Page 20 of Babalon

Gasps permeate the air as the foreperson takes a seat. The air leaves my lungs before I could process just how bad this shit has gotten. I knew this was coming, but there was always a small sliver of hope lingering in my chest that maybe I could come out with just a slap on the wrist. Still, understanding that I deservedpunishment, didn’t make the news any less jarring, especially hearing that I got a first-degree charge like I had planned to go out of my way and kill that girl. That’s right up there with premeditated murder, something I was sure I could never follow through with.

Over the past year I have lived in denial, but sitting here, knowing the next time I come to this court room, I will be receiving my sentencing, is an absolute terrible realization. In a blur of final court proceedings, I am eventually pulled out of the heaviest mental fog I have ever experienced. This one deeper and more soul consuming than the day that I mistakenly took an innocent life.

My sentencing hearing is scheduled for one week from now, and since Judge Walker doesn’t see me as a danger to society, he’s allowing me the next week to square my life away. The way I see it, he could take me now, there’s no way I am going to go through the next week knowing that my final resting place is going to be in the graveyard next to Darkwater Correctional Institute.

One year ago, I took a life, and today mine became a waste.

1 year ago

After cramming my drunk body into the driver seat of my Denali SUV with the music up loud, I drew the seatbelt across my torso and buckled it, taking a moment to get my bearings. The shots are really starting to hit me even though I did eatsomething greasy; that’s what the alcoholics say to do, right? Eat something greasy, don’t chug water, take headache medication as soon as you wake up.

“Ugh.” I groan, dragging in a few deep breaths before reaching into the center console and yanking out one of the spare bottles of water I kept there. Popping it open, I chug a quarter of the contents; so much for that rule, this water was absolutely exquisite. Still holding the bottle, I used my free hand to put the Denali into drive and pull out of my parking space. Heading to the exit then the road itself.

A few miles down the street, I force the window to roll down faster, the cooler air feels amazing on my warm skin. It’s also helping deflate the bulge in my pants, thank God; I can hear Emilia now.

“Fucking pendejo, why did you tell hermano…”

Lost in my head for a second, hearing her sassy little accent internally, I do not realize I have drift out of my lane until the wheels caught the perforations, sending the vibrations and loud rumbling through the cab of the SUV. With a gentle snap of my wrist, I swerve the Denali back into the middle of my lane. Fuck, this is going to be a long ride home, I still have another twenty or so minutes to go before I am at her condo. The bright lights from oncoming cars along with the street lights, are only causing headaches and forcing me to squint rather than focus.

Reaching over, I turn the radio station from a local one to Spotify; the sounds of Korn flooding the speakers asRight Nowbegins.

What a great fucking song.

Doing my best to focus, I start to sing along, really digest the lyrics. I can feel the hatred from this song in my whole damn chest, feeling it directed towards my life and how unimpressive it is. How fucking pathetic I am, my dad wanted fuck all to do with us, and now he has pawned my sister and I off on my mom,leaving her to raise children she should not have to care for alone. Maybe my hatred is misplaced, maybe I am not angry at myself, but instead at the way life has come around and railed my mom time and time again.

“I fuckin’ hate you!” I scream, belting along with the lyrics.

Tilting my head back for a split second, my eyes close, but when I look back up all I can see is a pair of bright halogen headlights then everything flies into chaos and feels like hours of slow motion when I am sure it was but mere seconds. The sound of crumpling metal and shattering glass overpowers the radio, the beat completely drowned out by the tragedy taking place outside the now broken windshield. The sting of shards hit my face, hands up in the air somewhat trying to block the razor-sharp pieces, as my body moved jaggedly with the Denali as it devours the front end of the car I collide with.

My ears start ringing as the Denali slams back down on its wheels with a jolt. The scent of explosives fill the cab from the airbags that keep me from head butting the steering wheel.

It takes me a bit to come back down to Earth but once I have, I shove out of the door. Fighting, at one point, to get it open since the front fender has crunched back enough to jam it closed. Lifting my right foot, still cramped in the front seat, I thrust with all the strength I can muster. The door gives way but not without more of a fight, opening where I can finally squeeze out.

My work shoes, slippery as they were, nearly slide out from under me when they hit the glass littered pavement. Looking around, I absorb my surroundings and where exactly I am at, then I saw it, the other car.

Stumbling still, I make my way over to it— it’s fucking terrible, the white-opal colored Audi is nearly crushed in two. Rounding the driver side, the windshield is caved in along with the hood of the car and the front of the driver side door frame.

There I saw her.

With a shout, I try to get her attention—a small blonde-headed girl from the looks of it. Her pretty pale curls tousled every which direction, stained with blood that now trickles from the top of her head. Though I have quickly sobered up from the collision, nothing prepared me for the damage I had caused.

Looking closer, the flipped down visor has lifted her scalp off her skull and the steering wheel was shoved so hard into her chest I cannot see her breathing.

Fuck… she isn’t breathing… at all.

Thirty minutes later, sitting on the curb in a pair of handcuffs, my knees drawn up so as not to dirty my pants, I lean forward with my forehead on my knees. The emergency rescue teams no longer showcase any sort of urgency which tells me that the girl is gone. They would not be as casual as they are now if there was still a chance to save her life— I killed her.

“Kace Patton?”

“Yeah,” I reply, lifting my head to see one of our local police officers standing over me.

Reaching down, he curls his hand under my right bicep and pulls me up from the curb nodding to his squad car.

“You are under arrest for the vehicular manslaughter of Angelica Barclay. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Wait… Barclay?” My voice more panic filled than anything else. I begin to struggle against the officer's firm hold, then I look back at him even as he focuses on walking me toward the car.

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