Bad Boy Blues(55)

I can almost see Zach as a little boy trapped in a tower with a glass window, where he can see the stars but never touch them.

Because he was made to believe he couldn’t.

***

After dinner, I see him.

Zach’s walking down the winding pathway that cuts directly across the cottages and along the side of the woods.

I’m in the kitchen, cleaning up. But at the sight of him, I wash my hands and say my goodbyes. And I run out after him.

Ever since he came back, almost every night I hear him take off on his bike. I don’t know where he goes. Maybe he just rides, feels the wind in his face, but after what happened tonight, I don’t want him to be alone.

My running ability is kind of hampered though, because I’m wearing two-inch-heeled Mary Janes instead of my best friends: my leather combat boots.

But I follow him, nonetheless.

I want to call out his name but something is preventing me. Probably it’s the tightness in his posture. His fisted hands and the fact that I know he wouldn’t like it if I called out his name and asked him to let me be with him so he’s not alone.

In fact, I’m sure he would downright hate it if I stuck my nose in his business.

Cruel is what I’ll do to you if you don’t stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

Whatever.

I’m sticking my nose in his business and he can’t stop me.

But then, my next thought brings me to a halt. I realize what his destination is.

Damn it.

I should’ve thought of it sooner. He’s going into the garage, the main garage at The Pleiades. The staff members also have a garage, right across from the main one, but it’s smaller. I’ve been in there once and I have no inclination whatsoever to repeat that experience.

Zach punches in the code to his own garage and the stupid gate whirrs to life and pulls up.

Okay, so now is the time to call out his name. If I want to stop him, this is the moment. Because if he gets on his bike, all my good intentions will be for nothing.

But the moment is gone in a flash and I’m left standing there, feeling queasy.

Maybe I should go back. I can’t follow him in my car. I’m not going to.

Nope.

I haven’t dealt with my issues yet, okay? I haven’t had the time. I’ve been busy and I can’t… I just can’t.

But if I don’t do it then who will?

Definitely not his bullies of parents.

Before I can even think my plan through, I break into action. I run to the garage door, punch in my code that I remember from six months ago when they gave it to me.

The smell of gas and leather seats has invaded every inch of the space and if I paid attention to it, I’d throw up.

So I don’t.

I don’t pay attention to anything but my little blue car, parked in between an SUV and a truck. My house keys are in my pocket and my car keys are attached with them. I’ve thought about throwing them away a million times but I always back out. I always think one day, when I have my house back, I’ll deal with my fear.

Well, I guess today’s that day.

I’m facing my fear. For Zach.

I beep the car open and slide into the seat. My thighs are clammy and so is my entire body and I feel like I’m glued to the leather and that I’ll never be able to get out. The thought makes me so dizzy that I’m about to climb out when I hear the roar of his bike.

Fuck it.

I don’t have the time to be queasy. I shut the door and start the car. It occurs to me later that there was a chance that it might not have.

I pull out and get the automatic garage door going and peel out after him.

Everything feels claustrophobic and yet familiar at the same time. So familiar that I feel like I was driving just yesterday instead of being on a hiatus for about a year.

I catch up to him just as he turns at the bend of the road and merges with the highway. It’s been ages since I took this road. It runs parallel to our town and I’ve had nights where I’d just coast along it with all the windows down.

Some nights, I’d find Zach riding along too. I always made it a point to stay out of his sight but I remember feeling jealous of all the wind on his face, all that freedom of being out in the open. The thrill of it. It felt like flying.

Soon we’re leaving the highway and taking the exit into a neighboring town. I think we’ve been driving for about thirty minutes when we come to an area that’s more or less deserted, with several warehouses and chain-link fences.

It’s kind of spooky but we don’t stop here. We keep going and going, until the buildings fall away and the trees crop up. We go through the woods and come to a clearing.

A big, wide clearing full of lights and music and people.

God, there are so many people and cars and bikes and trucks. All of them are parked haphazardly, with no system at all.

I stop the car at the edge of the field and take in the scene before me.

The people are shouting and dancing and writhing. But mostly, they are gathered around something deep but huge.

A hole in the ground.

Only this isn’t a hole, it’s more like a canyon and Jesus Fucking Christ, a bike is racing toward it right now.

I grip the wheel tightly as I hear the roar of that unknown bike, louder than the ruckus of the people. It’s hurtling right toward it, gaining speed until the ground is no more, and then it arcs over the gap. I swear for a second no one speaks, no one makes a sound and it’s all dead-silent.