“I’ll drive with her. Follow me over,” he says before getting into the driving seat of her car. I make my way over to Lauren’s car and when I look back at Jenna gives me the middle finger. One I have to admit I deserve. Once I’m in the car I let out a deep breath before resting my head on the steering wheel. Everything Jenna said, I deserved to hear. I should have told her as soon as Lauren got here that we should take a break. I just hoped, I thought that things would end differently, that somehow everything would work out in the end, that no one would get hurt and that there would be a happy ending in this for everyone involved. After everything I thought that we could all get our happy ending, but the longer this goes on the more it looks like no one’s going to get it.
*
It only took my dad a few minutes to get Jenna in the house. It seemed like the ride over calmed her down or the alcohol made her sleepy. I can’t believe I’m the one who drove Jenna, a self-respecting, intelligent, beautiful strong woman to get beyond wasted and turn into a person I’ve never seen before. Is this what I do to people? Break them down, destroy their happiness? Is this what my life has come to? My dad looks relieved once he’s out of the house. I see him pause and shake his head before making his way over to the car and getting in. Once he does he lets out a deep breath.
“How is she?” I ask, too embarrassed to look at him.
“Jenna will be fine. She’s strong…she just…sometimes you need that moment to crack,” he says quietly.
“I know she’ll bounce back, I just hate that I’m the one who caused the pain she is in. That I lost a friend.”
“Let’s get going, son,” he says and I start the car and drive home. I’m surprised that he’s quiet and hasn’t mentioned anything about what’s happened. I knew I’d get an earful about how he was right, and Lauren being around is a bad idea, and that what I did to Jenna was wrong. I’m sure she told him everything that happened while he was in there. Maybe he’s just giving me a break for tonight, one that I’m grateful for. The only thing I want to do right now is sleep.
I turn off the car and start to get out.
“Chris,” he says before we’re both out of the car. I let out a deep breath. I knew it was coming.
“I was really glad to hear your voice today,” he says, patting me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry about everything today, there’s always tomorrow for that” he says, getting out of the car. I start to follow him and my vision gets blurry.
I’m no longer walking down the lot to my house but down a street, one that looks familiar, the houses look run down, the grass is over grown and most of them look abandoned. A couple of cars pass by. I make my way up the stairs of one of them. Chipped green paint covers the outside of it. The railing on the stairs is crooked. It’s dark out but the light on the porch flickers as if it is being powered by the least bit of energy. I knock on the door three times. The reflection on the dirty plastic portion of it reveals me with a baseball cap on my head and a worn jacket. A deep voice on the other side asks "Who is it?"
“It’s me,” he replies.
Cal.
A second later the door cracks before opening. It’s a man, a big man, at least 6’3" and about 260 pounds. He lets me in and I close the door behind me.
“He’s downstairs,” he tells me.
“Good,” I reply as I follow. The house is pretty empty. There’s an old dirty couch in the living room only accompanied by a tiny old TV, card table and a mini fridge. I follow the man to a door revealing a basement. I follow him down, the air immediately becoming cooler and stale. When we arrive at the bottom there’s another man, this one skinny in a big painter's suit and a cap on his head. Then I see him. A man tied up in chair with a black cloth over his head.
“We didn’t touch him. He’s perfectly intact just like you wanted,” the big dude says.
“What’s the blood on his knee from?” he asks wryly.
“Moving damage,” the little guy chuckles. He stops laughing at the look Cal shoots him. He grabs one of the folding chairs, putting it directly in front of the restrained man. Cal removes the black hood from the man’s face, revealing a terrified man with tape over his mouth. He steps back, arms folded across his chest. He kneels down so he’s at eye level with the man. The man has hooded dark brown eyes and thick bushy eyebrows with olive skin, and a small scar on his left cheek.
“So, this is the guy?” he asks dryly.
“That’s him,” the skinny one says.