Page 83 of Crawl
The Seven Mile Bridge zips by, but as I near the Southern Glades, a dull sensation sinks in my stomach. It’s a foreign feeling, a physical manifestation of my emotions, and it’s awkward and unpleasant, like I’ve got indigestion. And no matter how hard I try to distract myself, that emotional pain keeps growing, getting worse.
I don’t want to leave Remedy behind, but I have to.
If she’s not careful, she’ll probably take the blame for my actions. Just like I always planned.
I imagine her inside of a prison, bordered by concrete walls and metal bars. I built her a cage, but I gave her a way out. In a correctional facility, she’ll wither away until she’s completely numb. Worse than before.
Fuck it.I’m not going to let that happen.
As soon as I’m able, I flip the car’s direction and head back to Key West. I don’t have any remorse for what I’ve done to those people, but I’m not going to let Remedy take the fall for me like that.
It’s dark by the time I make it back to the Keys, but I still have a little time before our ten o’clock meeting. I see a loner on the side of the road and I pull over.
“You got a cell phone?” I ask. “I don’t have any service. Can’t seem to find directions to this place.” I force a nervous laugh. “Meeting this chick. This chick is banging.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, nodding his head. “I get you, man.” He looks down, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “Sure thing—”
I yank him into me, punching him in the gut until he wheezes, using that brief second of struggle to put him into a headlock. I push on the back of his neck until he loses consciousness. Throwing him in the back of the truck, I gag him with a dirty rag and bind him in rope. I add the cover and lock him inside.
Farther in town, a man turns the corner, going to the back of an ice cream parlor. His eyes shift like he’s waiting for someone, but I’m too impatient to find someone else. I park nearby, then walk to the back of the shop, pulling out an empty box of cigarettes.
“You got a light?” I ask.
The man reaches into his pocket without a word, but when I lunge to pull him into a headlock, he socks my jaw so hard that my lip bleeds. I punch his nose until he’s drenched in blood and finally, he relents, knocked unconscious from the final blow. I toss him in the back of the truck too, locking the bed cover into place.
Before I drive, I text Remedy:Don’t come. Tell your cop friend to meet me instead.
I’ll even use the insulation gun to be safe. There’ll be too much evidence for the police to consider any other options. Remedy can move on. It’ll just be me.
It’s better this way.
We leave the main road, and the lights dim as we get closer to that abandoned parking lot. I pull both of the hostages out of the truck’s bed. The second hostage fights me again. I grab the maroon-handled blade from my back pocket and stab him repeatedly in the neck until he crumples to the ground. The first hostage starts to cry, and I pull him to his feet.
“Y-y-you killed him. You killed him, man.”
Even if Remedy never shows up, as long as the maroon-handled blade and the foamed bodies are in the police report, Remedy will know that it’s me. That I’m doing this for her protection. So she can be free.
“I’m s-s-sorry, man,” the hostage stutters. “P-please, don’t—”
My skin crawls. This is irritating. I rub my nose, then adjust my grip on the maroon-handled blade. The hostage’s eyes blink, but as headlights flash over the lot, the idiot falls to his knees, piss covering his pants. He looks at the car like it’s his last shot at life.
But then I see it: the white car with black rims. The detective.
I grab the knife from the ground. This is it.
I squeeze the marron handle like I’m holding Remedy’s hand, helping her stab her stepdad to death. But Remedy never needed my help to do that, and I love that about her. And now, the detective is going to arrest me.
“Please—” the hostage says. I stab him in the neck, making sure the detective can see me.
The car stops, and the door opens.
“Hands up,” the detective says, holding his gun. Playing along, I lift my hands, keeping the knife in my palm. “Drop your weapon.”
The detective pulls back the hammer, and I tighten my grip on the handle.
“Go for it, Detective,” I say. “You saw what I did. I’m the one you want.”
“Remedy’s here too.”
