Author's Note: An angsty 'lil "From Dusk Till Dawn" story I came up with
after watching the movie for the twentieth time. Starts just after the
movie ends, with Seth driving toward El Rey.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Dusk Till Dawn", but I would love to own Quentin
Tarantino...He's mine, dammnit!
It's funny. I just left behind a young woman who, not an hour ago,
either watched or helped kill what was left of her family, and all I can
think about is my baby brother. He's dead, I know he is, I killed him for
god sakes, but that's not what's on my mind.
This seems wrong.
I'm sitting in a bright red convertable, speeding down what passes as
a highway in Mexico, and Richie isn't in the passenger seat, where he
No, he's two arms and a pile of guts on the floor of a shitty Mexican
I slam on the brakes and my car squeals to a stop.
I know what I have to do, and I know what will happen when I do it.
I have to go back to Texas and take responsibility for what I took
and I'm going to get the death penalty.
Well, ya know what? I honestly don't give a fuck. He's dead. Richie's
dead. My family is dead. I have nothing else.
I throw the car into geat and whip around in a u-turn. I'm going
back. No more running. I have nothing to run to anymore.
I stand respectfully as the judge reenters the courtroom. The jury
had already filed in and juror number one is standing, waiting to deliver
the verdict. I already know what it is.
I sit, the chains connecting my wrists and ankles clanging loudly in
the silent courtroom. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. It doesn't help
that all of the spectators are family members and friend of the Rangers,
police officers, and civilians my brothers and I killed. I suppose it
wouldn't help if they knew that I had lost a family member just like them.
I wonder what they would think if they knew that I came back because I
wanted to die.
I only hear that one word and murmurs of approval. Eh. No surprise. I
am guided to my feet by my lawyer. I force myself to focus on what the
judge has to say.
"Seth Gecko, do have anything to say before you are sentenced?"
What the hell. "Yes, I do, your honor," I pause, but no one objects,
so I continue. "Am I going to get the death penalty? 'Cause I would like to
know that I didn't come back here for nothing,"
The courtroom exploded. The judge pounded his gaval and shouted:
When the spectators finally quieted down, I continued. "I could've
easily hid in Mexico, and you never would've seen me again, but I came
back. I came back because I had nothing to run to. My little brother needed
me, and that's why I ran...but he's dead. He's dead, he's not coming back,
and I have nothing to live for anymore...so I'd just like to know: are you
going to kill me and give these people the satisfaction they want? Or are
you going to make me work for my death?"
I lay impassively on the table as they strap me down. I have
completely blocked out their voices and I am left with my thoughts, which
are remarkably clear considering I had hundred proof liquor with my last
meal. Rice, beans, and hundred proof liquor, just for you, Richie. The
guard taking my request had raised an eyebrow, but asked no questions,
thank God. I can't can't talk about you anymore, Richie, at least out loud,
because it hurts too much. It was like that when Mom died. Remember that?
Of course you do. Five years old, and you didn't stop crying for a month. I
had to hide you from deadbeat Dad so he wouldn't hurt you. He hurt me
instead, but I gladly beared it, for you, baby brother...Oh God, I miss
you, Richie, I miss you so bad. Well, we'll be together again soon. The
Gecko Brothers reunited. We'll give 'em hell, right Rich? Of course. We
always do. Mayhem and madness follow us wherever we go. But we get through
it, because we are together...well, except for that last time. I still
don't know what happened there. I've gone over it a million fucking times
in my head, and I just can't figure it out. I suppose I never will, unless
I get one of those "moments of clarity" they always say you get at death.
Lotta good it does you, though. Really, Richie, isn't that just the
stupidest time for everything to make sense? Well, life in general never
makes sense, now does it? For example, why, out of all the shitty dives in
Mexico, did Carlos have to pick that one? Or, why did I empty my entire gun
into that asshole? One bullet, he'd go down, and I could've saved you! I
could've done what a big brother is supposed to! I let you down, Richie!
I...I fucked up...bad...I'm sorry...God, I am so sorry...I...shit...
The needle. Here comes the needle; my salvation. I watch as the metal
slides into my arm and the liquid is pushed into my bloodstream, then turn
my attention back to the ceiling. Part of my brain is aware of the lethal
injection coarsing through my body, but I force myself to focus on anything
else. That "anything else" ends up being you, of course. Soon I'll be with
you again, Richie, but this time things will be different. This time, I
will take care of you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you ever
again. I'm going to protect you because that's what I'm supposed to do. I
know I...messed up...but I refuse...to let that...happen...again...I
...I love you, Richie...