The Broken Date

°16°

Jack’s POV:

“It’s too bad you had to see me,” his blood red eyes staring straight ahead at the highway. He shook his head, and repeated the words “too bad” over and over.

“This is a mistake. A big mistake,” I insisted.

“Too bad,” he muttered. His odd, lopsided grin spread a little wider. When he smiled, the long scars on his face wrinkled.

He held the wheel with one hand and began to pound it rhythmically with the other, tapping and pounding to the beat of a song only he could hear.

I became aware of everything. In my fear, in my panic, I felt as if all of my senses had been heightened. I could hear the rumble of the van’s engine as it shifted gears, hear the tires roll over the pavement. I smelled the stale aroma of cigarette smoke in the torn vinyl seat cushions. The pungent aroma of overripe fruit drifted up from the floor beneath the front seat.

My eyes seemed to take in twice as much as normal. I peered through the tiny opening in the steel partition as if looking into a microscope.

I saw the crack in the windshield that ran diagonally from the center down across the passenger’s side. I saw neat rows of cigarette burns across the tan vinyl dashboard. Someone had very carefully, very methodically burned small black circles in the dash.

I saw the brand name printed on the cigarette behind the young man’s ear. I saw the sunlight glinting off the big ruby-colored glass in the center of the ring he wore on his right hand, the hand that tapped the wheel harder and faster as he drove.

I saw the open glove compartment, saw a pair of black leather gloves inside, stuffed in with maps and other papers. I saw a long white rope coiled on the front seat, the kind of rope victims on TV crime shows always get tied up with.

I saw every detail, smell every smell, heard every sound as if all the volume and picture controls on a TV had been set up as far and as loud and as bright as they could go.

Everything had been a blur all day. But now, even without my glasses, I could see perfectly. If only I could return to the warm safety of the blur. . .

If only i could think of something to help me escape. . .

‘It’s too bad you had seen me,” he repeated suddenly.

“I could tell that you recognized me too.”

“No. No, I didn’t!” I screamed through the little opening. “I didn’t recognize you.”

His jaw tightened. He glanced into the rearview mirror, then back at the highway. He tapped his ring rapidly against the steering wheel.

I could tell we were going very fast, well beyond the 55 mph speed limit.

The police! A policeman will pull him over, I though. No hope was too desperate. I listened for a siren. But there was only the rush of the wind and the steady roar of the tires against the pavement.

“How’d you recognize me?” he asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes blank like solid red marbles. “From my picture in the paper?”

“I don’t know who you are,” I cried. “Please, you’ve got to believe me. I’ve never seen you. You’ve got the wrong person. If you’ll just let me go, I won’t tell anyone. I won’t---”

He deliberately jerked the van hard to the right, forcing me to fall backward. I struggled back to my knees, leaned forward and peered again through the small opening.

“From my picture in the paper?” he repeated. “From when I killed those idiots in that housing project?”

Killed?

Why did his smile grow wider when he said that word? How could he say it with such pride?

“I don’t know who you are,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I don’t know why you’re picking on me. I have no idea who you are or what you want. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

He tossed his head and laughed really hard, revealing two rows of white teeth, along with sharp fangs. “Nice try, babes,” he said, swerving the van to avoid hitting two motorcyclists in the left lane.

“Listen to me---” I started.

“Nice try. But no go,” He said. “I saw you in the jewelry store.”

The words sent a shiver through my whole body. For a second, I felt sick. It passed quickly. I struggled to regain my composure, to keep control, to hold back the tears, the hysteria.

“I haven’t been in any jewelry store,” I said quietly. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

He smiled at me in the rearview mirror, his scars creasing red and deep. He reached for something on the seat with his right hand, and held it up. “Then how’d I get this?” he asked.

My wallet.

The sick feeling returned. I felt dizzy. I pressed my head against the metal van wall.

‘I don’t know you,” I said weakly.

“Well, then I’d better introduce myself,” he said. “I don’t know where my manners have got to. I’m Darkiplier, Dark for short. Now do you remember me from all the papers?”

Darkiplier. Dark.

Yes. It was a big story about three years before. He had killed an entire family, somewhere on the other side of town. I couldn’t remember why. But it was a big story because he was just seventeen at the time. He was seventeen and not the least bit remorseful.

I remembered that he’d been tried as an adult, even though he was still a juvenile.

“No. I don’t remember you,” I lied.

He looked disappointed.

‘I’ve been in prison a while,” He said, concentrating on passing another van.

That’s right. I remembered. He’d been sentenced to life imprisonment. And when he’s stood up in court and heard the verdict, he’d just grinned. He refused to look sorry. He refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him look humble or defeated.

Seventeen and sentenced to life prison, and he didn’t even look sorry.

“But they couldn’t hold me,” he said. He laughed to himself. ‘No one can hold me for long.”

Taptaptaptap. He continued to pound the big ring against the steering wheel.

I’ve got to get out! I told myself, looking desperately for something to use to open the door, something to help me---anything.

But the back of the van had been completely cleaned out. And I couldn’t reach anything on the other side of the metal partition.

It was so hot back here, so sticky. I tried to take deep breaths, but the air was stale and unpleasant. I gasped, and forced back the feeling that I was going to start screaming at the top of my lungs. (Yeah do that..it’ll totally work..)

“You know, I really didn’t think anyone would recognize me,” he was saying, staring at me in the rearview mirror.

“But I didn’t. Really---” I protested weakly.

“Especially with this fake black hair. Y’know how long it took me to dye red to raven-black?”

I sank to the floor of the van. Feeling of guilt washed over me, nearly drowning out my fear.

How could i have suspected Mark?

How could I have been so disloyal?

This---criminal---dyed his hair black. And because of that, I was ready to turn Mark in to the police.

“I made a mistake. I thought you were someone else---my boyfriend.” I called through the tiny opening. “I didn’t know it was you. I don’t care if you believe me or not. But it’s the truth.”

“Too late now,” came his reply, followed by bitter laughter.

“Why? What are you going to do to me?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Kill you, of course.”

Word count: 1309. See I told you.