation. It was better than any high I’d ever experienced. I wanted to go tell Weed, or Shawna, or …someone. I wanted to share the feeling, but I also wanted to keep it all for myself. For the first time in my life, everything felt great, everything felt right. I continued to lay in my bed, enjoying the sensation until it started to fade, and taking with it every ounce of energy from my body, leaving me feeling empty.

The alarm jolted me out of bed, though I had no idea what time I actually fell asleep, if I did at all. Images of that guy getting hit by the train played over and over in my mind, each one more graphic than the previous, some of the images not even making sense. The television was still broadcasting a continuous stream of static, but this time when I went to shut it off, there was no voice. I began questioning if I’d even left the house in the middle of the night, or if I’d just dreamt it; then I saw my homework assignment laying next to my school bag. I knew I hadn’t done it, but somehow it was sitting there completed, with a little post-it note stuck to it. There were no words, just a grinning smiley face hastily drawn across it.

 I felt like the walking dead and thought a shower might help; it didn’t. And while mom routinely enjoyed a cup of coffee, I had no idea how to brew a pot. Instead, I scrounged around the kitchen cabinets until I found the instant coffee. It tasted like dirt but the caffeine allowed me to at least keep my eyes open long enough to grab my keys and helmet.

Once on the bike, I felt a little more alive, and even though it wasn’t a long ride, it really helped wake me up. What helped even more was seeing Weed in the school parking lot.

“Thanks,” I said, pulling off my helmet and grabbing the can of Jolt from his hand. I had it chugged before he could even get a word out of his mouth.

“Rough night?”

“You’ve got no idea.”

“Step into my office and tell me about it,” he said pointing to the Weed Wagon.

“No Chevette today?” I asked, climbing through the sliding door.

“I need to pick up a few parts after school,” he replied, lighting up a cigarette and handing me the pack.

“Maybe I’ll follow you, let Finkenbine check out the KZ.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, “now tell me about last night. You didn’t go after her again, did you.”

“No, it had nothing to do with Shawna.”

“Then why wasn’t I involved? You know I’m always down for a little trouble.”

“No, you usually cause the trouble, but that’s beside the point.”

“So what happened?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Should I bring out the good stuff to loosen you up?” He asked, nodding towards the monster box beneath the dash. The monster box was a ridiculous lunch box that looked like a monster’s face. It hinged at the mouth and roared when it was opened. It was one of the places Weed kept his stash.

“Not today,” I replied, “I’m so exhausted I’d never make it to class if I lit up.”

“Then just spit it out already.”

“I’ll try, just don’t give me any shit about it, okay?”

“You know I can’t promise you that.”

I needed to tell someone, and despite Weed’s mouth, I knew he wouldn’t say a word to anyone so I decided to tell him everything. When I was done he just sat there for a minute, then turned to look me right in the eye.

“I don’t think we can be friends any more.”

“What?!”

“You fell asleep watching a John Candy movie. That’s just wrong on so many levels.”

“That’s what you took from everything I just said?” I asked, as the grin started to spread across his face.

“It had to all just be a dream,” he said.

“I don’t know …”

“You fell asleep, dreamed you woke up and went for a ride, yadda yadda, and never left your room. Why else was the TV still on this morning?”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, silently wishing he was, “but what about the post-it note?”

“Tell you what,” he continued, “forget about it right now and tonight we’ll check around for someone wrecking their bike into a train. When we don’t find anyone, then you’ll know it was only a dream.”

Just talking to him about it made me feel better. It also made me realize how silly it all sounded. The more I thought about it the more I realized he had to be right; there was no way I’d killed a guy last night just by thinking about him dying.

A knock on the window made me jump.

“It’s way too early for that,” Shawna said through the window. I slid the door open and stepped out.

“Just a cigarette,” I replied, dropping the butt and grinding it out with my foot.

“I thought he might have finally passed all of his bad habits on to you.”

“Almost,” Weed said, climbing out of the Weed Wagon, “but I still have a little more work to do.”

“Well don’t try so hard,” she said, “the world still needs good guys.”

“Anyways…,” I said, trying to change the subject to anything else.

“Anyways,” Shawna said, “I feel bad about bailing on you at the party the other night so I thought we could maybe hang out after school.”

“What about your living Ken doll?” I said, before I had a chance to stop myself.

“Hey,” she said, hitting my arm before laughing a little, “he’s, uh busy.”

“Too busy to hang out with you?”

“He’s got to work.”

“And what sort of work does he do?” Weed asked, the size of his grin matching the size of her discomfort. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about it, but there was no way Weed would let it go, and she knew it.

“The kind that pays really well,” she said, glancing down at her watch seemingly hoping she’d be saved by the class bell.

“And that would be doing…?”

“Fine, but you guys can’t say a word.”

Weed and I both crossed our hearts.

“It’s a photoshoot.”

Weed and I both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You both promised, she said, her face turning red.”

“We didn’t say a word,” Weed replied, between laughs.

She just turned and stormed off.

For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

Sleep was hard to come by that night. My dreams were filled with flashes of my accident, and the conversation with the face in the darkness. Regardless of what I saw when I touched Weed’s arm, I knew there was no way my experience in the darkness was anything but a hallucination; a dream. But despite my certainty, that face wouldn’t let me sleep.

When the alarm went off, I should have been exhausted, and to a point I was, but I was also energized. The new day meant a new chance to get on the bike, and I understood what Mr. FInkenbine meant about dancing with the prom queen, though I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I didn’t want to drive my car again. But Pamela still needed a lot of work before she was roadworthy so it wasn’t like I was really cheating on her with the motorcycle, at least that’s what I told myself.

Throwing on some fresh clothes I practically flew down the stairs. Mom hadn’t gotten home from her nursing job yet so I grabbed a bowl of Berry Berry Kix and ate it while shoving a few school supplies into my bookbag. The bag was a couple years old, and showed it, but there weren’t any holes in it so there also wasn’t any reason to spend money we didn’t have on a new one.

After throwing my empty bowl in the sink, I strapped the bag across my back and grabbed my helmet before running out the door. Behind the garage I found the bike exactly how I’d left it underneath the tarp. Once again it only took a single kick for the bike to fire right up which had me grinning before I even threw my leg over the seat.

Taking the long way to school gave me a few extra minutes on the bike and helped me avoid Shawna’s house at the same time. Something about being on it allowed me to forget anything else. I really wanted to stay on it all day, but the school was sure to call my mom if I didn’t show up on the first day, and then she’d stay up all day worrying about me, so reluctantly I gave in and made my way to the parking lot.

“Nate”, Weed yelled before I’d even gotten my helmet off.

He was climbing out of his rust colored ‘82 Chevette with a cloud of smoke following him out the door. The car looked like crap and was the farthest thing from cool, but over the summer Weed had swapped out the stock four-banger engine for a turbo-charged small block V8. It would smoke just about every one of the sports cars I saw scattered about the school parking lot, but Weed didn’t really care about that; He just liked building things, making things better and faster. Being able to blow away the preppy boys and the cars their parents paid for was just a plus.

“This is our year,” he said, clearly feeling pretty good. “You ready for this?”

“I’m ready for anything,” I said, still grinning from the ride in. Then I saw Shawna. “Or at least almost anything.”

Shawna hopped out of Matt’s ‘vette looking even better than she had the night of the party. I tried not to stare, but caught myself doing so anyways. Matt drove off with the obligatory revving of his engine, and I thought that would be it, but then she saw us and with a wave, I knew I wasn’t going to get away so easily.

“You got it done?” She asked Weed as she walked up to the chevette.

“Pretty much,” he replied, “but I still think she could use a slightly bigger turbo to really wake her up.

“You give her a name yet?”

“Not yet,” he replied, “I still have to get to know her a little better.”

“And where’s Pamela?” Shawna asked me. “I thought you’d have her done by now. Didn’t I see her at the party the other night?”

“That’s kind of a long story,” I replied, trying to drop the subject.

“Not that long,” Weed said with a mischievous look on his face.

“So this is my ride for now,” I said, steering the conversation away from Pamela and my little accident.

“A motorcycle?” Shawna asked, her eyes widening. “That’s new.”

“Yeah,” I said, “sometimes new is exactly what we need.”

 “You’ll have to take me for a ride sometime,” she said, way more excited than I expected her to be.

“Of course,” I replied, trying not to get too excited myself. I really wanted to say something to her about Matt, to see what they were actually doing together, but before I could get out another word, the school’s three minute warning bell rang.

“We’ll talk later,” she said, before running off towards honor’s English or one of her other college prep classes, while I dragged Weed towards our first period American History. We hadn’t planned to have all of our classes together; it just kind of worked out that way. I’d initially thought I wanted to have all my classes with Shawna but there was no chance of that happening with my grades. Besides, there really wasn’t a reason for me to take college prep classes; there was no way I’d be able to afford college even if I did get accepted. And I was okay with that, I think. Besides, I figured I’d have more fun with Weed, though that didn’t seem to work out the way I thought.

Keeping Weed awake through all of our classes was a losing proposition, especially when most of the time I struggled just to keep myself awake. Lunch was a nice break but Shawna was even on a different lunch schedule than us so by the time our final class let out I was a little anxious to see her again. I knew it was wrong; I mean, she had Matt, but I wasn’t planning on making a move; I just wanted a chance to talk with her again, to prove we could be friends even if she had a boyfriend. Unfortunately, as the last bell rang and we walked out the oversized doors leading to the parking lot, I heard the unmistakable sound of that cherry red Corvette.

“Look at it this way,” Weed said, apparently realizing the shift in my mood, “This way you have more time to dedicate to Pamela.”

I grinned, because he was right. Pamela needed me, and Shawna obviously didn’t.

“Let’s get to it then,” I replied, slipping on my helmet as he climbed into his car.

The bike kicked to life effortlessly, drawing the approving smiles of a couple underclass hotties as I gave it a little gas. With my helmet on they probably didn’t even know who I was but it still felt good to get a little attention, but not as good as it felt to finally get back out onto the long stretch of open road just outside of town. Sure, there was a quicker way to get to Weed’s house but it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Apparently Weed felt the same way. He pulled beside me at the first stop sign, his car in the left hand lane of the two lane road. Thankfully no one was coming from the other direction. He gave me a cheesy grin with a thumbs up and I nodded. I cranked the throttle and he floored it, and for a few seconds I managed to stay slightly ahead of him. Then his turbo fully kicked in and he flew past me like a cop going after a donut truck. Still, I kept the handle twisted, enjoying the thrill of the acceleration until I hit the redline and the rev limiter kicked in. By then Weed had already hit his brakes so I did the same, easing back down to the speed limit before we reached his house.

“You’ve got some balls,” he said, grinning from ear to ear as he climbed out of the chevette. “What’d she top out at?”

“The speedo said 120, but it was bouncing a bit thanks to the rev limiter.”

“We can take care of that.”

“Na, the limiter is probably a good thing so I don’t blow the engine.”

“I meant we could add a big bore kit and turbo, you know really make it fun.”

“How about we worry about Pamela first,” I replied, a little uneasy with the idea of going over 120 on two wheels.

“So you’re ready to get a little dirty then?”

“Absolutely,” I said, following him into the garage, but then I saw my car again and she looked even worse than I’d remembered. 

“This might take a while,” I said, setting my helmet on the car roof.

“Might?” Weed replied with a grin. “I think that’s pretty much a guarantee; but don’t worry, we’ll get her better than new.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” Weed said, heading towards the door leading to the back yard. “That’s what friends are for. Now how about you pop the hood and start cleaning out any corn stalks and field mice you might find while I grab a couple things from the shed.”

The driver’s side door groaned a little as I opened it and slid in. My thoughts instantly went back to that night, flashes of the hallucination running through my mind.

“I was drunk,” I told myself, shaking my head to clear the images.

“Are you sure that’s all it was?” I jumped, as the car stereo glowed red and the voice from my hallucination echoed from the speakers in the door. I could almost feel an electrical charge around me.

“No way,” I said, scrambling to get out of the car.

“There’s always a way,” the voice said, continuing to come from the car.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to remember our deal.”

The voice faded with the last word and the radio stopped glowing a second before Weed came through the back door.

“How’d you do that?”

“What?” He asked. “Use a door?”

“I never should have told you about that dream I had.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Weed replied, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Pranking me into thinking Pamela’s possessed is not cool.”

“That’d be pretty funny,” he said, “but I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“What’d you do, hook up a mic to the stereo and use the car’s speakers to broadcast your voice? You got me good, but it still wasn’t funny.”

“Dude, there’s no way you heard anything from the stereo.”

“The antenna may not work, but if you ran…”

“No, I’m telling you there’s no way the stereo was putting out any sound. The battery is over there charging.”

I followed Weed’s finger to where he was pointing and saw my battery sitting on a workbench hooked up to a trickle charger.

“No way,” I said, reaching down and pulling the hood latch. Sure enough, both the positive and negative battery cables were dangling empty beside the engine.

“Did you get into my stash already?” Weed asked, setting down the toolbox in his hands.

“I…uh…”

“You don’t look so hot,” Weed said, “how about we take a smoke break?”

“You swear that wasn’t you?” I asked as he led me outside.

“Look man, I love a good prank but I didn’t do a thing. Just tell me what happened.”

I took a moment, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. “I slid into Pamela to pop the hood and I heard that voice. The one from my drunken dream.”

“The voice from the other night? The one you sold your soul too?”

“I didn’t sell my soul, but yeah, that one.”

“In MY garage?”

“And the radio was glowing red.”

“After all the work we’ve put into,” he said, “I’ll be pissed if Pamela is possessed.”

“I know it sounds crazy but…”

“Maybe you just need a little sleep,” Weed said, lighting himself up a cigarette. “We can work on Pamela another…”

“No,” I replied, “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, maybe I just needed a smoke.”

“Sure because hallucinations are always a sign of nicotine withdrawal.”

“Shut up,” I said, grinding out the rest of the cigarette. “Let’s get to work.”

Weed cranked up the boombox sitting on the workbench beside Pamela’s battery and The Offspring started blaring from the speakers, telling us how we needed to keep ‘em separated as we got started on my car.

I knew just enough about working on cars to be dangerous, but Weed knew more than most professional mechanics. He couldn’t memorize a single fact about any American president or solve a simple algebraic equation, but he could rebuild an engine blindfolded. With his help I knew Pamela would be on the road again, it was just going to take a little time and a lot of elbow grease.

The sun was starting to set by the time I left Weed’s, and we’d made a lot of progress without any further interruptions, but even with the music blaring and more than enough work to keep me busy, I couldn’t get that voice out of my head.

“Remember our deal,” the voice had said. How could I forget? But that wasn’t really the point. Even if, by some incredible chance, the whole thing turned out to be real, which it wasn’t, the deal was for me to kill whoever he told me too, which he hadn’t done. There was absolutely nothing for me to do. Therefore I was living up to my end of the non-existent deal. Problem solved.

I decided to post chapter 4 a day early. For those who haven’t already read them, you can find links to the previous chapters here:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

Weed really liked anything with a motor, and loved wheeling and dealing. He would trade you the shirt off his mom’s back if it benefitted him. His swapping and horse trading had resulted in a shed full of junk; dirtbikes, motorcycles and car parts filled the tiny building, all of which he planned on restoring one day.

“This? This is your solution?” I asked as soon as Weed pulled off the cover.

“Yeah; Isn’t it great?” he asked as we stood inside a small shed at the back of his property.

Weed and I shared taste in women, music and even most cars but apparently not everything.

“Great?”

“Great, awesome, magnificent. Whatever word floats your boat.”

“How about POS?”

“What? This is a vintage, 1978 Kawasaki KZ650. It’s a classic.”

“It’s a rusty hunk of junk.”

“Maybe to the untrained eye, but check this out.”

With a turn of the key the headlight lit up, and with one kick the bike started up, even if it was spitting and sputtering black smoke while idling erratically. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“Okay,” Weed said, “so maybe she needs a little TLC, but she’s a good project for you; I mean she’s been sitting forever and still started right up.”

“And it would mean I don’t have to ride that bus any more…”

“Right,” he agreed, “and it’ll just be until we can get Pamela back to normal.”

“Okay, but how am I going to tell my mom?”

“I’ll help you with that; your mom loves me.”

“Maybe, until you tell her you’re the reason I’m going to die in a fiery crash.”

“You’ve got a point. You’re on your own.”

“Too late to back out now,” I said, surprisingly excited about the prospect of having a motorcycle to ride to school instead of the bus.

“We haven’t shook on it.”

“Fine, $150 and you tell her about the bike, $125 and I’m stuck trying to figure out how to tell her. Either way, you help me get this thing roadworthy.”

“$125 it is,” Weed said, shutting the bike off and tossing me the keys before I could change my mind. “And we’ll have her purring like a kitten in no time.”

I liked his optimism, even if I wasn’t so sure about it.

“So where do we start?”

“Crack open your piggy bank,” he said, “it’s time for a trip to the junkyard.”

Fifteen minutes later I found myself riding shotgun in the Weed Wagon, Weed’s vintage Grumman mail truck. But since it was a mail truck, riding shotgun meant sitting where the driver normally would. I had to assume that’s what it would feel like to drive over in the UK, but from where I sat it just felt weird.

All the US postal service decals had been stripped from the truck before Weed bought it but there was no mistaking it for what it was so we always got plenty of strange looks. And it was probably about the furthest thing possible from a chick magnet but it had plenty of room in the back for whatever parts we were going to need; I just hoped it wouldn’t cost every dime I had to get the bike rideable and Pamela back on the road. 

“Here we are,” Weed said as we pulled up to a small mobile home in front of a ten foot high privacy fence that surrounded several acres behind it. The giant mounds of metal junk visible over the fence, and the oversized tractor tire half sticking out of the ground with the word “Salvage” painted on it, were the only indication we were parked in front of a business.

“You’re sure this is the place?”

“Absolutely. This guy has everything. Where do you think I got the truck?” He said, proudly as we moved closer to the trailer.

“And he keeps everything in his backyard?”

“Pretty much, so watch what you say; he’s a little sensitive about people calling it a junkyard. He likes to think of himself as a connoisseur so he prefers the term Salvage Yard.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before Weed had a chance to respond, the front door opened and the mangiest looking mutt came bursting out. We were too close for me to even think as the dog launched itself off the front porch, I just reacted, throwing myself between it and Weed. The dog slammed into my chest, knocking me to the ground and holding me there with the sheer weight of its body. I couldn’t move, and I was sure I was about to be dog food when I felt the cold nose sniffing my face, followed by the warm and wet tongue.

“He likes you,” Weed said while standing over me with a dopey grin on his face.

“I’d hate to see how he treats people he doesn’t like.”

“To be fair, though,” Weed continued, “He was jumping for me and you just got in the way.”

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

“What’re ya doin’ to my dog,” a gruff voice called out from the porch.

“Hey Mr. Finkenbine!” Weed hollered back. The gray haired man on the porch had inch thick glasses that made his eyes look twice as large as normal and an overgrown beard that made him look ancient. But despite his arched back he was still a couple inches taller than me with shoulders twice as wide as mine so he was a bit intimidating. Regardless of his size or gruff manner, though, I felt an almost comfortable connection to him. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Finkenbine said as he came closer, “I thought Dumbass there caught whoever’s been stealing my yard globes.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Weed replied as I shoved the dog off me and climbed to my feet. 

“We’re not after any globes,” I explained, “just a couple motorcycle parts.”

“And we might as well look for some parts for Pamela too,” Weed threw in. And though he was probably right, I wasn’t sure I’d have enough cash to get what we needed for both projects, and as much as I wanted Pamela back in tiptop shape, getting myself mobile for the first day of school was my new priority.

“Well,” Mr Finkenbine replied, “I’ve probably got what you need, even if I don’t know what Pamela is. And Dumbass seems to like you,” he said looking directly at me, “so I guess you can’t be too bad. Why don’t you come on back.”

“Thanks,” Weed said as he headed through a gate beside the house while I followed behind hesitantly. 

 Beyond the gate, a tunnel was formed from all the scrap lining the narrow walkway. Washers and dryers, microwaves and toaster ovens were stacked on top of cars, motorcycles and various boat parts like some giant lego set. Everything was jammed together practically airtight. The tunnel went on for about thirty feet before opening into a giant field of even more scrap neatly organized into rows and piles that probably made sense, but only to Mr. Finkenbine.

“So what can I help you find,” Mr Finkenbine asked without stopping or even slowing down. Despite his apparent age, the man seemed to have way too much energy, and even though he walked with a slight limp, like his left foot wasn’t working right, I still struggled to keep up with his pace.

“We just need a voltage regulator and a petcock for the ‘78 KZ650,” Weed answered.

“You’re finally fixing up the KZ, huh?”

“Yeah, but not for me. Nate needs a ride, at least until we get Pamela, his ‘77 Pontiac Ventura, back up and running.”

“And what does Pamela need?

“A lot,” Weed said, “but we’ll start with a set of rims and shocks. She’ll also need a new windshield, and probably at least one headlight too.”

“Well I’ve got all of that, except the windshield” Finkenbine replied. “That will take a couple phone calls, and maybe a week to get, but once he gets on the KZ he might not want to go back to Pamela. Not that she’s a bad car, I’m sure she’s not, but once you dance with the prom queen it’s hard to go back to the president of the glee club.”

Weed seemed to catch the befuddled look on my face. “He likes cars, but he’s a bike guy through and through,” Weed explained as Finkenbine moved on. “Rumor has it he was once the president of a Hells Angels chapter.”

I looked at the man leading us deeper into his graveyard of parts, but couldn’t see it. Sure, he had a certain air that would make anyone think twice about messing with him, but so did most grumpy old men, especially one his size.

“I don’t buy it,” I said to Weed, but as the words left my mouth, Finkenbine’s shirt sleeve rode up his arm just enough to show the bottom part of a massive tattoo. I couldn’t swear to it, but it could very easily have been the biker gang’s Death Head logo.

Weed stared back at me with an “I told you so” look on his face. I just shrugged, then followed his lead as we rushed to keep up.

“The bike parts are over here,” Finkenbine said as he reached a pile of scrap. “This regulator should do you,” he continued,”but I don’t have just a petcock. Why don’t you take this whole tank.”

The KZ I bought off of Weed was red and the gas tank Finkenbine handed me was black, but it was in much better shape than the one already on the bike so I really couldn’t complain.

“Now as for Pamela,” Finkenbine said with a mischievous look, ”what’s the story?”

“I had a little accident,” I said, trying to keep Weed from going into too many details. I wasn’t sure why I told him everything I had; I mean, I still wasn’t even sure exactly what had happened, and I definitely didn’t want him repeating the story to anyone, not that he would.

“Drag racing? General recklessness? Or maybe something a little more fun? You try hooking up with a girl while heading down the road? That may look like fun in the movies, but it takes a lot of practice to make it work.”

“Just my general stupidity,” I said. “It was all such a blur; I really don’t remember much about it.”

“I’ve had some of those experiences too,” he replied with a knowing look in his eye. “But you survived, and don’t really look that worse for wear, so learn from your mistake and move on. Getting Pamela back up and running and hopping back in the saddle is a good start.”

Finkenbine kind of let the conversation drop as he led us towards the car parts. I was in awe as we moved through the rows. It must have taken years and years to accumulate that amount of scrap parts, and even more time and effort to organize it. And even though I couldn’t see the method to his madness, Finkenbine knew exactly where to find the parts we needed.

“You said a ‘77, right? He asked. “That’s the last year they called it a Ventura. In ‘78 they started calling all the X-body cars the Phoenix. Your’s has the newer grill and headlights, though, doesn’t it?”

“Um, yeah, I think so,” I replied, trying to sound like I actually knew anything about my own car.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve only got one headlight right now for her,” he said as he reached into one stack and pulled out a perfect match for my missing one, “but I’ve got a few connections and can get you another one if you end up needing it.”

“Thanks,” I said as he moved us further down the row. My arms were getting pretty full with the bike parts and the headlight but Finkenbine pulled out two shocks and piled them on top of everything else I was already carrying. Then he handed two rims to Weed before grabbing the other two rims and the shocks himself. 

It wasn’t that any of the parts were particularly heavy but they were awkward, making the trip back out to the gate a bit cumbersome for me. Weed and Finkenbine, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying my struggle.

By the time we reached the Weed Wagon I was drenched in sweat and my arms were burning from trying to keep everything from falling. Thankfully, they finally gave me a break and started grabbing the parts from my arms and loading them into the back of Weed’s truck.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, silently praying that the cash in my pocket would cover it.

“I think $130’s a fair price if you promise to bring that KZ over when it’s done so I can check it out.”

“Deal,” I replied, reaching out and shaking his hand before realizing that mine was covered in grease.

He just smiled, wiped his hands on his jeans and accepted the cash without bothering to count it.

“Now the real fun begins,” Weed said as we climbed back into the Weed Wagon.

As promised, here’s chapter 2 of My Life As Death. You can read Chapter 1 here.

“Get me drunk.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Weed replied before the reality sunk in. “Oh, I’m sorry. Struck out?”

“Never even got up to bat.”

“What the hell?”

“She just introduced me to her living Ken doll, ‘Matt’.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Well don’t you worry,” Weed said, “I’ve got just what the doctor ordered.”

I have no idea where he got that skull shaped bottle but based on the green tint of the liqueur inside I knew exactly what it was.

“Absinthe?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, “the real shit, 80% alcohol. I was going to save it for a celebratory drink when you guys hooked up, but this excuse is just as good.”

I took a second, trying to let my better judgment take the lead, but all it took was one brief thought of Shawna walking away with Matt and the grin on his face.

“Give me that,” I said, grabbing the bottle from his hand. There were plenty of cups around but I skipped the formalities, unscrewed the top and chugged straight from the bottle.

“Woah,” Weed said, grabbing the bottle back, “save some for me.”

As he took a turn, I could feel the alcohol course through my body, but that just meant I could still feel, and I didn’t want that.

“Follow me,” I said, heading over to the liquor table by the pool. I grabbed the half empty bottle of 151 rum, then dragged Weed to the garage. There was a couple making out in one of the corners but they didn’t pay any attention to us. Otherwise we were alone.

For several minutes we just sat there, each taking swigs from the bottles in our hands before Weed pulled out his stash. The silver bowl in his hand was his pride and joy and I knew he’d never go anywhere without it or a baggie of the good stuff. He packed a tight bowl, lighting it like the pro before handing it to me. I took several hits before passing it back to him, from there we took turns alternating between the bowl and the bottles. When we’d finally reached the proper level of intoxication the words started to flow.

“Well,” Weed started, “at least now you know.”

“And knowing is half the battle,” I replied, and though it sounded strangely profound to me, Weed laughed, hard.

“Are you quoting G.I. Joe?” he asked, then it was my turn to laugh; partially because he was laughing, partially because I realized he was right. My laughing caused him to laugh harder, which just fed into the vicious cycle of laughing, drinking and quoting ridiculous phrases from cartoons. It was just what I needed.

I had no idea what time it was when we finally realized we’d had too much to drink and smoke, but it was way too late. Neither of us could stand on our own so we helped each other through the house as one of Collective Souls’ hits echoed off the walls. I was so wasted, I couldn’t even name the song so I knew we needed to get out of there but before we could make it to the front door a perfectly petite girl stopped us.

“You’re Weed, right?” She asked, but Weed just stared. I don’t know if it was the alcohol, the smoke, or just the fact that he’d never been approached by such a hottie before, but he was worse than a deer in headlights.

“Yes, he is,” I replied as Weed tried to compose himself. 

“Oh good,” she replied with a giant smile on her face. “I was hoping to meet you here.”

Weed turned to me with the most shit-eating grin on his face; sure she looked like a freshman but even still, who knew how old she really was? All we knew was she was old enough to be at the party and she wanted Weed.

“Go on man,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I replied, straightening myself up and doing my best impression of a sober person. It wasn’t fooling anyone but him.

“Thanks,” he said letting himself be dragged away. “I owe you.”

With Weed occupied, and Shawna gone there was really no reason for me to stick around so I stumbled out to my ‘77 Pontiac. The glowing numbers on the dash were only a blur, so I had no idea what time it really was, all I know is that it was late and I wanted to get home.

Somehow I maneuvered the oversized beast from its parking spot and I even managed to head in the right direction down state route 55, but as I made my way towards home my eyes struggled to stay open. I tried opening the window, but the cool air blowing against my face didn’t help in the slightest. I flipped on the radio before remembering that it hadn’t worked since I bought the car and sure enough, all I heard was static. As I reached for the power button on the radio I took my eyes off the road for just a second, but that was all it took.

I still can’t say exactly what I saw when my focus returned to the road. The glowing red eyes and the antlers on top of its head made me think of a deer or a moose, but I swear it only had two legs and a face that was vaguely human-like. Whatever it was didn’t really matter though, what mattered was that it was standing in the middle of the road. I swerved to miss whatever it was but of course that caused my tires to slide in the gravel lining the side of the road, which sent me further off the pavement, over the drainage ditch and into a cornfield.

My chest bounced off the steering wheel and my face slammed into the windshield, sending a spider web of cracks across the entire thing as I continued to tumble around. I could feel the blood start flowing from my face as I was tossed around like a shoe in a dryer for what seemed like an eternity. The sound of glass shattering, and metal crunching filled the air but then, as suddenly as the chaos started, it stopped. There was no more tumbling, no movement at all. And there were no sounds, it was complete silence. For a moment I was content in the sudden peace, but then I realized there was no light, or at least none I could see.

“I’m blind!” I thought as I tried to reach up to my eyes, but I couldn’t move my arms. More than that, I couldn’t even feel my arms, or legs, or any other part of me.

“I’m paralyzed!” I wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth.

“No,” a voice replied, “you’re not blind or paralyzed; you’re dead.”

The face that came into view was human, but more beautiful than a man should be. Matt might have had GQ model good looks, but this guy made him look like a dog. It was frightening.

“I can’t be dead,” I replied, “I’m right here.”

“And where is here?”

For a moment I didn’t understand the question, here was here. But it didn’t really matter where here was, did it? As long as I was here, I couldn’t be dead, right? It was as if he could read my mind, and with a look of pity in his eyes he just shook his head. That’s when I realized he was right.

“So is this Heaven or Hell?” I asked.

“Neither, really.”

“But I have to go to one or the other, don’t I?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Do I get to choose?”

“No,” he replied with a chuckle, “And given the way you died…”

“But that’s not really me,” I protested, “you’ve got to understand that.”

“Driving drunk? And stoned?” he continued, “You’re just lucky you didn’t kill anyone besides yourself!”

There was an evil pleasure showing in his eyes as he said those words.

“I’m sorry,” I called out, both out of fear and regret, “but it was just one bad decision, a really, really stupid decision, but I’m much more than that one screw up.”

“One bad decision?” He asked, mocking me. “Your life has been a series of bad decisions. What about the poker games in the band room during school assemblies? Or getting high on the class trip to the planetarium? What about sneaking into the closet of the girl’s changing room at church camp?”

Images of those, and other less-than-wholesome events, flashed through my mind as the face just grinned. I knew he was right; I deserved any punishment that was about to come my way.

“But,” he continued, the anger softening, “it’s not like you actually killed anyone…besides yourself.”

His change in demeanor gave me the slightest glimmer of hope.

“I mean, the worst of your offenses would only be a misdemeanor in the eyes of the law…”

I couldn’t help but look up at him, and I swear I saw a hint of compassion in his eyes as he continued, but that might have just been wishful thinking on my part.

“Maybe we can come up with something.”

I could feel myself nodding before he even made the offer.

“You do seem like a good kid, and I wish I could just send you back, but that’s not how things work.”

My heart began to drop again.

“But it does seem we are a little short on reapers,” he continued. “So maybe we can find a way to help each other out.

“Reapers…” I asked, the word not really making sense. “like the Grim Reaper?”

He just smiled and nodded.

“Short on Reapers, plural, like there’s more than one grim reaper?”

“There are over 150,000 deaths per day worldwide, that’s nearly 2 per second. You think one Reaper could handle all those?”

“I…guess not…?”

“And with all those deaths we could use a few more Reapers,” he said. “So if you want to step up, and help us out, I can probably send you back to live out your life and all you’ll have to do is help a few poor souls cross over when their time is up.”

“Cross over?”

“From the land of the living.”

“You want me to kill people?”

“Look,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. His touch I could feel, and it was both cold and hot at the same time. I wanted to pull away but I still couldn’t move.

 “When their time is up, it’s up,” he continued. “You’ll be the one choosing exactly how and when they cross over. You can make it as easy or as unpleasant as you like.”

“But I’d still be killing them,” I replied. “I…I can’t do that, not to some innocent stranger.”

“Oh, you poor naive boy,” he said with a grin, “no one is innocent.”

“I can’t just kill someone.”

“Really? What if they were truly evil?”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned back and crossed his arms looking thoughtful and innocent.

“What if they were murderers? Rapists? Childmolesters? Could you do it then?”

The question sent a chill through me as I actually considered it. I mean, I didn’t like the thought of killing someone in general. But getting rid of a child molester? How could I feel bad about that?

“So what if I could send you back, and the only ones you would have to deal with are the worst of the worst; the childmolesters, rapists and killers? You get your life back and get to do some good for the world?”

I didn’t like the fact that I was actually considering it, but maybe he was right. I could get a second chance at life and the opportunity to do a little good with it.

“How could I be sure?” I asked. “Sure that they’re who you say they are?”

“That’s one of the benefits of being a reaper, you can see exactly what they’re guilty of, everything. You’d be like a superhero, ridding the world of the bad guys.”

His offer was tempting. I liked the idea of doing some good, but I wasn’t sure I could actually kill someone.

“The choice is yours,” he continued, “but it’s a choice you’re going to have to make quickly. Do you want to go with me or do you want to go back to your friends? Back to your mom?”

I suddenly felt an intense heat surround me before images of Weed, Shawna, and my mom flashed through my mind. He said I had a choice, but there really wasn’t one. I already knew my answer. I wasn’t sure how well I could do killing anybody but I knew for a fact that I wasn’t done living my life.

“So how does this whole thing work?”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, the smile on his face was both perfect and terrifying. “It’s really quite simple; I’ll let you know who to send to me, and you choose how you want to do it.”

“But I don’t own a gun, or an ax, or really any weapons…”

His laugh was even more terrifying than his smile.

“You’re a reaper,” he explained, “you are the weapon. Haven’t you heard of ‘the touch of death’? It’s that simple.”

“I don’t get it.”

“All you have to do is touch them while picturing how they’re going to go.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“And when I touch them I’ll know they deserve it?”

“When you touch them you can see exactly what they’re guilty of. But remember, you can’t un-see the things they’ve done.”

His last statement had an ominous sound but really, how bad could it be? I touch the bad guy, see that they’ve killed someone, and then picture them having a heart attack or getting hit by a bus. Simple enough. I get to finish living out the life I’m supposed to and I get to do some good.

“So what, exactly, is the deal you’re offering?”

“You seal the fate of the five people I assign you to, and you get to live out the rest of your life free and clear, like this never happened.”

“And if I don’t want to “reap” one of the people you assign me to?”

“Then our deal is off and your time on earth will be up.”

“What if I just need a little extra time to do it?”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, but you don’t. If their fate isn’t sealed within 5 days of the assignment being issued, then the deal is off.”

“So…Are you a reaper?”

He just chuckled and said, “No, boy, you know who I am.”

The way he said it sent chills through me, and he was right, somehow I did know exactly who he was. It made me second guess whether I really wanted to take the deal,  but I couldn’t see where I actually had a choice. I wasn’t ready to just give up on a life I’d barely begin to live, just because of one mistake. And my mom would be devastated. With her in mind, I knew exactly what I had to do.

“So what now, Lucifer?”

“There’s just a little paperwork and then you can go home.”

I didn’t even see the parchment appear, it was just suddenly there in his hands.

“Of course you can read over the whole thing before you sign, if you’d like,” he said.

“No,” I replied, “That might only make me change my mind.”

“Then just sign here.”

Suddenly I realized I could feel my arm again, and as I looked down I saw my hand; or more importantly, my index finger. I reached forward and used the blood on the tip of it to sign my name.

“I’m glad we can help each other out,” he said.

His face disappeared, leaving me in total darkness as the last word faded away. I decided that really was a good thing; I was tired. So tired.