Page 37 of Drive-By

The gun suddenly felt heavy in his weak grip, and he tightened his fingers, clenching the weapon. The image of Sammy, dead on the sidewalk, filled his head. His blood felt like lava scalding his hands. He raised the gun, dragging the barrel up his throat until it lodged beneath his chin. He lifted his head and stared at the twilight sky, then closed his eyes.

His bloody finger curled around the trigger… and began to squeeze.

Then he saw his mother’s face as she was told that both her sons were dead.

Tremors ran through him, and something inside him broke. He turned and ran as fast as he could back to Sammy. The boy’s body was gone, only a large, coagulating puddle of blood on the sidewalk marking where he had fallen.

He looked around desperately, then raced for home.

“Mom!” he cried, bursting through the front door of the shitty apartment. “MOM!” He sobbed so hard he could barely walk, clutching the wall and leaving blood smears on the faded wallpaper. “Mom…” One arm curled around his stomach as he hunched forward, choking on sobs, tears, snot, and saliva dripping from his chin. He staggered into the kitchen and froze.

His father sat at the table, his chair scooted back, his head hanging as he stared at the floor.

He isn’t real. He isn’t really here.

Swaying on his feet, he gripped the doorframe. “What…” he choked, his sobs catching in his throat. Before he could ask the question – ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ – he smelledliquor and gunpowder in the air, then saw the gun on the table, the man’s hand resting limply over the weapon.

“What… What did you do?” he cried at the man. “Where’s Mom? Where is she?!”

His father didn’t move. “She got the call,” he mumbled, his words slurred. “Sammy was dead.” The man’s head swayed. “She let my son get shot.”

“Where is she?!”

His dad fixed heavy-lidded eyes on his oldest son. “She let my boy die.”

“You don’t give a shit about Sammy!” he screamed at the man. “You never gave a shit about any of us! Where is my mom?!”

His dad dropped his gaze back to the floor.

What did you do? He moved into the kitchen, his legs shaking, and rounded the end of the table. His mom lay face down on the floor, blood pooling on the scuffed linoleum beneath her still body. “No! MOM!!”

He brought the gun up before he knew what he was doing. Shots erupted through the apartment. The first bullet took off the back of his dad’s skull—the second blew his brains out the side of his head.

Screams echoed deafeningly as he shoved the gun barrel under his chin and squeezed the trigger repeatedly. The rapid clicking of the empty chamber dropped him to his knees. The gun slipped from his bloody hand, and he fell forward on his elbows, his bloody fingers sinking into his hair as he screamed against the linoleum until his mind cracked and the person he was… was no more.

•?? •

Lazarus opened his eyes, warm tears draining down his face, and gazed at Lord. “I died that day.”

“Yes.” Lord touched his lips to the tattoo. “And I brought you back.”

Sliding his hands up the back of Lord’s strong neck, Lazarus kissed his shaven head. “My Lord… andSavior,” he whispered, then raised Lord’s face. He pressed a firm kiss to his lips as tears fell. “I need your saving grace again tonight.” His kiss deepened, and he pushed against the man.

Lord stripped him naked and shed his own suit, then laid Lazarus down on the thick satin comforter. “Relax,” he instructed softly against Lazarus’s lips, his strong, protective body settling over his lover. “And let mesaveyou again.”