To go to hell in his own way

Part 1

There’s a lot hiding just beneath the surface.
At some point, we’ve all been potential suicides. Or killers.
Or Judge Holdens, dancing that fine line between good and evil.
The truth is, the most destructive force in the universe lives inside you.
And life will keep going, no matter what you do.

He’d been trying to think about God lately, but it never got him far. After all, he was only fourteen.
That day, his grandfather walked into his room just after dawn, when the light was thin and flickering, soaked with the warm smell of watered earth.
“Get up outta that bed and get dressed,” the old man said. “You’re goin’ somewhere.”
It wasn’t a school day. It was summer. It was hot, and he was sweating from the muggy night.
“Don’t feel like it,” he mumbled, trying to roll back over.
His grandfather grabbed him by the arms and yanked him upright. The boy gave him a confused blink. The old man’s lips were moving, but his ears were still full of yawns, and he couldn’t hear a word. His grandmother stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth, her eyes wet but holding it in.
The light turned a hazy kind of blue, thick with the smell of rain and something coming.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Someone came to get you.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
The boy pulled back like a turtle into its shell, scrambling to the far corner of the bed where his grandfather couldn’t reach him. He fought for a few minutes, but he already knew it was no use.

His grandmother dressed him without asking for help. His grandfather stood guard at the door. Then they walked him out, straight through the hallway and into the yard.
The man waiting outside wasn’t allowed to come in. Like he was the devil, and there was just too much holy water inside.
“Here’s our boy,” the old man said, giving the kid a push forward. “You better bring him back in one piece.”
The guy didn’t say a word. He walked around his red car, opened the passenger door, and gave the boy a little nod to get in.
The boy looked up. The sky above was split in two: the moon on one side, white as bone; on the other, a rusty sun. In between, a mess of dark, restless clouds churned.
It was the start of a new day, but it felt like the end of the world.
The boy turned toward his grandfather, searching for some kind of sign, some reassurance. But there was nothing.
“I don’t wanna go with him,” he tried.
“He’s your father.”
“Don’t make me go.”
His grandfather looked him in the eye with a kind of proud, angry sadness.
“Ain’t nothin’ I can do, boy. I’m sorry.” His lips were trembling. “Just do what you can to come back to us.”

The boy recognized the first road his father took, but after a while, they turned somewhere he didn’t know. Truth was, he didn’t know much about the man at all. Over the years, he’d shown up now and then. No gifts, not much talking. Just a weak smile or two, and always in a rush to leave.
His grandparents never spoke about him. His father was the son they were working hard to forget. And maybe the boy looked too much like him. Maybe that’s why they loved him so fiercely.
The road was straight, black and wet like a snake’s skin.
“Where we headed?” the boy asked.
The man kept his hands clenched tight around the wheel.
“West.”
“But where, exactly?”
“Far as we can go. We’ll just keep driving.”
“I wanna go home.”
The man clenched his jaw.
“There ain’t no home to go back to.”
“To Grandma and Grandpa’s,” the boy said.
“That ain’t your home.”
“Well, I still wanna go back.”
“I’m your father. I make the calls.”
They didn’t talk for hours after that. And even though he’d told himself he’d stay awake, somewhere along the way, the boy passed out anyway.

When the boy woke up, they were parked at a gas station, tucked in between a row of big trucks. His father was leaning against the hood, smoking. The windows were streaked with rust from old rain. The sky was dark, but it hadn’t turned to night yet.
They were somewhere.
Looking at him now, the boy realized his father wasn’t much more than a kid himself. Maybe thirty-five? Tall and bony, the kind of man who looked like he could snap in half. His hands twitched, like they didn’t know where to go. His eyes didn’t know where to land. His hair was the color of dry straw, sticking out in every direction. His beard was unkempt. His clothes were wrinkled, stained, the kind you wear when you sleep in a car.
And he smelled like it, too.
“You hungry?” the man asked suddenly, leaning in toward him.
“No.”
“At your age, you oughta be hungry all the time.”
“I’m not.”
“I was thinkin’ maybe we could eat something together. You like Italian?”
The boy gave him a look.
“I mean… on account of the Italian blood, that’s all,” the man added.
“Grandma knows what I like,” the boy said.
The other smiled in this strange way, quiet but set, like he already knew how things were gonna play out. The boy didn’t. But he knew one thing for sure: That man wasn’t taking him back to his grandparents, no matter how much he begged. So, he decided to behave. Maybe, just maybe, that would’ve kept him from the worst of it.

His father took him to a diner. They ordered Mexican food, even though neither of them had a drop of Mexican blood, far as the boy knew.
“I’ve made a decision,” the man said, just as the boy was swallowing a mouthful of spicy beans.
He lit a cigarette, then changed his mind, snuffed it out, and shoved it back in his pocket.
“You gotta understand,” he went on, “I never meant to have a kid. Bein’ a dad never even crossed my mind. I just wanted to be free.”
He glanced at the boy. Then, he scanned the room like he was casing the place.
“I’m fine with Grandma and Grandpa,” the boy said.
“You’re still mine. You exist, and that means I’m not free.”
He leaned closer. His eyes looked feverish. Too bright, too clear, like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I gotta end this,” he said. “I want your life to be normal. If I were gone, they could adopt you. Some regular family.”
The boy felt raw, electric fear.
“What do you wanna do?” he asked.
His father looked at him. Really looked at him.
“I already picked the place.”
“For what?”
“It’s near a lake. You know I like lakes.” He paused, then shook his head. “No, you don’t know that. We never talked about it. But I do. I love lakes. I want it to happen there. By the water. No guns, too risky. They might think it was you. Anybody can pull a trigger, even a kid. I’ll use gas.”
The boy shot to his feet.
“I wanna go home.”
His father grabbed his arm, pushed him down hard.
“You’re coming with me. I want you to see the place I picked.”
“I don’t wanna see anything.”
“Yeah, you will. I was there when you were born, before your mom walked out on us. And you’ll be there when I die. That way, you’ll have one hell of a story to tell about me.”
The boy stared at him, eyes wide open.

To be continued…

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This isn’t a science fiction story. Or maybe it is, in a way.
There might be some truth to it. Maybe not.
All you need to know is that sometimes the most incredible things are the most true.

Thanks for reading the first part, guys, the second one will be coming soon.