Author: Little Bassoonist PM
A series of shorts covering all the characters and their victims in their last moments.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 4 - Words: 2,063 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 08-25-09 - Published: 08-23-09 - id: 5325357
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"The legal life's narrowing! I'm all for crime!"
Anthony Marston brought his third glass to his lips, downed it in one gulp, the first feelings of drunkenness growing in his brain. Laughing too loud, fizzing bubbles in his skull, a little piece of him separated from his body. The revisited memories of John and Lucy Combes bugged at him like an unscratched itch, but when he swallowed, the persisting guilt disappeared. His head felt light, and suddenly, he wasn't on Indian Island anymore, but instead outside of Cambridge, driving without a care in the world.
Air rushing past him, boyishly fluffy hair getting in his vision, the sensation of flying surrounding him completely. Blue eyes focused on the speedometer, the needle pushing 80 on the dirt road. He'd have to spend the entire evening cleaning off the reddish mud from his tires and bumper, and the bugs that were turning his windshield into a graveyard, but he didn't care. The work would be worth the play. His foot put more pressure on the gas, watching the red needle inch up to 90. 91, 92, 93. A flip of his head, and his hair moved out of the way, clearing his peripherals of any obstructions. 94, 95, 96. He blinked to get the dust out of his eyes, which was now billowing up wherever his tires went. 97, 98, 99. A quick intake of breath, waiting for that golden number.
100! 100 miles an hour, and Anthony felt as though he were a young god, able to rule the world. Well, maybe not the whole world, but at least the dirt road and surrounding forest. He floored the pedal, and the speedometer jumped to 120. Now he was ruling the world. The trees blurred green and nothing could be heard above the roar of the motor combined with the wind's angry whistle. Occasionally, the sound of a bug flying by his ear was audible, but other than that, he was dead to the world outside his car.
A cloud of dust coughed behind him as he neared civilization. A stone cottage appeared to the left, gone in a millisecond. He recalled gray walls and a yellow roof, contrasting with the thinning trees and bright sky. Time seemed to slow as he neared another house, this time on the right. He caught sight of two figures, too small to be adults, running out of the building. Blond haired girl with rosy cheeks and deer eyes. Brunette boy with a similar complexion and lids clamped tight in fear. A shrill shriek, a bump under the vehicle, and the world returned to normal, detail once again lost in the rush of speed.
Dammit, Tony thought. I'll have to clean up that blood from my wheels now.
Reality dawned on him, and after blinking, he saw the faces of the other guests on Indian Island. Pain enveloped his mind, shutting down all other senses. The scene in front of him turned black, as though all the lights had been put out. A scream almost identical to that of little Lucy Combes was the last sound that entered his ears. His throat seemed to cave in on itself as all oxygen left him. He felt a dab of spittle foam at his mouth as the pressure built in his head and he collided with the floor, dead.