DRIVE ME CRAZYA Story by Brinleigh Bailey "He would kill her just as he had killed many to get to her and would feel no remorse. For no one gets a happy ending." "What'd you think of Nebraska, Bill?" Roger Abrams turned his head to his passenger in which he directed the question before fixing his eyes on the empty road before him. "I've always heard intrestin' things about the state," continued Roger. " To this, Bill had no reply. "You're right, boring, I know, but boring sounds mighty fine to me right about now." The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the whipping wind through their open windows. Outside of the truck, dry, cracked earth surrounded them. The night sky was without stars-the moon, the only source of light. It is at times like these that Roger feels most comfortable. When he is sure he is alone. Feeling the need to explain himself, Roger spoke once again. "You know, just 'cause all I've been through these past couple a years." It was true, Roger had been through a lot these past couple of years, and it was because of this that he was headed to Nebraska. He wanted to make things right. At least, that's what he told himself. The flash of headlights in the distance brought Roger's full attention back on the road, and he instinctively turned his off. Unintentionally, his grip on the wheel tightened, and sweat beaded on his forehead. In his head, he counted: 1, 2, 3. "Who else would be out here at this time a night," he muttered, the edge in his voice sharp as a knife. Bill, left dumbfounded by the question himself, said nothing. The clock on the dash flashed blue in Roger's peripheral vision. It read 3:42 AM. As the oncoming car approached, Roger squinted his eyes and hit the gas, speeding away from confrontation with another vehicle. 3,2,1,0. His breath of relief signaled the return of his casual demeanor. "Close," he mumbled, just above a whisper. It was not meant for Bill to hear. Once Roger was sure he was alone on the long stretch of road, he turned his headlights on again. His grip loosened on the steering wheel, allowing the blood to rush back to his knuckles. "Sorry about that, Bill. You just never know with some people." The picture of Bill nodding his head in response assured him he agreed, however, Roger did not glance at his guest. He couldn't risk another vehicle sneaking up on him like that. "I ever tell ya about Mary, Bill?" Roger asked, sparking up conversation once again to soothe his own nerves. He knew the answer was no, for he had never told anyone the story of Mary Abrams. Nonetheless, he felt no reason not to share the story with Bill. Roger knew Bill would keep his secret. "She was my wife back in the day." Roger's mind drifted to the period in time when his life was void of problems. Before he had gotten himself into this mess. He pictured her face as he described her. "She had long dark hair that always settled round her face in waves, when she didn't have it pulled up," he paused, searching for the perfect words. She deserved nothing less. "It was so soft, Bill. I swear there ain't nothing soft as Mary's hair." he said, speaking with such affection Bill didn't dare interrupt. "Blue eyes, green in the sun with little gold flecks in 'em, and freckles all across her face. She didn't like 'em very much but didn't cover 'em 'cause she said they gave her character. She really liked that." Roger smiled, deep in memory of his wife. Roger pictured Bill smiling as well, after all, no one could resist smiling at Mary. Just the thought of her lit a fire deep inside him, and he was drowning in desire. He had just opened his mouth to express more praise for his past wife when his expression went grim, "But ain't nobody ever get a happy ending, do they Bill?" 1,2,3. She was screaming. Without warning, Roger hit the brakes and the truck skidded to a stop. 4,5,6. Her balled fists pounded on his chest. Bill's head slammed against the dashboard with a meaty thunk. Roger, with no regard for his companion, threw open the door and marched over to the passenger side. 7,8,9. He let go of her. He opened the side door and grabbed Bill by the shirt collar. Blood poured from his temple and all over the interior of the car. "God almighty," Roger roared, more out of frustration than concern for his friend. He yanked Bill from the car, whose body fell and laid on the pavement at his feet. 10. She left and never came back. "Mary!" He screamed, the screen door behind him whipping in the wind, banging against the faulty piece of aluminum which once held it in place. The falling rain stung his raw knuckles and he winced, wiping them on his jeans. He was full of regret, remorse for what he had done to her. But even then, as she got into another man's vehicle, he felt she deserved it. "It was never supposed ta be this way, Bill," Roger said, grunting as he struggled to push Bill's body into the ditch beside the road. After all, Bill had been nice enough to to let Roger borrow his truck, and for that he was grateful. Roger stared down at Bill's lifeless body lying in the ditch before him and sneered. "Ain't nobody ever get a happy ending, Bill." His eyes scanned over the stab wounds sporadically across Bill's torso in which he had inflicted only hours before. "Nobody." Wiping his hands on his jeans, Roger spat into Bill's roadside grave and returned to his seat behind the wheel. He was headed to Nebraska, where Mary Abrams awaited his wrath for the pain she had made him endure. He would kill her just as he had killed the many to get to her and would feel no remorse. For no one gets a happy ending. © 2016 Brinleigh BaileyAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews  Last Updated on January 30, 2016 Tags: Murder killer psycho husband aff Author
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