Me and the Devil

39.

The engine of the jeep growls beneath us, its roar almost drowning out everything else as we speed down the road, tires screeching against the asphalt. Rafe’s hands are clenched tight on the wheel, white-knuckled and shaking, like he’s holding on to the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His breaths come in short, ragged bursts, filling the car with a frantic, panicked rhythm.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t believe what just happened. Sheriff Peterkin is gone, and it feels like the weight of the world is crushing me. And then there’s Rafe, unraveling in front of me, his mind slipping further out of control.

“She had the hammer back, you know that, right?” His voice cracks through the tense silence, and I flinch. He’s looking ahead, but his eyes are unfocused, like he’s seeing something else entirely. “She was gonna blow his head off.”

Sarah’s eyes flash with anger, her hand slapping the seat beside Rafe as she spits out a sharp, defensive reply. “No, Rafe, she was arresting him.”

I open my mouth to intervene and place a steadying hand on Rafe’s shoulder, but Rafe’s voice rises again, louder, more frantic. “I couldn’t sit there and let it happen, okay?” His head jerks toward Sarah, eyes wild and unseeing. “She was gonna kill him.” One ragged breath. “Yeah, yeah,” two ragged breaths. “She was gonna kill him.”

His words tumble out in a frantic rhythm, like he’s trying to convince himself of the truth.

His breathing is coming too fast now, like he can’t catch his breath. I can hear the hitch in his chest, like he’s suffocating under the weight of what he’s done. “Rafe, baby. I need you to breathe. Right now.”

But before I can finish, Sarah makes a move. Her face is still twisted in frustration, but now there’s fear in her eyes too. She reaches for the door handle, and I see the sudden, wild resolve on her face. She’s going to jump out. I can’t let her.

“Sarah, don’t—” I reach for her, but Rafe is faster.

“Don’t,” he hisses, his voice low and jagged with something darker. His hand shoots out, grabbing the back of her shirt, yanking her away from the door. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Sarah yelps, her hands scrabbling at the door, but Rafe’s grip is ironclad. He pulls her back in, the collar of her shirt bunching up in his fist, his desperation leaking out like poison. My heart pounds, panic swelling in my chest.

“Let go of her!” I yell, lunging forward between the seats and prying his hand away. “You're not helping like this!”

“Let me go!” she yells, her voice shaking with fury. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Rafe’s face is twisted with something like madness. His breathing is erratic, but his voice cuts through the chaos like a blade. “I saved Dad!” His words come in a rush, like he can’t stop them. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there and hope for the best? I’m a proactive type of person.”

He grabs her again, yanking her toward him with a force that makes her wince. “I’m a proactive type of person,” he repeats, his voice rising, frantic. “Hope is not a strategy, Sarah. It’s not!”

“Rafe enough!” I snap, reaching forward again, this time curling my fingers around his wrist. “Look at me. You can’t lose it right now. Not with her. Not with me here.”

Something flickers in his blue eyes. His jaw clenches, and for a single second, his eyes lock on mine in the rearview mirror. Just a second.

Then the jeep swerves. My stomach drops as the headlights of an oncoming car barrel toward us.

“Rafe, watch out!” I scream, my hand flying to the door as my body braces for impact.

He jerks the wheel, swerving dangerously close to the other car. Tires scream as we narrowly miss a head-on collision. My breath catches in my throat, and I grab the seat, my heart pounding against my ribs as Rafe swerves back into the right lane. His hands are trembling harder now.

But he doesn’t slow down.

“Rafe, what the hell are you doing?!” I demand, my voice sharp with fear. But he’s not hearing me. He’s somewhere else again, his mind spiraling.

“I’m the problem-solver in this family, okay?” he yells, his voice rising with an edge of desperation.

Sarah recoils from him, her eyes wide with terror. She stays silent, shaking her head.

“Okay!?” Rafe yells, suddenly whipping his head toward her, his face twisted with something unrecognizable.

I flinch as if his words physically struck me, my chest tightening under the weight of them. Sarah flinches, too, her eyes wide, horrified.

He’s gone too far now. The pressure of everything. The violence, the fear, the guilt has cracked him open, and there’s no turning back.

“Rafe, stop!” I shout, forcing my voice to stay steady even though my hands are shaking. “You're losing it. You're scaring her. You're scaring me.”

His breath stutters, and for a heartbeat, his expression cracks just a little. A shimmer of recognition in his eyes, like he hears me.

“I’m with you, Rafe,” I whisper. “But I need you to be here too. Come back to me.”

But the shimmer vanishes, swallowed up by the weight in his chest, the noise in his head. His grip tightens on the wheel again. His eyes go distant. And I know he didn’t come back.

Not this time.