Dark Destiny

Chapter One - Opening Scene

The battered car forces its way through the night, weaving along a deserted two-lane highway at a terrific speed. It is an old car, a mid-eighties tan-colored Buick, with chipping paint along the doors and rust along the base of the back window, making its way down to the car's trunk. As the lone car travels into the darkness, its suspension and shocks grunting their disapproval at its high rate of speed and sharp turns, it is followed at a nearly constant distance of one hundred yards behind by two police cars, their swirling blue lights casting light in the darkness and into the high trees and dark bushes that line the sides of the road, as they weave their way around curves and potholes. The two police cars' white bodies and metallic blue lettering, further illuminated by their blue lights, create a stark contrast against the otherwise dark scene of this moonless night. The sound of piercing sirens shatter the otherwise still night, serving as a warning to the inhabitants of the vehicle; a warning that goes unheeded.

The road is a narrow one, weaving along the side of an old river, with a history of often unsavory trade along its banks. This part of the river, however, is a narrow one, and a few miles from downtown section of the port city located miles behind, at the river's mouth. The road is not well-lit at this point, and there as there are no street lights to help guide weary passengers through the road's many twists and turns. In the darkness of this late night hour, the headlights cut through the darkness, but cast light only on a small section of the road directly in front of the vehicles on this moonless night. The sides of the road are narrow, and tall trees largely encumber the view on each side of the road, an eerie warning if a curve is taken too sharply. Along the sides of the road are oak and pine trees, as well as small shrubbery. In front of the police cars, trying to gain ground on its pursuers, the lead car jumps across a large pothole, the tires and shocks jerking their disapproval when the vehicle returns to the ground on the other side of the large pothole. The driver curses under his breath at the difficulty he is having navigating this neglected road, which is made all the more challenging by the concealment of these potholes by the encroaching darkness all around them.

In the fleeing vehicle, the driver keeps his dark eyes on the road, as he man-handles the steering wheel, forcing it to make sharp turns, as the wheels leave much of their rubber and remaining tread on the road behind. His dark brown eyes show signs of fear and determination, as he does all he can to prevent another stretch in prison—and, this time, a long one. His face is unshaven and rough, with an old scar that runs just under his right eye, all the way to his chin, cutting through his cheek. He looks to be in his mid-forties, but is actually only in his mid-thirties, the result of hard living and hard drinking over much of his life. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with his right hand, he uses the back side of his left to push away the perspiration and hair which was encroaching into his eyes, making it more difficult to see. His hair, once dark brown, has gotten lighter in the past few years, as more and more gray hairs are overtaking the brown ones. To his right, in the passenger's seat, his friend of many years holds on tightly to the dashboard, preventing his head from slamming into the windshield, as he is thrown about from the driver's desperate driving. His face is a mask of fear, for both the police behind him and the concern of being one of what he envisions to be many passengers who ended their lives wrapped around one of the pine trees that stretches high into the night sky. He has brown, straight hair, with the bangs threatening to go over his eyes, causing him to brush them back when he has a free hand to do so. At the moment, however, he uses both hands, shifting his right hand alternatively to the dashboard and to the armrest on the door, depending on where the momentum of the sharp turns and quick acceleration are taking him. His green eyes grow larger, as he looks at the approaching curve in the road ahead, and the fact that his friend is making little effort to slow down to navigate his way through it. As he navigates the turn, the front-seat passenger looks out the window into a very narrow clearing in the trees, where he sees the river off in the distance, separated by a side strand of marsh front not fifteen feet away from the road on the small, two-lane concrete bridge they are now crossing.