An Open Sky

Chapter Forty-Nine ~Aidan~

“Alexa’s phone was last used through the tower right here,” the woman said, pointing to a map, “which means she can be in any of these surrounding cities because they all use the same tower.” The words were followed by more meaningless gestures.

                “You said she was in a room? An empty room?” Officer Hathway looked at me.

                “Yes, she’s in a room. I don’t know if it was empty or not. It was just dark,” I said, answering the question for the fifth time.

                “Okay,” he ran his hand over his receding hair line. “Search any buildings that may belong to a Belvin out there or any empty warehouses.”

                “Sir, all the buildings out there are empty warehouses,” said the woman.

                “Just do it Jewls.” The woman nodded and walked out.

                “Where exactly is ‘out there’ anyways?” I asked.

                “Well, she could either be in Bassett, Long Pine, Johnstown Precinct, Springview, or possibly Stuart, Nebraska,” stated Officer Hathway.  

                “Nebraska?” I asked. There was something about Springview, Nebraska that seemed very familiar. Almost too familiar…

                “Yes, that’s what I said,” he sounded annoyed, but that was alright. I didn’t have any more questions. I grabbed my jacket and walked out of the police station.

                “Mom?” I called. No answer; I was clear. I headed to the stairs, freezing in my place when I saw her. Fortunately for me, she was passed out on the couch. My eyes caught sight of the car keys on the kitchen table.  Mom, today would be a good day to let me borrow the car, what do you say? I slipped the keys into my pocket and walked up the stairs.

                I turned into my room. It was just how I’d left it previously. The drawers were still open from packing, the bed still not made. I opened my closet, a pile of crap I hadn’t used in years greeting me as I pulled the door aside. I almost wished I’d learned to clean up after myself better.

                I grabbed my old ankle brace that I’d worn during basketball games. I stumbled over to the dresser and held the switchblade between my fingers. I moved to the bed. I flipped it open, drawing it to the thick cast on my right foot. I paused. The last time I’d used the blade was when Layla had asked me to carve our names into a tree. It was our tree, our place. No one else knew about it. She would lie there in my arms for hours. Now the trees, the woods, the darkness, and the protection they provide; it all comforts me. It brings me back to a time that I can’t go to physically. It brings me back to her.

                I let the blade glide through the cast. I let it gleam in the light above me. I flipped the blade back down and tossed it onto the dresser next to Layla’s photo. It wouldn’t make the trip with me. Using it for self defense didn’t seem right. Jay didn’t deserve to die the way Layla had. I slid my swollen ankle into the brace and laced it up. I limped back over to the overflowing closet.

                Jay’s scar gave him away. On the gun that the snake was wrapped around were the letters SNE. At first, I’d thought they were directions or an abbreviation for snake, so I hadn’t paid much attention to it. But now, it makes perfect sense. It almost seemed as if it was a scene from a really bad movie. The gang establishes headquarters in Nebraska and puts in on a branding iron to brand everyone with.  

                My thoughts were interrupted when my fingers found the box. I pulled it out, straining my shoulder in the process, and tossed it on the bed.

                There it was. The only thing my dad ever left me other than scars. It sat there in a box. I grabbed one of my old school bags that was missing half a strap and tossed it next to the box. I threw two un-matching changes of clothes into the bag (my drawers were pretty picked over from my previous visits), and flipped open the box. The gleaming black metal glared back at me, beckoning me to hold it. I reached down and lifted the revolver out of its home of the past few years. My hands were sweating as my finger grazed the trigger.

                I’d never fired a gun before. I’d never fired a gun at someone before, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. At least, not at Jay, not at the man that used to be my best friend. He was still in there somewhere. If I shot him I would kill the monster that he had become, but I’d also kill the man he was, and could still be. I checked to see if the gun was loaded. The golden bullets taunted me. I held death in my hand. It was watching me, begging me.

                I blinked and tossed the loaded gun into the bag, positioning it below the clothes. I walked downstairs to the garage, slinging my bag into the front seat of my mother’s new black Cadillac. I figured she wouldn’t miss it too much. She probably didn’t even remember she’d bought it. I started the engine. My eyes found myself in the mirror. I forced myself to grin. Pathetic, worthless, deserves to die, I thought, the descriptive words had become familiar, but murderer? I didn’t think I could do it. But I knew I might have to. Coward wouldn’t be added to the list, not if I could help it. I pulled out of the driveway.

                I’d never been so determined to drive seventeen hours in my life.