Fading

'Shut the hell up!’ he yells. The car shifts slightly when Jarrod’s hand quivers on the steering wheel. ‘We’re not going back, so just forget about it.’ The duffel bag of unmarked bills is an unspoken statement on the backseat.

I cry silent tears into my lap. One wet drop itches along my nose, but I don’t dare to wipe it away. ‘I’m sorry’, I whisper.

Jarrod ignores me, the most painful response he could give and he knows it.

An hour passes and the night is just as dark, just as threatening, as when we escaped the screaming sirens of the police cars. I imagine there are tall trees flying by us in the night, sentinels who’ve failed to block our path. Both the moon and the stars hide from us behind a heavy blanket of clouds.

I wish I were the moon. Or even the faintest star that no one ever notices. I wish I could hide, too.

It’s funny how you never notice how loud a silence is until it’s broken. Jarrod only mumbles, but I jump at the sound. ‘What the…’

There’s a light up ahead. It’s not a street light or, sadly, that light at the end of the tunnel that everybody talks about. Hell, I’d even take that mysterious death light right about now. Go to the light, I think. And then I sigh. If only.

No, this light is the kind that sends chills up your spine and back again. It’s wrong, and it seems even more so in the context of the rest of my life. A knot pulls taut somewhere in my ribcage.

Jarrod slows the car and, coward that I am, my first thought is to open the door and hit the ground running. But then I get a good look at that light and finally understand what’s so off about it. I swallow hard and settle deeper into my seat.

A delivery van lies at the opposite edge of the road, flipped on its top.

We stop only metres away from the single-car accident. Jarrod kills the engine and we watch the van’s only working headlight dim into the darkness. When it finally goes out completely, I expect to hear a click or the silent absence of an electric charge. But there is nothing. The light just…dies.

A man walks out from behind the van, stumbling into the road with an inebriated grin spread wide on his face. ‘Hey, man. You think you could help me out here?’

Jarrod laughs and waves the man toward us. ‘Hop in. I’ll give you a lift. Only one way, though.’ Jarrod pulls the duffel from the backseat and tucks it neatly under his legs.

I’m the only one who sees the fresh headlights glistening against the trees up ahead. ‘Jarrod,’ I whisper.

His head whips around. ‘I thought I told you to shut the hell up! Can’t you get anything through that thick skull of yours?’

‘But Jarrod.’ I point up the road, to the car that’s just sped around the sharp bend.

‘I don’t want to hear you. I can’t even look at you. So why don’t you just –’

‘Jarrod, look!’

He does look, finally. Just in time to see the car plow right into the man.

I used to want to be a bird. I used to wish I could fly. Now, seeing that man fly high up into the air, I regret I ever did.

He thuds against the ground. He doesn’t bounce.

Moments later, a weak moan sounds from his body. I look at Jarrod’s profile, waiting for him to push his door open and go to the man’s aid. Instead, Jarrod sets his gaze on the road, turns the key in the ignition and flashes his hard eyes in my direction. We drive off as the man reaches an arm off the ground. Wait.

Jarrod turns on the radio and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. ‘I said we’re not going back.’