I passed James another beer from the cooler between my feet and cracked open another one for myself.
“How’d you figure it out?” I asked him.
“She told me,” James replied in a flat emotionless tone as he twisted the gold ring on his finger, “Told me the baby wasn’t mine and to start packing my stuff.”
I didn’t say anything back to him. What could I say to someone who’d just lost his wife like that? I let the silence linger and continued sipping my beer while I watched the sunset behind the trees.
James had us parked in a different spot from where we’d usually drink, which was Ashburn Park. That night James had us parked near the entrance to a trailer park about 30 minutes outside of town. I thought it was odd at the time, but I’m not one to give the man any grief about where we’d sit and drink our beers, he’d had enough on his plate.
I finished two more beers before I tried to break the silence, “So where do you think you’re going to stay?” I quickly added, “You can stay at my place as long as you like, I was just wondering if you’d had other plans in mind.”
James didn’t answer me right away, I could see the wheels turning in his mind, like he was formulating a plan right there on the spot.
“I’ll probably head out of town,” He finally answered, “It’s about time I get out of this shithole anyway.”
Everyone from our town always said the exact same thing: “I’ll get out of this shitty little town someday; I’ll make it big. I’ve got plans that are bigger than this place.” Hardly anyone ever leaves. Eventually they realize they don’t have the money to relocate or they don’t have the education to get a decent job in a place where the rent is higher. Usually, they get their girlfriend pregnant and then they are stuck. I have a theory that half the women in this town are only here for the purpose of keeping us stuck. My girl is the only reason I’m still here.
It made me sad to see my old buddy James making the decision to leave, but at the same time I was proud of him. Maybe I’d get to visit someday. “Good for you, man” I said, clapping him on the shoulder, “Any idea where you might go?”
I regretted the question as soon as I said it, I knew he didn’t have a plan and I didn’t want to press him, but James didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled the gear shift on his car and started driving.
I took another few sips of my beer before I asked him, “Where we going?”
“Just feel like driving,” James replied.
I sucked down the last foamy dregs of my beer, tossed the can with the rest of the empties at floorboards under my feet and pulled out a fresh one from the cooler. If things were going to be awkward all night, then I was going to get good and drunk.
We didn’t drive far. A few miles down the road from the trailer park we pulled into a gas station. As soon as the car rolled to a stop I got out of the car and told James I was going to run in and grab another case of beer and some cigarettes. I asked if he wanted anything.
His reply: “If you’re not back in this car in 90 seconds I’m leaving without you.”
I hurried inside the convenience store, trying not to let James’ comment hurt me. I understood, the man was in pain, but that’s no reason to take it out on me.
I emerged from the gas station 2 minutes later - 12-pack in hand - to see James screaming at me through his car’s open window, “Get the hell in!” he was shouting.
I jogged over to the car and hopped in. The second my butt hit the seat, he was peeling out of the gas station, leaving a trail of black exhaust clouds behind us as his beat-up old Pontiac was pushed to extremes it hadn’t seen in years.
“What’s the deal?” I asked him, pouring the newly bought beers into the cooler of ice, “Got someplace to be?”
“Hand me another beer,” James barked, avoiding yet another question.
I cracked two beers and handed him one. James took it from my hand without looking at it and took two huge gulps.
“It’s getting dark,” I said to him, “You should turn on your headlights.”
James didn’t turn on his headlights. He didn’t even seem to hear me; it was almost like he was in a trance. Instead, he pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Steadily, the speedometer climbed. The old junker started to rattle and shake after 50mph, but still it reluctantly climbed.
“James!” I yelled over the roaring engine, “You’re too drunk to drive this fast! Slow down!”
Trees, and road signs and driveways whipped past us in a blur. We blew past a stop sign and hit a small bump in the road sending us airborne for a brief and terrifying moment. When we came back to the surface of the Earth, I could hear the low hanging muffler on the car drag against the asphalt. I was sure if I looked back, I’d see a trail of sparks flying off behind us. Empty beer cans rattled and rolled at my feet and for the first time in my life I’d said an honest prayer asking God to not kill me in that piece of shit Pontiac.
We took a sharp curve around a wooded bend in the road and suddenly taillights were visible ahead of us. James saw this and mercifully pressed the brakes until we were back at cruising speed.
I shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat and glanced over at James. The usual banter and lighthearted conversations of our late-night drives were a distant memory, the car was filled with a heavy, unnerving silence. The dim glow of the dashboard lights cast eerie shadows on James’ face. There was an intense focus in his eyes I’d never seen before.
“Beer,” James said, breaking the silence. He rolled down his window and tossed out his empty before snatching the fresh beer from my hand. He seemed to relax slightly, resting his wrist on the top of the steering wheel and tapping a beat on the car’s dashboard with his gold wedding ring.
We were closing in on the taillights in front of us, they belonged to an old black Jeep. I recognized it. We were sitting outside of that trailer park when that Jeep pulled out then we followed it to the gas station where I’d bought beer and smokes.
James was following this car for some reason.
“Hey James,” I began, trying to keep my tone casual, “You’ve been following that Jeep in front of us, haven’t you?”
James didn’t answer. The moment of relaxation melted away. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tensed. The silence was suffocating.
We followed the Jeep and watched from across the street as it pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru. “Beer,” James demanded, never taking his eyes off the Jeep.
“James,” I pleaded, “What’s going on with that car? Are you okay?”
“Beer,” He replied.
I handed him a beer then asked the question I’d been too afraid to let fly, “Is that him? Is that the guy?”
James chugged the entirety of his beer, then held his hand out for another one. When I didn’t immediately hand it over to him, he finally looked over to me, his eyes were dark and hollow, “I’m going to kill him,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. I tried to search James’ face for any hint of a joke. Some sign that this was just a twisted prank. As if he could sense what I was thinking James reached into his pocket and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.
Upon seeing the gun my mouth went completely dry. He was serious. I felt dizzy, my tongue felt like it was swollen. I wanted to puke. Then all of a sudden, we were moving again.
My mind raced trying to process the shocking revelation. I felt trapped, the car suddenly felt like a cage.
“James, listen to yourself,” I finally managed to find my voice again, “You’re throwing your life away. Think this through.”
James' grip on the steering wheel tightened even more, “Beer,” he said, holding out his free hand.
For the first time that night I took a really good look at James. He was emaciated, his hair unwashed, his bloodshot eyes were ringed in deep dark circles, the smell of his unwashed clothes was only topped by his horrendously bad breath.
Warning signs.
If I’d been a better friend, I’d have mentioned all these things to him weeks ago. I’d have asked him if he was okay. If he needed help. I’d have paid a hooker to take him out on a date. There were a million things I could have done to help my friend, but instead, like most guys, I’d ignored the warning signs and bought him a drink instead. We’re like rubber bands, if you stretch us too thin then we snap.
I just happened to be riding shotgun when James snapped.
“Beer,” James said again.
I lunged forward and grabbed hold of the steering wheel and pulled towards my side of the road. The car swerved violently; tires screeched on the pavement.
Then nothing.
James had pistol-whipped me.
When I came back to consciousness, we were back in the trailer park where we started the night. I raised a hand to my forehead to find a trickle of blood running down the side of my face. I pulled a beer from the cooler and held it to my wound.
In the darkness the trailer park looked even worse than it did in the daylight. We were deep in the maze of trailers, several of which appeared to be abandoned with broken windows and open doors that swung in the chilly night breeze.
I looked to James and saw he was laser-focused on something in the distance. I followed his gaze and saw the jeep parked about 50 yards ahead of us in front of a dilapidated old airstream trailer.
“James, please,” I urged weakly, each word sending stabs of pain ricocheting inside my head, “Let’s just leave, this place feels…wrong. We shouldn’t be here.”
James ignored me, his eyes fixed on the Jeep, “There he is,” he said, under his breath.
I turned to see the driver emerge from the black SUV. He was nothing more than a silhouette in the darkness, but I could tell he was tall, thin and moved with almost unnatural grace. The figure seemed to glide across the unpaved driveway and into the trailer. He left the door to the trailer slightly ajar as if inviting us in. Something inside of me screamed at me to move in the opposite direction. I could feel goosebumps ripple over my entire body.
James fidgeted with his wedding ring, turning it on his finger, then he turned off the car and moved to exit the vehicle.
I made one last desperate plea, “James! Don’t –“ and was cut off by the closing of the driver’s side door.
I sat in the car, the engine ticked softly as it cooled. I watched through the windshield as James approached the derelict trailer, his silhouette was barely visible as he moved through the shadows. The trailer park was unnervingly silent; the only sound was the whine of a door to an abandoned trailer swinging in the wind.
James turned to me one last time as he reached his target trailer. Even from a distance I could see the grim determination on his face. Then silently, he disappeared into the trailer’s ajar door.
My heart pounded; the seconds stretched into an eternity as I waited for any sign of what was happening inside.
The silence was deafening. I strained my ears, listening for a gunshot, shouting, any indication of a struggle inside of that trailer but there was nothing, just the creaking of a rusty hinge of a door swinging in the wind.
The minutes dragged by, each one amplifying my anxiety. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard – how long had I been here? My head swam. I could feel sweat trickling down my temple. Or was that blood?
“C’mon” I muttered between shallow, uneasy breaths, “What’s taking so long?”
Suddenly, I was overcome with the chilling sensation of being watched. My eyes darted around as I surveyed my surroundings. All those dark windows and large chasms of darkness between the trailers would be perfect places to hide. I felt like I was a fish in a bowl, exposed, vulnerable and trapped.
Unable to bear it any longer, I made the decision to leave the car. I opened the car door – the creak of the dented door in its frame sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. I winced.
My heart pounded in my chest as I crept towards the trailer. “James?” I called softly, my voice barely loud enough to reach my own ears.
I arrived at the trailer door and peered into the dim interior. The inside of the trailer was a chaotic mess. Newspaper clippings and papers with strange symbols on them covered the walls. James’ snub-nosed revolver sat on the floor of the trailer, just inside the door, as if it was daring me to come in and pick it up.
“James?” I called again, louder this time, as I stepped inside. My eyes scanned the small room and every nerve in my body screamed at me to turn back. I reached down and picked up the revolver and released the cylinder only to find it empty. Someone had removed the bullets. I pocketed it and moved deeper into the trailer.
I reached the backroom where I expected to find James and the man he’d been following all night. My stomach churned as I reached out and gently pushed the door open. It was a small bedroom, nothing more than a bed, a closet and a nightstand. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood, no bodies. Just an oppressive, heavy silence that seemed to swallow all sounds.
It was as if James had vanished into thin air. My hands started to shake. I could feel a primal fear bubbling up deep inside of me along with the inexplicable feeling that I was trespassing in a place not meant for human presence.
I backed out of the trailer not wanting to turn my back on a single shadow within that place. Once I was clear of the door, I turned and sprinted back to the car. I jumped into the driver’s seat, locked the doors and reached to turn the key in the ignition when I noticed a sticky note attached to the glove compartment it, it read: “Open”
With my shaking hand I reached out and pulled the handle of the glove box. As I opened it 6 bullets and James’ golden wedding ring spilled out and onto the floorboards below. Inside, I found a second sticky note, it read: “You can’t kill what you don’t understand.”
Within seconds I was speeding my way out of the trailer park, my eyes flicking between the road ahead and the rearview window, half expecting to see something chasing me.
I didn’t want to go home, I had the inescapable feeling something was waiting for me there, so I drove until the sun came up. Around 10am I drove James’ car into a lake and walked home.
I spent the entirety of that three-hour walk fidgeting with James’ wedding ring while trying to unravel what had happened that night and the only answer I could come up with was that James was meddling with forces far greater than himself, and in doing so had crossed a line from which there was no return. The true nature of what had happened in that trailer would remain a mystery I would never unravel. The only certainty was that that night had changed me. It left a scar in my mind that would haunt me forever.
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