Death of a King

Chapter 1

But I'm still alive so quite frankly, the game is a load of bull. And so is Mr. King.

"My mom said he'll be riding through town on his way home." Jake piped up as we finally made it through the exit line and out onto the streets. Cars dispersed in all directions, we took the road that cut through town and led to the subdivisions beyond the small shops of town.

Just speaking of such nonsense had my hairs standing on end. I shook my head, rolling the window down as a blast of hot air exploded in from outside, "Well I think it's a lousy attempt to scare the town and keep kids inside on a Friday night."

"Really?" Kendra seemed surprised.

I nodded, "He's getting out of jail so the first thing he'll want to do is go home. That's what I would do, I'd book it home and take a nice long nap ... with maybe a quick pitstop at McDonald's. But he's not going to stop in our little shithole to terrorize people that mean nothing to him."

"Keep talking like that and I'll think you're on his side." Jake joked, rolling up my window from the main control on his side. Then he leaned forward to crank the air. I huffed to myself, I'd much rather have the windows rolled down on such a gorgeous day than be cooped up in this van with arctic wind biting at my cheeks.

"I'm not on his side but I think the town is overreacting. It's probably Hilda Johnson, she spreads rumors faster than smallpox. I'd bet my bottom dollar that she's spewing gossip to the town like fuel on a fire." I shook my head. Small towns are great, cozy, but filled with petty gossip because we've nothing better to do. And people like Hilda Johnson live for drama. She's seventy-six and still runs her mouth like an Olympic track star.

Kendra sat forward between the front seats, fixing me with a challenging stare, "Well if it's such a load of shit, then you'll have no concerns about going to the party tonight. Right?"

Jake went silent in his seat, forcibly keeping his eyes on the road.

Kendra has a bad habit of squeezing her desires from anyone and everyone. I've never figured out how she does it but no matter the task, in the end, people do her bidding. Jake and I have expressed how much we hated it but Kendra insists that it's a gift she learned from her stepfather.

Maybe it has something to do with her cute, seemingly non-threatening, looks. She was a pretty girl, lots of people noticed. And some would say she isn't the brightest crayon in the box, but I know better. Her mom never pushed her to do good in school because according to Kendra's mom, 'if you're pretty enough, you don't need to be smart'. I heard her say it to Kendra once. So my friend never had much motivation to be book smart, but her manipulation skills were far superior than anyone our own age.

"Don't do that." I ordered.

She fluttered those eyelashes innocently, "It's just a question."

That tone, that girly, frilly tone. I hated it when she used it, that tone in and of itself was a challenge. One I couldn't turn down because while Kendra had her annoying flaws, so did I. And my flaw was being unable to walk away from an argument or disagreement of any kind. I liked having the last word.

"Fine." I told her with a bitter smile of my own, "If that will prove that absolutely nothing will come of that criminal's release, then sure. I'll go to the party with you."

Kendra smiled triumphantly but it was I who won. This night would be no different than the rest, boring and dull. Uneventful. Then she would see, like everyone else, that the release of Dustin King was no more than a flaw in our justice system.

Jake spit out a short laugh as we pulled into his driveway and he turned off the car, "You two are going to get yourselves killed."

I watched closely as Kendra wrapped her arms around Jake's neck from behind, "Does that mean you're too scared to come with us, chicken?"