Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
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I peer through the glass of the windshield, even leaning forward to give myself a better angle of the sign just to make sure I read it correctly. "A junkyard?" I ask as he runs around from the driver's side to open my door for me. Taylor has brought me to a junkyard. Maybe after last night he thinks of me like a dog. A sick one that unfortunately needs to be put out of its misery. But the old fashioned way, no modern medicine drug to induce a peaceful passing. One where he can just bury the body immediately after.
"Oh yeah!" he says with a hitch of excitement in his tone. So he's looking forward to shooting me and getting rid of the body. A man of vast interests.
"Do you need to find a part for your car or something?" I try to gather as much information before I call Gabi and tell her I love her one last time.
"Nope," Taylor answers just as a man walks out of a large white metal garage off to the side of the lot.
"Taylor Reed! Welcome, son!" He's an older man with a head full of white hair, and a slightly curved back. He pulls a rag out of the back pocket of his overalls and wipes some sort of black gunk from his hands before reaching one out and shaking Taylor's.
"And you must be Rent," he says, turning and extending the same hand to me. "Ryn," I correct him before letting him take my hand. His grip is hard which does nothing to clear up my confusion.
"Right, of course. Well this way!" He turns on his heels back towards his establishment and right through the small gap in the two gates. Taylor begins to follow him, but I stay where I am. I'm not actually sure if I'm ready to die, no matter how awful yesterday was. As if he senses the lack of my presence he turns and looks at me over his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"More like what's right with this scene?" I spit.
He walks back to where I stand and asks if I trust him. My mind screams no, but it oddly comes out as a yes. Taylor takes my hand in his, it feels so natural, like we've done it hundreds of times before, but my heart begins to race anyways.
We follow the man, whose name I now know to be Wilbur, through his rummage yard (the name he gave it because it's more like a rummage sale, a place for hidden deals and treasures to be found rather than a place where junk goes to die,) that's been in his family since he was a boy. We make a couple of turns around stacked piles of old cars, only stopping once we have reached a single car sitting on the ground. It's an older model, most likely a station wagon given the long shape of the frame, in a pale blue color.
Wilbur conjures up two pairs of clean safety goggles, like the ones from a chemistry lab from one of the pockets of his overalls. I'm suddenly overcome with the feeling that I might still be asleep, all of this just a weird dream. One where Wilbur continues to pull other things from his seemingly small pockets until we're surrounded by an assortment of equally weird items.
"Here you two go. Now just a coupla ground rules. One, only aim for this one right here, any of the piles and one bad hit could send the whole damn thing tumbling," He says drawing our attention to the station wagon, "Two, stop by the garage on your way out. Patricia will want to see ya." He doesn't clarify who Patricia is, or why she will want to see us, but I don't ask any questions out of fear that I will somehow sound stupid. Wilbur shoots us a toothy smile and then disappears back around a pile of cars.
