Chapter One

The Accident

"What a pretty piece of flesh I am!" Norman shouted out his open car window. He settled back into his seat laughing his ass off. Samuel Bowmen was driving the car while occasionally glancing back to talk with Harry, Frederick, and Charles in the back seat. They were driving home to Jamestown, New York from Vestige, Pennsylvania.

Norman's cousin was Sky Dame. Sky was twenty-five and always ready to lend a helping hand to get a party started. Norman always needed help; he was only nineteen and unable to purchase alcohol. None of his friends had a fake I.D., or knew how to make one for that matter, so they had to find someone to get them their beer.

Sky was that someone for them and just about anyone else he knew that was under the age of twenty-one, or just needed some pot. Who knows how many teenagers he had served beer, marijuana, or both?

They all used different names for marijuana; uncommon code names would keep those who just happened to overhear from knowing what they were talking about. They called it cheese, goof plant, broccoli, that 4:20 shit, and even wacky tobacky—a much more commonly known code name than the others.

They were going home with five pounds of marijuana hidden away in a piñata in the trunk and a keg with it. Norman had no idea what kind of beer it was—most likely Beezo's Brand because of its cheap price (two bucks a six-pack)—but he really didn't care.

Norman popped open his cigarette pack and removed one of the home-made ones he had stored away in it. The home-made ones weren't full of tobacco, I can tell you that. He put the joint in his mouth and lit it with his Zippo lighter which was colored like those camouflage army suits.

He took a large drag from the joint, held it in for about thirty seconds, and then blew out a huge cloud of pot smoke. He could feel it starting to affect him.

"Give me some of that 4:20 shit man," Samuel ordered. "I've always wondered what it would be like to drive stoned as shit man."

Suddenly Frederick in back, the only non-smoker among them, burst out laughing. "You'll probably start freaking out at the signs!" his speech was interrupted frequently by gales of laughter. "You'll be like: AAAAHHHH!"

Frederick made his eyes go wide and threw his arms up in the air. Then he stopped screaming and laughed again. His dyed green hair flew back and forward as he rocked in the middle of the back seat. He was a weight lifter, and it showed. His arms bulged with muscle and he had six-pack abs.

"Closet pot head," Harry said. His eyes were bleary and blood shot, his fat face cracked with a calm smile. His remarkably long hair—for a man—fell over his face and he brushed it away. Harry weighed about two-hundred seventy pounds and let on that he was quite proud of his size. His arms were thick with fat as opposed to muscle. He paused as everyone got a laugh at that. "I'm being serious; you have to be a pot head. You are the most insane one of us, yet you claim that you're clean. You're fucking lying man."

Harry pulled out a Pringles container. Stuck in a hole on the side was a home-made pipe for marijuana. The bowl was full, and Harry was lighting it. He put the top of the container to his mouth and sucked in. He got his hit and lowered the container, smoke billowing out and collecting about the ceiling. He held his breath in for a good while longer than Norman, and then blew it out in a considerably larger cloud than Norman's.

They all waited for him to start laughing, but all he did was stared at the back of Samuel's seat with a smile on his face.

"HE'S LOSING HIS MIND!" Charles screamed, momentarily distracting Samuel from the road. They all started laughing besides Harry, who was at that point too stoned to think of anything other than food and sleep.

They were driving on a small road that was generally deserted other than the occasional tourist who wanted to go exploring. There were rarely any cops on this road, which is why they chose to go down it; who wants to get caught smoking pot while driving?

Anyway, this road led to the interstate highway ten miles away from where Norman and the gang were at that point. It was a long stretch of road.

"You know, when we get home we should order some pizza," Norman suggested. "Preferably Pizza Hut pizza; it's the greasiest there is, and boy do I love grease!"

"Yeah man," Harry started. He looked like he was about to add something to it, but then resumed staring at the back of Samuel's seat.

"Holy goddamned mother fucker!" Charles shouted. He always shouted that string of vulgarities when he had passed the restraints of being high and entered the world of being completely fucking stoned. "I haven't seen that son of a bitch S.O.B. this wasted since… since… holy goddamned mother fucker I can't remember!"

Everyone started laughing again. Norman looked back at the three of them. Charles was stoned, Harry was wasted, and even though Frederick wasn't a smoker, he was still high from the cloud of smoke back there.

"H-hey Frederick," Norman called.

"What?" Frederick replied in a very relaxed voice.

"Have you ever been stoned? I'm not talking about having a contact butz, er… buzz; I'm talking about actually taking a hit off the bowl or bong or whatever."

"Phwoosheegon nizzle bizzle shizzle!" Frederick suddenly shouted in a high voice. Frederick prided himself in making fun of posers. Where "phwoosheegon" came from none of them knew. It was pronounced "fa-woo-shi-gan."

"Holy shit," Samuel said. "I need to hear this… I MUST! Have you?"

"Shit yeah!" Frederick answered. "I went on up to Canada last year with my cousin and we lit up some good ol' Canadian weed in his bong. That bong looked awesome; it had four tubes so that four people could smoke all at once!"

"I need to get myself some of that shiz nit!" Charles shouted, once again mocking posers.

"What 'shiz nit'? The bong or the Canadian weed?" Frederick asked, obviously not giving a shit which one.

"Holy goddamned mother fucker, either one! I don't give a shit either way! Now pass me back that doob Sam."

Samuel took a long hit, which turned out to be the second-to-last hit the doobie could support, and held it in for a long time. Charles took the considerably small last hit and then asked Harry to slap Samuel on the back of the head. Charles grunted a little; he was nearly asleep.

"What'd I do?" Samuel inquired.

"Man, you… you… you took a huge hit before you… uhhh… passed this fucker back to me. You were being se-se-selfish."

Charles always had gaps and stutters in his speech; it just came out much more when he was stoned. When he was sober they rarely popped up.

"Who gives a shit? It's not like you don't have a full piñ-o-ata back there."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"You know what Norman?" Frederick asked.

"What do I know Frederick?"

"We shouldn't get pizza when we get home. Well, yeah we should, but we should go roaming for some sluts from school. If we're lucky we could get us-selves some blow job-ee-s!"

"YEAH!" Samuel, Norman, and Charles all shouted out simultaneously.

Norman glanced at the speedometer after noticing Samuel hadn't in a while. "Shit Sam."

"What Norm?"

"You're pushing ninety man."

"Ninety?" Samuel glanced at the speedometer. "Tall drink of cock sucker I guess I am!"

"You bet your ass you are!" Charles observed from the back.

"No I don't," Samuel responded. "No matter how sure I am I never risk the ass."

Other than Harry they all laughed; Harry was asleep now.

"Anyway, we should find Beatrix Servis," Frederick continued with his 'sluts' option. "Beatrix Servis at our service!"

Frederick and Charles laughed at that.

"Isn't Beatrix going out with… with that guy that… he punched Mr. Bead?" Charles asked.

"Yeah," Norman answered. "She's at his service."

"I got a list of all thee hottee girls at our school," Samuel informed them. He then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from a small notepad out of his front pocket. It looked like it had been slightly burned on its upper right corner. Then Samuel proceeded to list the names he had written down. "Vanite Vulstroom, Jackie Soot, Tanya Bead—the daughter of Mr. Bead—Beverly Botane, Debbie Dook, and Vivica Boone. Beatrix is on here, but you already said her."

"The only really hot girls on that list are Vanite, Debbie, and Beatrix. They all got big boobs, great asses, and—most importantly—blonde hair. Jackie's got no boobs and black hair, Tanya's only got B-cups despite the fact that her ass is terrific, Beverly's got Cs, but she has no ass, and Vivica is black. I don't think black chicks are hot for some reason, other than Halle Berry that is. I'm not racist though." Frederick finished criticizing all of those on the list and started tapping his knees. Then he added after a minute or so of silence: "Unfortunately the ones I don't think are hot are the only sluts in the class."

"Yeah, that figures," Harry mumbled in a half-sleeping sort of daze. "Hooray for me that all the sluts are hot in my opinion. I even got to fuck Beverly. Not a great accomplishment but still…"

Harry drifted back off to sleep.

"Well, I got to fuck Vanite," Norman said. "She was a little unsettlingly kinky. Yes Frederick, Vanite is a slut, so you can fuck one o' the hot ones if you put your mind to it. She's not as easy as Beverly or those others, but pretty easy."

"Yay!" Frederick shouted in a half-joking manner.

Samuel added his sex act into the mix: "I got a Bee Jay from Jackie when she toked up with me."

"Good for you man," Charles congratulated Samuel. "I lost my virginity to Vivica. You know that saying 'once you go black, you never go back'? Well, it isn't a damn bit true. She was terrible, even though I had to tell her that she was great after the fact."

"Sucks for you Charlemange," Samuel joked.

"Stop calling me 'Charlemange'!" Charles shouted, and then added in a nearly perfect imitation of Cartman from South Park. "Goddamn it!"

"Sorry Charlie," Samuel apologized.

"Goddamn it!" Charles continued his imitation of Cartman. "I'm not 'Charlie' either! Goddamn it! Apologize agai—!"

"GODDAMN MAN! LOOK OUT!" Frederick suddenly burst out, interrupting Charles and pointing ahead of them. Samuel had been too busy talking to the others to keep his eyes on the road. That was quite nearly the last mistake he ever made.

Samuel spun his head around to the windshield, shouted as his eyes went wide—wider than usual anyway, and spiked the brakes. Norman flew forward and, since he was a mere five foot six inches, he hit his head lightly on the dashboard instead of strongly against the windshield. Had he been two inches taller he would've woken up hours later in the hospital with a broken skull—if he ever would have been given the chance to wake up.

"Jesus Christ," Norman said under his breath when he saw what was in the middle of the road.

"Does anyone have a cell phone?" Samuel inquired. It was a stupid question; of course they did. They all did in fact.

"What? You wanna call the police?" Charles piped up from the back. "Fuck that man! You can just put that on the tip of the dick sticking in your ass!"

"We gotta get someone out here," Frederick muttered.

Norman opened his door and stepped outside. It was night, and all the light Norman could see was coming from the headlights of their car… and what they illuminated was the two smashed up cars in front of them.

One looked like a Chevrolet and the other looked like a Ford, but there wasn't enough light to be certain. There also wasn't enough light to see if that was blood trickling down the driver side door of the one that looked like a Chevrolet.

The two had obviously smashed into each other doing well over the speed limit of fifty five.

The hood of the Ford was bent in half while sticking up in the air. The front of the Chevrolet had ridden up the front of the Ford and into the engine. The tires of the Chevrolet looked like they were melted, but, again, there wasn't enough light to be absolutely certain.

The Ford's windshield was a web of cracks, same with the passenger window—the side of the Ford that was facing them.

The Ford looked as though it had collided head first with the Chevrolet in the middle of the road, traveling each from one side of the road to the other. Norman tried to see beyond the two cars, but was unable to because of the lack of sufficient lighting.

He could hear the others' voices running inside the car. He sat back down in his seat and turned to Samuel.

"Turn on the highlights Sam," Norman ordered. Samuel snapped to look at him, breaking off the conversation he had going with the two in the back in the process.


"Turn on the highlights Sam," Norman reiterated a little less patiently.

Samuel flipped the highlights on without saying anything more. The extra light added was enough to see the entire scene. Norman immediately regretted ordering Samuel to turn on the highlights.

"Jesus," Frederick muttered from the back seat. None of them had ever seen a serious car accident before then; and none of them wanted to again after the fact. "Christ."

There was a shredded arm hanging out of the Chevrolet's driver side's half open and shattered window. Oh, and yes it was indeed blood trickling down the driver's door. It was dry. The accident was not so fresh.

The driver of the Chevrolet was a very tall man. His visible attire—his shirt—was exceptionally unkempt; it was made of rags from several other shirts. However, the shirt did appear as though it fit very comfortably. His head was covered in blood that hadn't dried quite yet. The windshield was bloody at the very center of a web of cracks where the driver's head had obviously connected with it.

There was one single passenger. The passenger was a girl; couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. She didn't look as badly fucked up as the driver who looked quite dead, but she still appeared badly injured. Her shirt was rags just like the driver's, however, unlike the driver's; it looked as though it was three or four sizes too big and was hanging from her shoulders loosely. Her shockingly long, dyed blue hair was hanging over her face since she was sitting hunched over—despite the slight incline of the Chevrolet from it being thrust up on the Ford—held above the dashboard only by her seat belt.

The Ford's driver was still imperceptible; covered by the shadow of the large passenger sitting beside him.

The passenger in the front was stunningly well dressed in a brown business suit that you would expect to find on the shoulders of millionaires only. The fact that they were driving what appeared to be an old Ford suggested that he was, in fact, not a millionaire. He was bald, the light from the high beams bouncing off of his scalp brightly. His neck had been sliced somehow in the crash and had spurted out a hell of a lot of blood onto the door, his shirt, and the seat he was sitting on. He looked dead as well.

There was a passenger in the back of the Ford… err… had been in the back of the Ford anyway. She was now resting partially on the dashboard. She was bald as well, which was an eerie observation. The only thing that was eerier was the fact that her glazed eyes were still open; and they were staring right at Norman, or rather they appeared to be doing so. She was well dressed as well with a brown business suit as well. Her nose was misshapen and bloody.

"We gotta get an ambulance out here," Frederick stated; his contact buzz demolished. He started searching in the back for his cell phone.

Charles snatched Frederick's arm and twisted it angrily. Frederick shouted out in both surprise and pain.

"What the fuck are you doing man?" Charles shouted at him. "We can't get the cops and ev'ryone ou' here!"

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Samuel shouted back at Charles in a booming voice that made them all jump. They had never heard Samuel shout like that before. When Charles replied, it was without the jittery high tone that pretty much anyone who had been subjected to that voice would've spoken in.

"Here's the scenario Sam:

"The cops and ambolances an'… and the firemen or whoever the fuck decides to race their asses out here come. We're questioned—all of us, and probably individually at that—and they just happen to notice the fact that our eyes are a little bloodshot. Th… the… then they subject us to wha-whatever tests they have now for detecting mary-jewana, and said tests come back positive for all of us. That includes you Freddy since you were high as a mo-fo off o' the fumes.

"Then they happen to check our trunk out. They notice the keg Sam, Fred, Norman. They get us for that of course. Then their eyes catch seeght of the pretty and very colorful piñata in the trunk with it. Maybe they'll leave that on alone, but chances are that they won't. We'll get our asses boosted for that as well."

Charles sat silently for a moment as they all digested that. Then he continued:

"Do ya think they'll just present us with the evidence and say 'Take yo bea an' yo marijuana and ge' on along wid what you guys were doing, an' we… we'll jus' drank one o' dese beas an' smoke-a da joint wid ya guys 'fore ya deeport'? We'll go to fucking jail you dumbasses!"

"Well… well… uhh… goddamn it Charles," Frederick stumbled over his words in search for the correct wording to express what he had to say. "We could call as, as, as one of those damn uhh… unknown? No. Anonymous! We could call as one of those anonymous witnesses or something. Then we could leave and not get busted."

"Oh goddamn I am too stoned for this," Norman whined. "We're all too stoned to just call one of those emergency numbers and talk with them. They'll probably know. Then they'll track us down and bust our asses anyway. But that doesn't matter Charles. I know that a couple of those people in those cars are dead, but maybe a couple are still alive. I don't want to leave and find out at some point that one or two of them would still be alive if we hadn't left like fucking cowards.

"Lives are at stake, so that easily outweighs suffering five, six, or seven years in prison. Fucking bastard."

That last sentence was spoken with the unmistakable tone of disgust.

Charles sat still for a while and then started nodding his head. "Call them. Fucking call them."

Frederick started scrounging about for his cell phone again. Samuel pulled his out and shouted back at Frederick that he had it. Then he turned it on, dialed 9-11, and put the phone to his ear.

Norman then turned back to look at the carnage in front of them. Then he jumped back out of the car with a gasp.

"What man?" Charles called after him.

Frederick paid no attention and started running forward to the Chevrolet.

The girl in the passenger seat had been moving.

Norman rushed around to the other side of the car, pausing to notice the skid marks that twisted and turned, intertwining with each other all the way down the road and into the darkness beyond the reach of the high beams. Who knows how far the cars had skid before coming to a stopping point?

Norman ran to the passenger seat and peered in through the cracked window. The girl was now sitting with her back against the seat instead of hunched over. Her eyes fluttered open several times before staying open. Then she looked around, and then she cried at what she saw. Norman suddenly felt like he should just leave it alone; that they should all just take off and leave the wreck alone. Something kept him there though. Maybe it was fate. But Norman didn't believe in fate. Maybe it was just that he wanted to help the girl so much that he just couldn't take off.

Whatever it was, it kept him anchored to the pavement he was standing on.

That night air smelled so sweet suddenly. Then the girl caught sight of him and screamed.

Norman jumped back at that sound.

"Jesus Christ lil' lady!" he screamed back in an imitation of a southern accent.

The girl opened the door, wanting to get out and run away, but was restrained painfully by her seatbelt. She started clawing at the button to release the belt, but it was jammed.

"No!" she shouted in a mixture of fear and frustration. "Open you cock sucker!"

Norman ran to her and held her back against the seat. "Calm down or you're gonna give yourself a heart attack!"

He knew that she wouldn't, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Let go of me," the girl ordered coldly. Her eyes looked like cat's eyes, but that was because of her novelty contact lenses he supposed. "Now."

"As long as you don't start screaming or struggling after I do," he replied. His eyes kept trailing to her neck. Her neck had a strange tattoo on it that looked like some elaborate doodle. It was a combination of three triangles, all of their tips touching each other while the bases stuck out on their own. It looked like an overhead umbrella with three sections of plastic keeping the rain away from the user.

Norman looked back at Samuel's car and pointed. "My friends are in that car. Right now they're calling the police to report this accident. Hold on and I'll get my buck knife from the car and cut your belt open."

"You'll probably slash my throat on accident you stoner fuck," she replied hastily and glared long and hard at him. Was it really that obvious that he was stoned?

Norman opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a click and started back to the car in a jog.

He leaned into the car and popped open the glove compartment.

"Hey Norman," Samuel said. "The cops are on their way. What's going on over there?"

"The girl's come to Sam. Her seat buh-belt is jammed, so I'm gonna cut it open."

"Suck harder Becky," Harry mumbled in his sleep and turned over.

They all glanced over at him and Frederick had to stifle laughter. If this were to happen at another time in another place, they would've messed with him. But they had other things to do now.

"Where the fuck is my buck knife?"

"It's right there on the dashboard you dimwitted fuck," Samuel observed. He pointed at the buck knife with the wolf painting on the handle lying beside the vent on the dashboard.

"Thanks," Norman said promptly as he snatched it up and ran back to the girl.

The door was still open, and the girl was struggling with her seat belt inside again.

"Lean back," Norman ordered and girl jumped before obliging. She rested against the seat reluctantly after spotting the knife in his hand. She feared that if she didn't obey he would cut her, and that wouldn't be a very fitting death for her now would it? Quite anticlimactic.

Norman grabbed the seat belt and pulled it well away from the girl before placing the blade of the knife against it and sawing it apart.

The portion connected to the car retracted while the portion connected to the safety buckle fell limply to the girl's lap.

Immediately the girl was pushing him down and trying to run off. If she hadn't gotten her foot tangled up under her seat she would've probably gotten away, disappeared into the night. That was not the case, however. She landed hard on the road right beside Norman, who had doubled over and fallen on his ass from the kick she had delivered to his stomach.

He grabbed her and held her down.

"What was that for?" he hissed out in pain, still clutching his stomach with one hand.

"LET GO OF ME!" she shouted at him. For a moment he almost did because of the sheer blunt force of her shout, but then regained his senses and continued to hold her down. "Let me go you stupid stoner fuck!"

"Shut up!" Norman demanded. "Were you hurt in that accident?"

Norman was stunned himself by the stupidity of the question and sought desperately to rephrase it, but was unable to. However, that question calmed the girl down and she stopped struggling against him. Tears were brimming in her eyes now.

"I hit my head against the dashboard and was thrown against my seat belt hard three or four times. That's it."

"That's good. That's good. I'm Norman Dame, how 'bout you?"

The girl paused; unwilling to give this man her name. Well, not her real name anyway. "Vernita Green."

The name was fake; she had gotten it from Kill Bill Vol. 1. Vernita was the first of the five targets the Bride was shone having killed.

"Well Vernita, you're very fucking lucky I can tell ya that," Norman informed her, and then added after glancing at the wreckage again: "Extremely fucking lucky."

The girl's real name was Sally Summers.

"I'm aware," Sally replied harshly. Then she looked at the driver and started bawling. Norman tried to console her, yet failed. "That… was my… f-fa-father."

After managing to get that out she burst into fresh tears. The driver had been her father. Now he was dead and Sally didn't have anything to fill that chasm in her life with. Not a goddamned thing. She felt a pit in her stomach that was getting larger and larger. She knew what it meant. Well, she knew that it meant something. What it meant she couldn't remember. She could remember very little from before… before… the accident. Even that she couldn't remember much of.

She remembered being thrown forward into her seat belt and hitting her head on the dashboard. Hitting it hard. Then things got fragmented. Skidding. Blood spraying. Laughter. Wait… laughter? Or screaming? Both? She shook her head. She couldn't remember anything but those fragments.

"Do you need any water or food Vernita?" Norman wondered, truthfully concerned. "We have some water for you." What he didn't add was that it was bong water. Hopefully the cops and paramedics or whoever wouldn't notice if she was stoned. "We have some food too." Snack foods (which they sometimes called snake foods) for when they were stoned and had the munchies like Shaggy and Scooby from Scooby Doo.

"I would like some water," Sally stated. "No bong water though."

"Okay the-," Norman broke off in mid-sentence. Exactly how had she known that it was bong water? Didn't matter. Not now anyway. "-n. I'll have to look, but I'm sure we have some drugless water in there somewhere. Hope you don't mind lukewarm water. Not sure if we have any, but it's most definitely lukewarm."

"I don't give a rat's ass if it's boiling hot."

"You must have a king's thirst then."


"Yeah, that's what I meant."

Sally wiped the tears from her eyes and attempted to cleanse her cheeks of the tear stains. She was only partially successful. Norman walked with her back to Samuel's car, staying close in case she wound up falling over something, or just plain out fainted.

"Woah, woah, woah," Samuel said when Norman helped Sally sit down in the passenger seat. "Is she okay?"

"I'm okay," Sally answered. "Could I get some water?"

Her voice suddenly sounded very weak, like she had just run for two miles non-stop and then gotten her ass kicked by ten people afterwards. She wasn't out of breath, though, which was the only thing that demolished the illusion.

"Bong water is all we got," Samuel said. "Maybe we could find a water bottle or something in the back. Charles. Why don't you go look for that?"

"I'll get it," Norman stated. Then he ran around back, found the trunk to be locked, and ran to the driver side of the car. "Need the keys Sam."

"Huh? Oh yeah. Okay."

Samuel turned the car off, jumping slightly at the sudden lack of light from the headlights, and handed the keys over to Norman holding the car key out so he wouldn't have to fumble about in the dark for it.

Norman went around back and popped the trunk open. Light flooded out from a small light bulb that automatically flashed on when the trunk was open. He fumbled around for about five minutes and then returned with a water bottle that was reasonably cool.

Sally downed every last drop without stopping to take a breath. She took two gulps of air after finishing it and then resumed breathing normally.

Norman found his eyes trailing back to the tattoo on her neck once again. It was on the right side of her neck, facing away from everyone else so they couldn't see it. Norman wondered if the tattoo would disturb them as much as it did him.

"Here are the keys Sam," Norman said and handed the keys over to Samuel while holding the car key separate from the others. Samuel turned the car back on and the high beams went on.

Norman looked back at the scene once and knew that something wasn't quite right.

"They're gonna get'cha!" Harry suddenly burst out from the back. He sat straight up like he had just had a horrible dream, but he was smiling. He was smiling largely. "Gonna get'cha!" he yelled while making eye contact with Norman.

Norman spun back to the Ford and Chevrolet after hearing something bang out there. "Gonna get'cha!" Harry shouted again.

Then Norman heard foot steps. They were oh so silent, but they were there. Nearly inaudible over the running car, but they were there. And they were getting closer.

Sally heard them too.

"We have to get out of here," she muttered.

"What?" Frederick asked from the back.

"WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted more strongly than Norman would've thought someone in her condition would be capable of. "NOW!"

Norman acted quickly. He slammed the door on the passenger side and went to the back door. He yanked it open and flew in on top of Charles and Frederick. They shouted their protests as Norman pulled the door shut behind him.

Norman squeezed in between them as the car suddenly started backing up. Norman wanted to see what was causing such a panic, and he saw it through the windshields.

The driver of the Ford had gotten out of the car. He was now running at them full charge completely unharmed. He looked middle-aged and quite pissed off. He had no blood on him or his business suit, and he had no bruises either. In fact, it looked as though he had not suffered anything from the car accident.

"GONNA GET'CHA!" Harry hollered into Samuel's face when he looked behind them to see if he would need to swerve away from something.

"GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Sally was urging from the front.

The Ford driver was gaining on them miraculously enough. He wasn't even breaking a sweat from his extremely fast running.


"GO! GO! GO!"

The Ford driver was almost to the front of their car.

"HIT HIM!" Sally ordered. Samuel hit the brakes and switched the automatic to drive quicker than he probably ever would in his life. He stepped on the gas and went speeding across the road to meet with the Ford driver. Sally had hoped for the driver not to get out of the way, but he did anyway.

The Ford driver somersaulted to the left just as they were about to hit him. He walked away with no scratches luckily enough for him.

Samuel started laughing. Then he spiked the brakes as the came back to the wreck. The Ford driver was coming again.

"GO AROUND IT!" Charles screamed. He had no idea what the fuck was going on other than the man was bad and the man was chasing them. Probably meant to kill them too.

Samuel gunned the car and swerved to the right of the wreck and then to the left to get back on the road on the other side.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Samuel exclaimed. "Won't you people just stop screaming at me?"

Sally grabbed the side of her seat and pulled herself around to see if the Ford driver was still coming. He wasn't. Thank God.

Then she noticed that everyone but Harry-who had descended into sleep yet again-was looking at her.

"Who or what or whatever the fuck you want to say was that?" Charles inquired.

"I don't remember," Sally replied as frankly as she could. "I don't fucking remember."

And with that she burst back into new tears. Her sobs echoed out into the night with the sound of the car engine as they all finally made it to the interstate highway that would lead them back to New York. Back home for all but one of them; the one who did not remember where her home was.


Hey, MorbidMan here. This is an extremely long beginning. It took me three whole days to write it! I'm hoping that I can get it elongated, revised, and published by the time I get out of college. Not sure how realistic those plans are, but hey, it's better than having no plans at all.


Beatrix: the name of the Bride from the "Kill Bill" movies.

Jackie: the name of a character from "That 70s Show".

Tanya: the name of a character from one of my other stories.

Vivica: the name of the actor who portrays Vernita Green in "Kill Bill Vol. 1".

Samuel: the name of the actor who stars or cameos in many of Quentin Tarantino's movies.

Beverly: the name of a character from Stephen King's "IT".

Charles: the original title of who is commonly known as Charlemange.

Harry: the name of a character from J.K. Rowling's book series "Harry Potter".

That's it for my author's note this time around. Except for the pleading again to please review this story. I hope you enjoyed it. It took a lot of time and effort to write and with the author's note included it has taken up 17 pages with 38 lines a page on Microsoft Works Word Processor. Longest single chapter I've ever written actually. So… this is really it for my author's note this time. Other than another pleading: PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I'M ON MY FRIGGIN' KNEES HERE SURROUNDED BY FRIGGIN' IDIOTS! PLEASE! That is all.

"If you need help, Don, help yourself to a balloon. They float. Down here we all float; pretty soon your friend will float, too." - Pennywise the Dancing Clown "IT"