English Short Story

Riley Allred
Mr. Persinger
English 9, Period 4
18, March 2017
Final Draft: Adrenaline’s Ambrosia
    My cheeks were a rosy red due the the chill of the air outside, as I walked towards the cafe with my books in my hand, I never realized how cold Maine really was. I turned my glance backward for just a moment to look at the hell from which I had just escaped, high school. Pitiful glances, studying till the wee hours of dawn, crammed books in musty lockers, and paint chipped walls which represented the same struggles of multiple generations before us. It would never end. Not to mention multiple hours of monotonous therapy and counselors that were never satisfied with my answers, after asking the same questions over and over again.
“How are you feeling today Codie?”
“I’m fine.”
“How is your relationship with your father been doing?”
“We acknowledge each other occasionally.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Fine.”
    Then, always, the infamous, “On a scale of one to ten, how has today’s session made you feel?”
    Pissed. It made me pissed because these “counselors” were apathetic to my feelings, they get paid handsomely, and by the hour, to sit here and ask these questions over and over again till they can convince us that the problem isn’t the world, it’s our emotions.
    The café was only a few minutes walking distance away from Ashton High, but the January air made it feel as if I was walking all the way across town. The trees lining the streets were colorless and dull, as if a village of stick hands were waiting for the right moment to grab you and drain you of the color which winter had feverishly stripped from them. The sidewalks below my feet were old and cracked, more like elevated pavement designated for pedestrians. The small crumbling rocks made loud cracking noises below my feet, like bacon grease popping from a pan on an early Sunday morning, which was reassuring when the silence that engulfed me started taking my mind to farther, darker places. My mother made me promise I would keep myself happy, and not let the world deter me, so I wouldn’t.
    Upon reaching the cafe, I could hear my phone ringing from within the deep pits of my backpack. Scrambling to find it, I managed to scatter half of the contents in my backpack all over the ground. When I finally found it, the caller ID said Dad, but what could he possibly want?
    “Hello?” I said, with a curious hesitation.
    “Hello Codie, just letting you know your brother will be in town this afternoon and I am holding a business meeting at the house. So be home at 8 o’clock sharp, and please for God’s sake look presentable.” Then the dial tone. What else should I have expected of him?
    I put the phone into the pocket of my coat and hastily shoved everything back into my backpack, when I saw something fall out of an old binder of mine. It was an age old polaroid photograph, of me, my brother Quinton, and my mother, sitting on the beach in San Diego we would always visit. I was wearing a baby blue swimsuit with a tutu that Mom had made for me, I was probably four or five at the time. Quinton was wearing some cheap snorkeling gear, I remember him telling my mother and I that he was going to be able to reach the bottom of the ocean and still be able to breath, Mom just looked at him with a glowing smile and said, “Honey, you can do anything you put your mind too.” She was still radiant then, wearing a red summer dress and her favorite sun hat. We were all laughing as we tried to build a sandcastle by the water, but it wouldn’t stay upright. Dad must have gotten a quick snap of us before the castle was completely washed over by an incoming wave, he was passionate about his polaroid back then. I placed the picture in the front of an old classic I was reading, and headed into the cafe.
    The bell hanging from the side of the door’s frame chimed to my entrance, and the familiar aroma of coffee and old books filled my senses with comfort and consolation. The café was a small little place lining the rustic, vintage shops along the downtown, which was more of a classic western mainstreet if you ask me. The walls of the outside were of brick and worn away paint, and a wooden sign hanging from the side of the building that said ‘Literati’ in bolded, light blue letters. The inside, however, buzzed with life. You had the café in the back, with the usual customers, and occasionally business men who assumed that holding meetings in a bookstore might make you appear more sophisticated. But surrounding the café, were shelves and shelves of used books. The classic literature, the mysteries, the teen romances, poetry, and self help books, some obviously more visited than others.
    I found my way to my usual seat, a vintage, burgundy sofa chair that I theorized had been there as long as the Literati itself had. It was as if the chair held so many memories, so many different ideas. It was used, which to me, in a sense, made it wise. As if the chair was an old soul that was there to comfort you in a world where everything is changing, unstable. Not only was it a burgundy, animistic armchair, but an observing point. Here I could see every nook and cranny of the store. I could see Robert, the homeless man would come and read Robert Frost and Shakespeare during the daytime, and Ms.Ki, the middle aged Japanese lady who came in copying cookbooks to convince her husband she actually knew how to cook. Then there was little Kathy, who loved to come with her grandmother Ms. Susan and read all the books that held Coretta Scott King Book Awards, to learn about her ancestors and how they overcame their hardships.
“Codie,” she would ask me, “do you know what would it be like to live a long long time ago, like the dinosaurs and stuff?”
     “Well Kathy,” I would say to her, “I’m sure the world was a lot simpler.”
“What do you mean?”
At that moment I wasn’t necessarily sure what I meant. “They didn’t have what we have now, like warm fireplaces and hot cocoa, they didn’t have bookshops and little toys to play with like you do. They learned to be happy with what they had and stick together when times were rough.” Then she just looked at me with her brown doe eyes, and ran off giggling like the world did not weigh anything upon her shoulders. What I would give to be a child again.
I went to the poetry section and picked up a classic Edgar Allan Poe collection of poems. Lining the frayed margins of the pages were side notes from all kinds of people. Different ink and different words, all leaving their own mark on the book. This is what I admired about used bookstores, the residue of all the vivacious individuals before me. Just as I sat back down I was interrupted by a voice that made you think of Virginia farms and drinking sweet tea while lounging on a wooden, creaky porch.
“Well if it ain’t little miss Codie, haven’t seen you in quite a while.” I looked up to see the woman who had patched a hole in my heart when no one else could, a grandmother figure if you will. She owned the Literati, and after my mother’s passing, stuck by me in my grieving stages. My brother ran off and moved to Italy, where he decided to work on some independent college studies, and my father distanced himself from me and began to dissolve himself into his work. This became his top priority. He was more than happy to push any reminder of his wife away, and onto a little old lady who probably already dealt with enough for three whole lifetimes. But she could hold her own, plus more, and for that I was grateful.
“Nanna,” I exclaimed shockingly, “I wasn’t aware you were back from South Carolina so soon! How was your trip?”
She rolled her eyes and responded with, “Oh it was just peachy, my grandson is still a glorified businessman who doesn’t know the meaning of hard work.” I got a good laugh out of that.  “Well I’ll let you finish reading, it was nice seeing you sweetie.”
“You too Nanna.”
Several hours later I was still engrossed in Edgar Allan Poe, when it dawned on me. I looked down at the clock and saw that it was 8:07 at night. My dad was gonna kill me. I jumped out of the chair and hurriedly threw everything in my backpack, I rushed outside prepared to run home, when I saw Nathan getting out of his truck across the street.
“Nathan! Nathan!” He looked at me. “I need a ride home now!” Without question we jumped in the car and he backed out of the parking lot. Nathan was my best friend, well really my only friend. But we were complete opposites, he was a go-with-the-flow kind of guy, he threw caution into the wind. He kept me, a reserved girl who always had her nose in a book, on my toes.
The town was small, and Nathan was pretty good at driving cars, racing them in fact, so we got there in no time. “Thank you so much Nathan, I’ll explain later!” I jumped out of the car and bolted to the front door. But I realized Dad’s meeting was probably being held right there in the dining room, so I went around the back and tried to get in through the side door of the house. Of course it was locked. That’s right about the time I realized it was sprinkling, and by 8:29, it was pouring rain. This was not good, and my dad was going to be thrilled at one, how late I was, and two, that I probably looked like I just went through Hell and back.
I was never close to my brother after my mother died, but right now, Quinton was my life saver. I saw him walk into the kitchen to grab his keys, so I started banging on the glass. With a confused look, he came and opened the door.
“Well look who it is,” he started laughing, “You are in for it today.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just going to run upstairs real fast and get ready before dad’s meeting is over. Please don’t tell him I’m here.”
“No problem, that’s what siblings are for.” He made a smirk on his face and walked out.
I could not stand the fact that Quinton was once a virtuous little boy, and now a corrupt, heartless excuse of a man that sees a problem and runs away, throwing his issues on someone else, and never goes back. The apple obviously didn’t fall far from the tree.
I tried to be as fast, and sneaky, as I possibly could. My problem, you may ask, is the fact that I am all but graceful, and mischief is like a foreign language to me. I slipped into the hallway when I realized to get to the staircase in the front of the house, I would have to pass by the dining room. Maybe he wouldn’t realize anyone is there, Dad has perfected the art of tuning the world out. So well, I wouldn’t be shocked that if there was an earthquake or tsunami hitting Maine right now, he wouldn’t notice it.
I slid along the left wall of the hallway, trying my best not to make too much sound. I reached the staircase and with a quick movement I slid right from the hall onto the staircase, and attempted to quickly run up it when, “Codie Faye, may I have a word with you in the hallway?”
I slowly turned around, and saw about fourteen businessmen lined up along our oak, dining room table, and there was Dad, looking at me with a face of obvious discontent and anger.
I went back down the staircase and stepped into the hallway with my dad. “Look at you! Not only do you look like a complete mess, but you are almost an hour late. You don’t know how bad this reflects on me as a father, or even a business man. If I can’t keep my children tidy and on time, how can I keep a company in proper condition?” He started murmuring low under his breath, “You are no longer aloud to leave the house unless it’s for school, and you will come right back home after that. Would your mother be proud to see you like this?”
Now, like a pot of boiling water, I blew. “How dare you. You don’t know what mom would think right now, even if she was still alive. If anything she would be ashamed of you! Don’t taint the image of her life with your pitiful excuses. You’ve never been a Dad to me after she found out she had cancer, so don’t start punishing me like one now.” At this point, the pique he was feeling now was causing his face to turn slightly purple. I sprinted into the kitchen, grabbed my bag and cellphone, and ran back outside. There was only one person I could call now.
“Nate, I know you just dropped me off, but can you please come pick me up,” I said sobbing, “I can’t go back inside right now.”
“I will be there in a few minutes Codie, but I suggest a change of clothes.”
“Did you not hear what I said, I can’t go back inside.” I practically yelled, exasperated.
  I could hear him chuckling through the phone, “I’m doing you a favor here, just try and get a change of clothes.”
“Fine, fine, okay, see you in a few.” I ended the call and tried to think about all the impossible ways I could get inside without getting caught. I mean, I could always whistle for my magical unicorn and ask her to bring me up to the third story window, but I had a feeling that the chances of that were unlikely. Why do I even need a change of clothes, what is that seriously deranged child up to now? I guess I would need to get them anyway, as the ones I was wearing were soaking wet, and I was freezing. It had to be, at the highest, 40 degrees Fahrenheit out here. I told myself that this week couldn’t have gotten worse, but sadly, I would later realize, I was gravely mistaken.
Somehow, I managed to get inside and upstairs without getting caught. I grabbed an empty drawstring bag and filled it with a pair of denim skinny jeans, a simple black t-shirt, tennis shoes, and a grey, zip up jacket. I would have changed, but I didn’t want these clothes to get wet as well. I slipped back outside, and there was Nathan in his black Porsche Boxster. I had no clue as to where he managed to get the money for it, but I didn’t want to know, so I didn’t ask.
I sprinted over and jumped into the xpensive sports car. “Well hello Mr. I-Secretly-Got-Money. Mind if I borrow a couple grand and catch a quick flight to Brazil?”
“Nice try missy,” he said, “so what’s with the sudden exit this time, your dad again?”
“I guess so, it’s a long story I’d rather not get into, but thanks for picking me up.” I smiled at him, he never bailed on me.
“No problem, so uh, you feelin’ up to a little bit of excitement.”
“What kind of “excitement” are we talking about here?” I looked at him with my eyes narrowed as if I was asking him if I really wanted to know.
“Just trust me Codie, I think you’ll enjoy it. We will just have to stop by a gas station for you to change at.” And he started the engine.
“Why can’t we stop at your house? It’s just down the street from here.”
“My mom got a hold of the scotch again, it’s probably not a good idea to go within a five mile radius of that place.” He closed his eyes and sighed, but I wouldn’t press the matter.
We drove down the street to the closest gas station. Nate was filling the car with gas while I ran inside with my bag and changed. Luckily it had stopped raining so I didn’t have to worry about getting these clothes wet. He had pulled the car up and I hopped in.
    “So where are we off to Nathan?”
    “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He looked at me with a smirk, “You’ll just have to wait and see.” I rolled my eyes.
    After a few minutes of driving I started to doze off, just thinking about trivial, banal things. Like Emily Dickinson's Hope poem, the cause of my death, why fire is warm, those sorts of things. I arose from my daydreaming when the car slowly came to a stop. We must have been on the outskirts of town, where empty fields and abandoned warehouses were. Nate jumped out of the car, so I followed. That’s when I noticed over forty other people gathered by the old woodshop, and lined up were about five other sports cars that resembled Nathan’s. To me, they all looked the same.
    Some guy wearing a blue tuxedo yelled at Nate over the roars of the engines, “Well if it isn't the man himself! Nathaniel, great to see you here! I’ve got money on you this time.” When I heard the word money, it all started to click.
    “Well it was money worth spent!” Nate called back. Then he glanced at me, “Do you understand where we are now?”
    “Nathan Jones! Of the 6 years I’ve known you, I’m just finding out you race cars?” I glared at him.
    “It started about 2 years ago, on my 16th birthday, when my brother took me racing and I fell in love. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you.”
    I sighed, “Well if it makes you happy, then who am I to stop you.”
    “Thanks Cod-fish.” he replied. I rolled my eyes, he knew I’ve hated that nickname ever since we were kids.
    I jumped into the car as the slim blonde with a black and white flag made her way to the front of the lined up cars. Her skimpy outfit made the thought of gouging my eyes out with scalpels appealing.
    “Codie! What are you doing? You can’t be in here while I’m racing, it’s dangerous.”
    “Look Nathan, I’m already here, and after this you know what I will do? Probably go back to a good novel and drown myself with beautiful literature. This is the most excitement I will ever experience willingly, just let me live it to the fullest. Go big or go home, right?” I sputtered out with newfound confidence, followed by a fake smile. I doubted he was convinced.
    “Fine, but just this once Codie. If you get hurt, I warned you.” He shut the door to the car and revved his engine, along with the rest of the drivers. I squealed with excitement and clapped my hands like a twelve year old fangirl. Realizing what I had just did, as well as Nate, I cleared my throat and sat back in my chair, as if nothing had happened. I looked over and saw him raising one eyebrow at me. “Don’t give me that look.” He laughed.
    A quick flash of black and white, and within a blink of an eye we were jolted forward, quickly approaching 130 miles per hour. I was pushed back all the way against the seat, filled with adrenaline. We were leading, with a blue Chevrolet Corvette following close behind. As another sleek black car slammed into our bumper, it just then dawned on me, these were illegal races, the key word being illegal. As one who considers themselves an intellectual person, I was insulted with myself that I had not been observant enough to realize it earlier. But it was too late now, and this was the most exhilarating moment in my life since my mother had passed.
    We were playing cat and mouse with the Corvette and black car, which I still couldn’t recognize. Probably some European/German sports car. All of a sudden a red Mazda Miata sideswiped the Corvette, and the driver lost control. The Corvette spun a full 360 degrees before flipping multiple times. The cars were going at such a rapid speed that the black car didn’t have time to stop before hitting the side of the Corvette at full force. From the passenger rearview mirror, I saw a tremendous explosion of black smoke and orange flames erupt from the collision.
    Nathan slammed on his brakes at full force, and the airbag blew up in front of me, causing me to hit my head against the back of my seat with a violent impact. I began to see spots of black and red in my vision, but still managed to stumble out of the car. I looked back on the monumental wreck, and saw Nate attempting to pull the driver of the black car out, as there was no hope for the other driver. Nate managed to pull him half way out of the vehicle, but his legs were obviously limp and blood tainted the entire upper half of his body. It looked as if the man were able to mumble a few words to Nathan, and maybe even handed him some sort of object. But my eyes couldn’t focus, and all I could see was the outline of the two bodies, before one went completely limp in the midst of all the destruction. Sirens could be heard from a distance, and I knew, as well as Nate, that we needed to get out of there.
    Nathan ran over to me and helped me back into the car, then jumped into the driver's seat and took off. I felt the fatigue taking over my body, and my conscious mind soon began to fade, before I completely passed out.
    I awoke in a shaggy motel room, with a pounding headache. When I looked at the clock I saw that it was almost 2:30 in the morning. The events of the previous day hit me like a 300 ton semi, and I looked over to see Nate sound asleep in an ugly brown armchair. He looked pretty beat up, his face was covered in black residue from the smoke, and cuts and bruises lined his arm. Not to mention his sleeves were all cut up and the top of his forehead was still bleeding.
    Sitting up, a headache like no other made all the blood in my body rush to my toes, and I had to grab onto the bedside table to keep myself upright. When I gained my composure I managed to stagger my way to the bathroom. I looked rough, but came out alright compared to Nathan. My head was bleeding, my long blonde hair was knotted from root to end, and I smelt horribly like gasoline and smoke. Not like campfire smoke that makes you think of starry mountains, late night ghost stories, and scrumptious s'mores, but of wildfires, burning buildings, and murderous, out of control flames.
    Lacking a brush, I ran my hair under the sink water and brushed it out with my fingers to the best of my abilities. No way would I be able to get all of the blood out of my hair. There was hand soap under the sink, which I used to quickly wash my face of smoke residue and excess blood that had dripped down my face. I didn’t have extra clothes to shower, nor the time, so I was making do with what I had. Using the hairband on my wrist, I slicked my hair back into somewhat of a decent ponytail, and walked out. On the door was a sign that said ‘Seaside Motel’ in small lettering, which filled me with a sense of relief. The Seaside was only but two miles away from my house. I wrote a note to Nathan saying I was going to walk home, it was a small town, and no one would be up this early anyways.
    I grabbed my grey jacket from the back of Nate’s car and headed home. The idea that my father might actually be worried of my whereabouts wouldn’t stop plaguing my mind, of course, I knew better than that. But deep down, a part of me hoped.
    The event of last night was like a broken record haunting my mind. The images of the cars colliding played in slow motion inside my head, over, and over, and over again. Then the dying man lying outside of the car, bloodied and charred. I kept wondering about what he could have said to Nathan. Maybe some cheesy last words stolen right out of a movie, or tell my family I love them. Maybe he told Nathan where he had buried his life fortune. But how cruel am I, to assume the last words of a dying soul, a suffering person. The man probably had a good amount of his life left, maybe a job with good retirement, or even still a teenager on his way to graduation. The idea made me sick, why would they allow minors to illegally race, and bet on them nonetheless? Nathan and I shouldn’t have even been there, what if it was us in that crash? All envy I ever retained for thrill and adventure, had gone up in smoke with those cars.
    An image of my mother and I at a carnival had broken the repetitiveness occurring in my head. I remember twisted mirrors and red and white stripes vividly. Upon looking into them, I saw a deformed version of myself, but on my face was a mask of paint, appearing to be balloons and tiger stripes. I was holding a cone of blue cotton candy in my hand when Quinton ran over and knocked the sugary cloud away from me. “You made us ditch the bumper cars for this?” As a child, his eyebrows were furrowed and his face was turning red. You could almost see the steam shooting from his ears. “You are such a loser Codie! Why do you have to be my little sister?”
    When the waterworks started to spill from my eyes my mother came rushing over, “Sweetie, what happened?”
    “Momma, Quinny is yellin’ at me because he wanna ride the bumper cars.” I was still sobbing. And there was Quinton, still fuming.
    “Come on Quinton, we can go back to the bumper cars, you don’t have to be rude to your sister about it.” She grabbed our hands and we headed over there, to find that the ride had been closed down, and surrounding it was yellow crime scene tape.
    “Excuse me Sir, what happened?”
    “Sorry Ma’am, one of the engines combusted and started a fire, you’ll have to try and find the ride the next time the carnival comes back into town.” But nothing could convince Quinton that he would ever find this ride again.
    Besides the fact of our overly dramatic temper tantrums, this later taught me and Quinton that sometimes you should be grateful that you weren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which is exactly what happened to me last night. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now it would never leave me alone. This is why I stick to the repose of books and The Literati. Where it is safe, and things don’t ever happen out of the blue without permission.
    I had finally reached the silver gates in front of my house, and typed a code into the lock that would open them for me. I slipped inside and walked down the cobblestone path lined by hedges to the front door. I took the key out of the hanging planters swinging from the front porch and let myself in. The house was still and tranquil, for what seemed like the first time in forever. As I thought about it, I realized Dad mentioned a couple days ago he would be leaving to Tokyo for business. So I walked through the kitchen and into the garage to see that one of Dad’s favorite cars was missing, which must have been the one he drove to the airport.
    I took myself up two flights of stairs with the intention to go shower before I went to bed, but I was exhausted, and could barely hold my body upright. I untied my shoes, through on a tank and some sweatpants, and was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
    My body willed me to wake up somewhere around, I was guessing due to the sun’s place in the sky, about nine in the morning. I was already late for school, and debating even going. But my grades couldn’t suffer because of another traumatic event in my life, so I got up and decided to shower. I soaked in the water for a few minutes, trying to scrub away any evidence of what had happened. Afterwards I blow dried my hair, and simply straightened it. It was still cold outside so I threw on some jeans and a black Nike hoodie, and decided to walk to school. You would think with how many cars my father owns I would just drive one of them to school, but I hated involving myself with my father’s wealth, and figured I was given two legs for a reason.
    I grabbed an apple, my backpack, and my keys, and headed out. A chill crawled down my spine as soon as I stepped outside, whether it was from the cold air or an eerie feeling, I had no clue. Perhaps it was both. I started on my way when I heard my phone buzzing in my back pocket. I pulled it out and saw that it was Nate calling, but did I really want to deal with him right now?
    “Hey Nate, what’s up.”
    “When did you leave the motel this morning?” He sounded almost angry.
    “Maybe like 2:30, it’s not a big deal though Nathan my house wasn’t that far.”
    “Are you still home?” This time with a cutting edge of vexation. I was getting seriously annoyed.
    “No I’m walking to school right now, why?”
    “Turn around right now, get into your house, lock all the doors and windows, and set the alarms till someone gets home.” Nathan sounded worried, therefore heightening my fear, because Nate never worried about anything.
    “Nathan Jones, what is going on?” If he thought this was a joke, or even at the slightest bit funny, he had it coming for him.
    “Codie just listen to me, go home now. I’m on my way over.” And he ended the call. But if he couldn’t merely tell me what was going on, I was not going home. I put my phone in my back pocket, when I was hit over the head. I felt a blunt force, then saw nothing but black. As my consciousness began to wane, I felt hands pulling me somewhere, and then it was gone. It seemed as if in the past 24 hours, I had been unconscious more than I had been awake.
My head struggled against gravity to lift itself upwards, as I felt the back of my neck cracking excessively. My eyes peeled themselves open, but all I saw was darkness. Due to the way my back was straining, I could tell I was tied up to a metal foldable chair. My hands were tied behind me, but the burning of my wrists indicated it was something other than rope, almost like piano wire. My feet were tied up as well. Every muscle in my body ached with pain, like thousands of needles pinning down my body, and the weight of a 400 pound man pressing down on my chest.
My eyes started to adjust to the darkness of the room, as a small window to the left of me was letting a few rays of sunshine leak into what I presumed was an abandoned shop. I squinted my eyes and peered around the room, and noticed paintings of violins and famous musicians on the walls, and on the ground by the door in front of me lay a smashed, broken piano. Splinters of wood and black keys, in my mind's eye, I saw what once was a beautiful instrument, brought to destruction.
I was struggling against the wire when a man about 6’7 with black hair opened the door and walked in. He looked at me for a few seconds, before starting to speak.
“I hear you and your friend were involved in an accident last night.” He had an accent that sounded almost German.
“Listen buddy I don't know..” I tried to speak but he plummeted his fist into the side of my head.
“I didn't ask you to speak. All I need is the object your friend received from one of the men who died last night. He used to work for me in Europe, then stole something valuable and ran to America. I want it back, and you will get it for me.” He took an object out of his pocket which resembled a phone, my phone in fact. The man pulled a gun from his waistband and held it to my head, demanding I call Nathan. I debated on calling 911, but he was looking right over my shoulder, and I didn't want to take the chance.
    After several rings, I heard Nate’s voice. “Where are you Codie? I'm at your house.”
     “Nathan, I'm with a man who says you have something of his. Something from the crash, I don't know what but he needs it Nate.” I heard Nate start to respond but before he could finish, the man ripped the phone from my grasp.
“Bring it to me, or the girl dies.”
“Look man, I don't know who you are and I don't know what you want, but I promise I don't have it. You got the wrong dude, just let her go.” Nate exasperated with a desperate rasp.
“Lying with get you nowhere young boy. Bring the disk to Meral’s old music shop, and if the Feds show up, let’s just say it won't be good for your friend.” The German man ended the call and smashed my phone to the cement floor, followed by his exit.
I had to get out of here, surely Nathan thought the man was crazy, he would have told him if he had anything. If he shows up empty handed, it will be good for no one.
I squirmed around in my chair when I felt something in my back pocket. I was able to maneuver my hands to the back of the chair and grabbed whatever it was out of my pocket. I studied the object using only my hands, and instantly knew it was a pair of tweezers. My luck seemed as if it was finally turning up.
I started to pick at the wires with the tweezers, and about 20 minutes later I felt the wires snap. I flicked them off of my wrists and got to work on the wires around my feet, which went by a lot smoother as I could see what I was doing. When the wires around my ankles snapped, I saw red rings imprinted where the wires were, and God did it burn.
I looked around the empty space for any sort of route of escape, when again I noticed the one window boarded up, letting small rays of light in. I moved the chair below the window, and used all of my strength to rip off the wood nailed to the wall. When the last board dropped, I hit any glass left on the sides of the window out, so I wouldn't cut myself. I used my upper arms to lift my body weight up and stuck one leg out of the window, luckily the drop wasn’t too high. Maybe seven feet or so. I lifted my other leg over the side and pushed myself away from the wall and onto the ground, landing on my backside.
I looked around and saw the pavement, we were outside of town, but I didn't know in which direction it was. So I just ran, for what felt like forever, until I stopped for a breath. Out of the blue, was the screeching of car tires. I looked up and saw a speeding car coming right for me, but it was too late. The impact sent me flying, and all I saw was black. It was over.
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I had the disk, but the man who had died last night specifically told me not to hand it over to anyone. But I didn't want to hurt Codie, I jumped into the Porsche and sped down the street, rushing to get to Meral’s old shop. I was about a mile away when I spotted a red European sports car in the distance, and next to it, a body. A girl’s body. Codie. But there was nothing I could do for her if she was dead, so I turned the car around and drove off. I felt a pang of guilt, but I needed the money. Codie couldn't do anything to save me, and I her. She would understand that, wouldn't she? I hoped so.
I felt a tear roll down my face, she was my best friend, and I had left her. Lied to the man, I could have saved her. No, I couldn't do anything about it, she was dead. I needed to worry about myself, I had rescued her from her monotonous, painful life.
So forgetting the past, I drove off with misery following close behind, like a shadow, or lion waiting to pounce, and again tear down all hope in my life. With the disk in my pocket, I drove to the airport. I left my car parked in the lot, with the keys sitting still in the ignition, and caught the quickest flight to Brazil.