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    C James
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental. Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

In Memory of Ed Wooton

For the Love - 10. Race with the Devil

The snap of the shattering glass echoed in my ears as I stared at Steve's letter.

How could he?

I loved him, and he loved me, I was sure of it. This just didn't make any sense. I knew there was something going on at his school, but I was sure he wouldn't do this to me. I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't. We had only been together for less than two weeks! He couldn't be cheating on me. Could he?

Like a hammer, it hit me that Steve and I had never discussed being exclusive. I never thought about it, I never thought he'd... Damn!

Veronica's words from the party played through my mind, "Don't fuck it up this time, Blondie."

But Steve wouldn't do this to me. I knew that, or thought I did. The words of the letter glared at me from the page,

Heya Hot Stuff,

I can't get yesterday out of my head. That was just so awesome, I thought I'd explode. Damn, I did explode, we both did. I never knew sex could be so hot and intense. Whoa. I can't wait to do it again. I guess I'm a sex addict now. I just wish we could be open about this, tell someone, instead of sneaking around. But you know my situation, I can't. Not yet anyway. Maybe one day, maybe soon. But yesterday, blowing each other in the back seat of my Charger was something I'll never forget. We gotta do that again, like soon.

I'm hot for you.


Cheating. I just couldn't believe he would...

Veronica! She HAD to know, at least what he'd done in the past. I scrambled for the phone, misdialing twice as I stabbed at the buttons with shaking fingers. After what seemed like forever, it began to ring.

"Hello?" A male voice that I recognized as Chad's answered.

"Chad, this is Chris. Could I talk to Veronica? This is really urgent." I heard my voice break a little, and tried to figure out how to ask what I needed to ask.

"Sorry, bud, but she's at work. Are you ok? You don't sound too good."

I tried, in vain, to hold my voice level, "No, man, I'm not. Look, I know Steve is hiding something about school, about him staying late a few times. And I found a letter, from Steve to somebody, written in the last few days, about having sex in his car with them." I choked back a sob, fighting to stay calm.

Chad hesitated, the silence on the line burning in my ears, then, "Yeah, something has been going on at School. But it's not what you think. I don't know about that letter, but you need to talk to Steve. Isn't he there?"

Then it clicked; Steve and Chad were both on the swim team. Steve was at - no he was supposed to be at swim practice. So, why was Chad at Veronica's? I gritted my teeth and asked, "He's at swim practice, with you, I thought. Why aren't you at practice?"

Again silence, then, somewhat hesitantly, "I, uhhh, got here not too long ago. I'm sure Steve will get home soon..."

I cut him off, "Chad, just tell me, where is he?"

Yet again, the deafening silence, then "Uhhh, I kinda promised..."

I dropped the phone. I didn't mean to, it just slipped through my sweating hand, but when I picked it up, there was nothing but a dial tone. I almost hit redial, but what would be the point? Chad knew something, and he wouldn't tell me.

Veronica. She must know, and I knew she would tell me. I reached for the phone, and then realized I couldn't remember the name of the diner, let alone the number.

Grabbing the notebook with Steve's letter, then breaking into a run I flew down the hall. I threw the front door open, letting it slam behind me as I raced to my Jeep. I jumped in, almost flooding it as I tried to start it, then it caught, and I threw it into gear and laid a trail of rubber as I pulled away from the Williams house.

The drive to Piedmont seemed to take forever. I passed the dirt road where Steve and I had chased Eric, and later found the Data Stick. I remembered how Steve had been with me then, and ever since I'd known him. He couldn't do something like this. It just wasn't like him. I glanced at my passenger seat, at the notebook, the words now etched in my brain, wanting desperately for them to disappear.

I saw the Diner on my right, sitting back from the street on its raised parking lot. Instead of flattening the ground to street level, they had built it on top of a small rise, which resulted in a parking lot that was a couple of feet higher than street level. The parking lot faced the street, with just a four-foot retaining wall between the sidewalk and the parking lot. As I wheeled up into the raised parking lot, I could see that it was busy, and there were only a few parking slots left. I pulled into the empty one, close between two old pickup trucks, and was so distracted that my tires bumped into the top of the retaining wall as I pulled in, having gone too far. I was glad I wasn't going faster; otherwise, my front end might have jumped the wall, as it was only eight inches high from on this side.

Jumping out, the notebook clenched in my hand I trotted into the diner, my mind focusing on one thing only; seeing Veronica, and finding out the truth.

Slowing to a walk as I entered, I saw Veronica, and felt relieved. Veronica glanced up from the old register, smiling as she recognized me, but then her face froze, "Chris, what's wrong? You don't look so good."

I dropped my head, shaking it, staring at my feet, and managed to say, my voice shaking, "I need to talk to you. Just be honest with me, please..."

"Oh, Chris, What's wrong?" She asked, and then shouted over her shoulder "I've got an emergency here, I'm going on break." As she took me by the arm and pulled me towards a booth, the same one Steve and I had sat in the last time we were here.

She slid in across from me, as I studied my hands, and asked, "I know something is going on with Steve. Something is up with him at school, and he gets evasive if I ask. I talked to Chad, and he won't tell me, but I know he knows. I need to know, what did you mean when you told Steve not to fuck it up this time, when we were leaving your party?"

I felt Veronica's fingers close on mine, "Chris, honey, I was drunk, and Steve needs to be the one to tell you about that. I think I can tell what you are thinking, though, and if so, you are wrong. He's not like that. Something is going on with him, but it's not what you think. He should have told you, but it's his choice. I can't. But he wouldn't cheat."

"I keep telling myself that, but I found this," as I held up the notebook. "He wrote it within the last few days, and Steve and I never did anything like that in his car," I said, as I slid the notebook over to Veronica.

She read it, and her jaw dropped, "Oh, Chris, no wonder you were thinking... Oh, Damn! No, honey, this isn't what you think," Veronica flipped the page over, to Steve's notes, and looked up at me, pointing at the notes, asking, "Do you know what these are?"

I nodded, "Yeah, he wrote them the other day, about all the shit with Eric. That's how I know the letter is more recent. It wasn't there when he wrote the notes."

Veronica shook her head, "No, honey, read them," as she slid the notebook back across the badly worn linoleum tabletop towards me.

I glanced down and read, wondering why Steve had written out Calculus questions about Eric... My eyes widened; these were not his notes about Eric, these were notes about math. Huh?

I looked up at Veronica, and she nodded, "Those are Calculus notes. I had to help Steve with them this spring. I also saw that letter then. Look, this is for Steve to tell you, but under the circumstances, I will. That note was to Billy, a guy he was kinda dating.

My eyes went wide, "So, he, he isn't..." I stammered.

Veronica smiled, patting my hand, "No, he isn't cheating. OK, I'll tell you the whole thing, seeing as keeping secrets caused this mess. Billy was a year ahead of Steve, back when Steve was coming to terms with being gay. A lot of people knew that Billy was gay, and Steve thought he was kinda nice, so Steve came out to him, and they got together a few times. Billy left for college a few months ago, but they had already split up by then."

"So, Billy was Steve's first boyfriend?" I asked.

Veronica winced, "That depends on who you ask, and that was the problem. OK, this is what I meant when I told him not to fuck up again; Steve and Billy had sex a few times, and Steve thought he had a boyfriend. Billy, though, thought he had a fuck buddy. Steve got really possessive, and wanted to spend all his time with Billy." Veronica shook her head, "But Billy wasn't interested in a relationship, just sex. Steve is a real hottie, so Billy strung him along and lied to him, but Steve could tell something wasn't right. Steve caught Billy with another guy, decked Billy, and that was the end of that," Veronica sighed, then continued, "Steve's problem is that he gets super possessive. I saw him being that way with you even before you came out to him, and I was buzzed, so I was warning him not to smother you and drive you off. I'm betting now that I was wrong about that, right?"

I blushed, "Yeah, It's one of the things I like about him. I'm the same way. I'd spend every second with him if I could. OK, I get it now, Billy hurt Steve, and so Steve doesn't like to talk about him, and that note was to Billy, back when they were going out. But what about this stuff at school? What is going on?"

Veronica glanced at the tabletop, doing her best to avoid my eyes, "Steve has been having some trouble due to all the crap those fundamentalist nutcases are stirring up. His car has been spray-painted a couple of times, so he goes over to Rob and Joe's because they have some way to get it off."

I nearly choked, "They have been screwing with his Charger? Oh, damn! No wonder he's upset!"

She nodded, "Yeah, before you showed up, we used to joke that he was gonna marry that car someday. Chad knew about the spray painting because he was there, so Chad told me, but Steve called and made me promise to keep quiet. He didn't want to worry you, or get his Dad involved."

I felt my face tingle, undoubtedly from turning a bright shade of red, "I feel like a total asshole for doubting him."

Veronica patted my hand, "With all the stress you two are under from this Fundie Vendetta, plus the way everything looked, and that letter, I can't blame you. Just try to keep this in mind if you ever get worried again: he loves you; he has for a long time; he wouldn't hurt you."

I exhaled a massive sigh of relief, but was still concerned over Steve's situation at school. But that, I knew we could deal with together. I smiled at Veronica, her face lighting up too, though it took me a few moments to realize that the expression lighting up her face was panic.

I turned to follow her gaze, and saw the reason for her distress; Parked behind my Jeep, blocking it in, was a Police cruiser, with the word "Sheriff" emblazoned upon its door, right below the flashing blue light. I saw the Sheriff standing beside my Jeep, and watched as he turned, then trotted his overly ample bulk towards the diner, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. I remembered, too late, Mr. Williams' warning: Stay the hell out of Piedmont.

Veronica hissed, "That's Sheriff Johnson. No time to explain, but don't let him get you. Get out of here. Go out through the kitchen, and run like hell!"

I ducked down, running bent over, and dashed into the kitchen, knocking over a serving tray as I did so. I barged in, the tray clattering at my feet, startling the fry cook as I raced through the kitchen and slammed hard into the back door, but it wouldn't open. I jumped back, and then rammed it with my shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth, but it still wouldn't budge. I rammed it again, wincing from the pain, but still it held firm.

Trapped. I glared at the old door, its peeling, faded green paint and oak planks all that stood between me and escape, before turning the knob and slamming into it again, still to no avail. I glanced back, out into the diner through the serving window, and saw the Sheriff turn towards me, our eyes meeting, his opening in recognition, before he lurched towards the kitchen entrance, his hand going for his gun.

I looked at the door, turned the knob, and slammed into it again, as hard as I could, but it wouldn't budge. I knew I had only seconds left, there was no other way out, and that I'd never make it, but in total desperation, expecting a bullet to slam into my back at any second, I reared back to kick the door as I heard the fry cook say, "Dude, it opens the other way. Inwards, man."

I grabbed the knob and turned it, yanking the door open before dashing outside, at a full run, into the alley behind the diner. I had no idea where I was going, so I ran to my right, up the ramshackle alley, only to find myself trapped as it ended in a chain link fence. I scrambled up and over it, falling to my knees on the other side, and saw the Sheriff lumber out of the diner, his radio in one hand, his gun in the other. He looked around, spotting me as I turned and ran, stumbling through the bushes in the back yard I'd found myself in. I saw light, an opening between a garage and a ramshackle house, and bolted towards it, crashing through the bushes that blocked my way.

I tripped, falling headlong through the final bush and onto the sidewalk, and then scrambled to my feet. I had no idea where to go. I could easily outrun the Sheriff on foot, but not his radio. I knew there would be others searching for me soon. I had one chance, and one chance only.

I ran back towards the Diner, straight towards the flashing light atop the Sheriff's patrol car, hoping that he had not beaten me back to it. I dug in my pocket for my keys as I closed the final yards to my destination, then yanked open my door and fired up my Jeep, throwing it into four-wheel drive as I backed up a few feet, my bumper tapping the side of the Sheriff's car that trapped my Jeep. I threw the gear selector into drive, and stomped on the gas.

I was almost thrown from my seat as my front end cleared the little retaining wall. My jeep lurched into the air, and then dropped the four feet to the sidewalk and pavement below with a bone-jarring crash. I felt more than heard the top of the wall drag along the frame of my Jeep, grinding under my seat, and then felt a jarring bounce as my rear wheels cleared the wall. My Jeep lurched, nose almost straight down, sparks flying. I hit the gas again, and the front wheels caught and my back end slammed down onto the pavement. I kept my foot on the gas, even though I was bouncing wildly, accelerating diagonally across the main street until I was on the right-hand side of the road. I glanced back, seeing the Sheriff lumbering towards his squad car.

"Shit," I mumbled. I had hoped I'd have a bigger head start. I knew there was no way I could outrun him, I sure as hell couldn't out-run his radio. This was one car chase I was destined to lose.

Then I remembered that we had lost the last one too, and how we lost it. I saw a corner coming up, slammed on the brakes, and threw the steering wheel hard left, my tires chuffing against the pavement as I rounded the corner, reminding me that I was still in four-wheel drive. I didn't bother shifting out of it, as I knew I'd need it within moments. I glanced ahead as I roared north; I knew it had to be somewhere ahead.

I saw it at last, a thin line of lighter brown, snaking its way up the hillside at the edge of town, and I was heading straight for it. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw the Sheriff whip around the turn behind me, gaining fast, as I left the pavement.

The chattering of my steering wheel announced that I was now on a washboard dirt road, at high speed. I knew that a car like the Sheriff's could outrun me on dirt, just like on pavement. My only chance was to reach the rough stuff before he could get to me. I prayed that I was on the right road. If it didn't go through, I was well and truly screwed.

The angle of the road steepened as I began to climb, nervously glancing back to see a glimpse of the Sheriff's car, just a hundred yards behind me. There was no way he could pass me on this road, but I knew he could either ram me, or shoot at me, and he was just about close enough to try the latter. I glanced around; hoping to find a place where I could head off-road, but the terrain was just too rough and steep.

The ruts and washouts in the road grew worse, causing my Jeep to fishtail on the curves, bouncing all over the place, the noise growing so loud that I couldn't hear myself think. I glanced in my rearview mirror, seeing only the thick brown dust I was kicking up. I didn't know what that Sheriff would do if he caught me, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

I crested the hill I was climbing, catching a little air as I did and nearly losing control as I slammed back down onto the uneven road. I bounced twice, and eased off the gas, fighting to retain control, the pebbles and gravel torn up from the road drumming against the underside of my Jeep.

Crashing through some Mesquite branches that partially blocked the road, I rounded another curve and glanced back, spotting the Sheriff's car lurching along behind me, just thirty yards back, as the noise from the road pounded in my ears. I barely made it around a curve, and then up ahead I saw it: Rocks. The road was washed out, a gully running lengthwise down it, leaving nothing but large rocks. I felt a grin form on my face, I'd won!

I braked hard, skidding to a near halt as I reached the first of the rocks, bouncing in my seat as my Jeep swayed drunkenly over it, wincing as rocks slammed into the frame, the loud reports crashing against my ears. I took the next sets of rocks as fast as I dared. The gully ended, and I stomped on the gas as soon as I could, tearing around the next curve in the road as it wound up the side of a hill. A quarter of a mile later, I spared a glance back, and saw the Sheriff's car, stopped at the edge of the washout. I'd won, as long as the road I was on came out somewhere.

Seeing more washouts ahead, I slowed to a stop so I could put the Jeep in low range, and lock the rear differential, knowing I'd need it.

For several miles, the road wasn't too bad, but I wouldn't have tried it in a car. The road wound along the edge of a canyon, climbing higher, and in a few places my wheels were just inches from the drop-off.

The road grew steadily worse as it neared the top of the canyon wall, and I gritted my teeth as my wheels churned over loose rocks, inches from the drop-off. One last washout, and I crested the canyon rim, the road almost smooth again. I reached an intersection, just the joining place of three rutted tracks, and continued on ahead, as I was fairly sure that the other one lead right back to Piedmont. Minutes later, I crested a small rise, and saw the road take a right, and go down a long, shallow grade across the side of the hills I was on, down towards the valley floor. I let out a yell, of relief and joy, because I was finally sure of where I was.

I was at the spot where my Jeep had disappeared from view, when Eric drove on from his stopping point, heading for Piedmont the night Steve and I had chased him. I followed the dusty road down, and soon came to a familiar spot: where Steve and I found the Data stick. I smiled, knowing the road from here, and knew I could make it.

The thought of Steve made my heart ache. I felt like shit for doubting him. I craved to see him again, and couldn't wait. There was so much I wanted to say, but above all, I just wanted him in my arms again.

I reached the streambed where we had stopped before, easing forward more carefully now. It was rough, I framed out a few times on the larger rocks, and I was amazed that Eric, an inexperienced driver, had managed to get through at all. I pulled out of the creek where Steve and I had twice parked his Charger. I knew the road was easy enough from here to the highway, and stopped to take my Jeep out of low-range.

I was about to put it back in drive when it occurred to me that the police might be waiting for me on the main road, or at least patrolling it. I felt my stomach clench, and sweat began to bead on my forehead.

I remembered that there were a few dirt tracks leading off to the left, in the direction of Lonesome Valley, and kicked myself for not having a topographical map. I just hoped I'd pick a track that would get me through to Lonesome Valley without going on the highway.

About halfway to the main highway, I found what I was looking for: a set of likely looking wheel ruts heading towards Lonesome Valley. I took the turn, weaving along the track through the mesquite and sage.

The terrain was fairly flat, and there were only a few bad places at a couple of gullies, but the track continued, and I knew I was getting close to Lonesome Valley. I topped a low rise, and saw, to my relief, a few houses in the distance. I smiled, pressing on, sure that the track would have me back on pavement within minutes. I bounced through another gully, and as I climbed out a red light caught my eye. My engine warning light was glaring, red and angry, from my dashboard. I glanced at my temperature gauge, and it was pegged past red.

I stopped, turned off the engine, popped the hood, and climbed out to look. My radiator was hissing steam, and I knew something was badly wrong. I checked the oil, or, rather, I tried to, and found none on my dipstick.

I dropped to look under my jeep, and spotted the problem immediately; Oil was dripping from my oil pan. I must have hit a rock with it.

I slid further under, to see if there was any chance of plugging it, and gasped. It was up on the side of my oil pan, not the bottom, and it was a neat, round hole, a bullet hole. The Sheriff had been shooting at me, and I hadn't heard it due to the noise. I shivered, in spite of the desert heat. The hole was high enough that my pan hadn't drained right away, but I must have lost oil every time I climbed anything with a decent grade. I didn't have any oil with me, so I was stuck. If I drove on, I'd fry the engine in under a mile.

Mindful of the fact that I was being hunted by the police, I glanced around, and spotted a copse of trees back in the gully. I turned the jeep around, re-entered the gully, and pulled my Jeep into them, clicking off the engine as fast as I could. That should hide it well enough, I hoped.

I jogged towards town, as the sun neared the horizon, dropping the temperature to a tolerable 90 degrees. I could see familiar buildings ahead, and knew I had about a mile run to get to town, then another mile to get back to the Williams house on the other side.

Picking up the pace, I pulled off my shirt, tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans. The warm, dry air blowing over my sweat soaked skin felt good, and I felt relief that my ordeal was nearly over.

The track widened, soon turning into pavement, not long after I passed the first of the houses. I had a sudden thought, and grinned because I realized that I was only two blocks from Veronica's house, and that Chad was probably still there. I figured that might be a better place to lay low until we could figure out what the hell was going on.

Running flat-out, sprinting, I rounding the corner to see Veronica's house. My relief was short lived, as a lump of twisted metal on a shattered wooden post came into view in the middle of the street. I realized that it was Veronica's mailbox, or what was left of it. I ran past it, and as I crossed her lawn, I saw that the once-uniform grass had been torn up by two weaving gouges, heading straight for where the mailbox had once stood.

I ran up to the door as Chad opened it, gaping at me, "Dude, what happened? Veronica called and told me the Piedmont cops were after you?"

I shook my head as I tried to catch my breath, panting, "Yeah, long story. I gotta call Steve, or his Dad." I started to head inside when Chad held up his hand, then pointed at the ruined lawn and mailbox, "He came by looking for you, and I told him about your call. He was heading for his car to go look for you when Veronica called with the news, so I shouted it to him, and he tore out of here, right through the lawn and mailbox."

Feeling my blood torn to ice, I gasped, "Oh, no! He's heading for Piedmont!"

I saw Chad's car in the driveway, and pleaded, "We've got to stop him! They'll kill him! Come on..." I grabbed Chad by the arm and pulled him towards his car.

He caught on right way, and jumped in as I scrambled into the passenger seat. He pulled out of the driveway, burning rubber, which was something I didn't think his little Honda Civic could do. He glanced over at me, his eyes wide, "What happened? Where's your Jeep? It's faster than this thing."

I shook my head. "It's in the desert a couple of miles out of town. I took a bullet in the oil pan."

Chad's eyes opened even wider. "A bullet? They were fucking shooting at you? Oh, shit!" Chad stared at me for a moment, his eyes wide, and his mouth agape. "Uh, Dude, Steve has a couple of minutes head start. How the fuck are we gonna catch him in time? When he hits the highway he's gonna open that beast of his up, and no way in hell can we catch him in this. Do you think they are after him, too?"

Numbly, I replied, "His Dad warned us to stay out of Piedmont. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but their Sheriff is the brother-in-law of that preacher who wants us run out of town. He's the one who came after me, and put a bullet in my Jeep. Oh, god, they are gonna kill Steve, and it's all my fault!"

We reached the highway and Chad floored his old Honda. It started to rattle and shake as the speedometer approached eighty. Chad managed to hold it at eighty, but that was as much as the car could do. I stared ahead at the empty road, and I knew that we had no hope of catching Steve in time.

I pulled my shirt out of my pocket, used it to wipe the sweat off my forehead. I ran my fingers through the black cotton of the t-shirt, looking at it, and saw a single strand of blond hair. I knew it must have been Steve's from when he kissed me before I left for school that morning. I clenched the shirt in my fist, and then threw it into the foot well in frustration. I glanced over at Chad, "Pull over."

Chad stared at me, his mouth agape, so I yelled, "Pull over, and get out. We can't catch him, and showing up with me in Piedmont would be a good way to get shot. I have to go, you don't. Pull over and get out."

"No way. We can't spare the time. Anyway, it's you they are looking for, so maybe you should get out," he replied.

I shook my head. "No way. I have to do this."

"I ain't pulling over, so we're going together," Chad replied.

I stared ahead down the highway as we reached a long straightaway that crossed a sloping plain, and miles ahead I saw a speck of tan on the road. I knew it was Steve's Charger. I lost sight of him moments later, but I'd seen enough. He was pulling away from us fast. We topped a slight rise, and I looked ahead, but this time there was no sign of a car ahead, just the empty desert highway, stretching on into the distance, under the setting sun. I knew Steve must be almost in Piedmont, with no idea of what he was heading into, and there was no way in hell that we could stop him.

©Copyright 2007 C James; All Rights Reserved.
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Please let me know what you think; good, bad, or indifferent.  The feedback thread for this story is in my Forum. Please stop by and say "Hi!"

Many thanks to Conner for editing, support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions on this chapter.
Many thanks also to my editor EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions (and for thinking up a title!).

Thanks also to Shadowgod, for beta reading and advice, and for putting up with me.
Any remaining errors are mine alone.

Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental. Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

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WTF Since when do the police block in a car, make not effort to talk with a person, the chase after them sending bullets their way.  Chad is being a great friend. What I don't understand is why Dad hasn't been called.  I do hope that Steve is OK.  

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