Mike sat beside Tom in the car as they drove along a highway in the middle of the night. Mike was driving. Tom was dead. Fifteen minutes ago, Tom had been alive and well until Mike shot him in the head. Mike gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand while shielding his eyes with the other from the bright headlights that reflected off his side view mirror from the truck behind him. The truck was being driven by Paul, who was very angry at Mike. Let's travel back in time for a moment to see how this began.
Tom and Mike stood in an empty motel parking lot, illuminated only by the flickering neon lights of the motel's large roadside sign. For the first few moments, the only sounds that could be heard were electric hum of the sign and the crunch of gravel underneath Mike's boots as he paced back and forth in front of Tom, who was sitting on the edge of the passenger seat of Mike's car with the door open.
āWhat? What are you gonna do about it? It's done. It's gone.ā, said Tom before he took once last drag of his cigarette, then flicked the butt at Mike. The glowing ember left a trail of dim orange light as it sailed through the air to strike Mike in the chest, exploding like a tiny firework against Mike's brown leather jacket.
āFuck you, Tom.ā spat Mike as he pulled his small revolver from the pocket of his jacket and shot Tom in the head, who fell backward into the car. As the gunshot still echoed across the valley, Mike heard a choking sound, and then a voice screaming unintelligible words. Mike could only make out the man's silhouette framed by the light from the open motel room doorway, but he knew it was Paul. Paul collapsed to his knees, then fell over on his side to lay on the icy sidewalk, screaming and sobbing.
And that, for the most part, brings us to the present. Mike glanced at his rear view mirror and could see Paul holding a phone to his ear. The light of the phone shone across Paul's face. He didn't look angry anymore. The rage and pain that had filled his face when he had ran towards Mike in the parking lot as Mike was jumping into the driver seat of his car, was gone. The twisted face of anger had been replaced with a slack look and dead eyes.
Mike's phone rang. He ignored the call. It rang again. He answered. His shaking hand could barely hold the phone.
āYeah?ā Mike asked nervously.
āYou killed my son.ā said Paul in an empty voice.
āYeah.ā replied Mike.
Mike turned off his phone and tossed it onto Tom's lap. He could hear the the engine of Paul's truck rev and roar just before it collided into the rear of his car.
