Full Intention: Chapter 3 - Who Are You?

Gonna post at the top. Once in a while... have to. I've been pushing myself to wrap up all these little things, including some older business. Like this. Originated nearly ten years back and inspired in part by a song. This is part of something bigger. It was the first thing I purposely wrote in flash that was intended to go in a serial fashion. Maybe it will be a book! 

Enjoy! M.

Full Intention / Can I Trust You?


Who Are You?

Coming to. My face welcoming a cold rush of air. Head leaning sideways with a mass three times its normal weight. Surprisingly, I know this place. I’ve been here a thousand times before. Watching you drive. Body tilted against the cold soft leather cushion of your Dad’s vintage ’68 Mustang. Eyes tracing the lines of your silhouette as you grip the wheel and stare out at the road ahead. Speeding down a two lane stretch through the night. Occasionally bright illumination shines in, as the car drifts into the unknown. The lights of the streets flicker past with the shutter speed of an old film. Fleeing in this car was a smarter move than I gave you credit for. The bigger surprise, you still own it. Shocking that a piece of nostalgic memorabilia from your past resides side by side with the overindulgent modern extravagances you’ve acquired. Truly it’s these small sentimental gestures that spare you from becoming a monster.

Swallowing hard, I close my eyes and sigh.

Remembering better days sitting in the passenger side of this car. The familiar smell of the upholstery and comforting knock of the keys against the steering column bring back memories that seem like a thousand years ago. Another lifetime. The first trip back home when you brought me over to meet your family. It was a lovely introduction to this fiery red head with her racing lines and smooth interior. Dad’s prized showgirl. And he gave her to you. Dim light of the dash snaps me back into the present and away from the past. Too many memories filled with laughter, at a moment when it didn’t matter.

Tonight, there are no such pleasantries.

From where I’m seated, the revolver resting in your lap is completely visible. Safety is off. I guess you don’t trust me. The blame can’t be placed with you. Years spent in silent opposition without resolution. Despite that you saved my life. If the roles were reversed who knows what I would have done. Owing my life, to the fact that I saved yours. Trust makes no difference at the moment. I’m hit and by looks of it your right arm has been grazed by fire. The blood stain spreads down your shirt, from shoulder to elbow. Eyes remain forward focused on the unfamiliar. Signs and roads I’ve never seen.

“I’m not hit.”

“Where are we going?”

“I have a friend.”

“Can…”

“Can you trust me? Don’t worry about it.”

“Trying to pretend the past never happened?”

“Unless you want to die? Rest.”

Die? That’s a laugh as I take note of the situation. Aside from all the unanswered questions, there are a too many other reasons to keep going. Take another deep breath and release. Breathing proves to be uncomfortably challenging but not impossible. My chest wound stings but it isn’t going to kill me. At least not right away. The possibility of a punctured lung or broken rib might pose more of a threat to my health. My point being, that I may die, but at the moment I can’t get into it.

Continuing to watch you drive is like watching you on television. Behind that facade lays an intellectual giant that can talk politics and sell them the same way as Men’s fragrances. Gifted. Unlike the other politicians, your public donations are legitimate. Generous. A politician with a heart. Ethan was right to worry about things when you changed. Enigmatic. Distancing yourself from the past and becoming immersed into this life. Who are you?

What kind of trouble could you be in? The worst kind if I was called in. The Hand doesn’t trust you anymore. But they don’t want you dead. Why? Try to think where I come into this mess. Who would have double-crossed me? Regardless of the circumstances, this is bigger than Ethan. He was merely a pawn in another man’s game. A cross, whether it was in or out of season, wouldn’t have suited Ethan. Besides, those shadows weren’t his type of reinforcements. The elaborate rouse to cover the tracks leads me to believe there is more.

Thinking back to the house and the small details I’d overlooked. Someone was there before. Showed up wanting something. On the computer? Forget it. It was much more than that. This person went to great lengths to find you alone. Why were you alone? Lack of security in the last place anyone would think to find you. A meeting. With a person you trusted enough to meet alone. And who didn’t kill you in a dark house with no alarm? Unless… alone… the computer… the drugs… you’re working for someone else. Set-up. My planned arrival set things into motion. Simple instructions provided an interruption with a purpose of cover for an unseen escape. You used Ethan. Ethan used me. I’m alive because you needed me. Who are you Steven Malcolm?