Severed Pieces

Written by C.P. Edgar 

Concept by C.P. Edgar and Dominic Pupillo

 Copyright © 2024 by C.P. Edgar and October Ninth Books.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. 

PROLOGUE

               Her fingers danced in the air, against the wind. The small pendants dangling from the bracelet on her wrist chimed a tiny rhythmic tune, which made her hum softly to herself a possible chorus. Her fingers were delicate but strong, and they danced with the fervor of a practiced ballerina. The air was warm against her fair skin. The first real warmth of Spring, which had come late to the South. Insects sped past, whipping by in the humidity. She was pretending her fingers were a butterfly, a blue and black one. She had always loved those.

      The front passenger windows of the car were down allowing her this moment of whimsical daydreaming. Her hair whipped about, some of which ended up caught in her smile. Instinctively, she used her free hand to pull it free. Her hair was a deep bronze, bordering on brown. Slightly longer than shoulder length, it was her natural hair color. Sometimes she adored it tremendously and other times she wished she had the courage to change it, to simply cut it all off.

      “Abigail, are you listening to me?”

      Broken from her thoughts, she reached up and removed the dark sunglasses perched on her head and placed them in her mouth.  With both hands, she pulled as much of her hair as she could into a simple ponytail and pulled it through a black elastic that had been on her left wrist. Flipping down the visor mirror, she took a quick look at her work and satisfied, pushed her sunglasses back onto her head.

      “No, I was dreaming.” she said, looking at him now with a soft, pouting smirk.

      Through her bright, green eyes she took him in. He was wearing a short-sleeved Henley t-shirt that was mostly unbuttoned. It was almost a little too tight, but he wore it well over his muscled frame. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a pair of flip-flops that she wished he would trade in for something a little more fashionable, but she secretly loved that he wouldn’t cave in. He was strong-willed and not a follower. Abigail had known Jackson for two years. He was known to everyone as Jay, but he allowed her to call him by his birth name. His mom too, she thought to herself jealously.

      “Dreaming of what?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to stare into her eyes and smile. He had a dimple on one side of his face, when he smiled deeply enough.  That’s how she could tell it was genuine.

      The thought of the butterfly had brought her into a memory cavern deep within her mind. She was trying to open up a locked memory. It was one of the difficult ones that she could feel but not open. It was terrifying. There was an image of a large metal door set into a muddy cliff, but it was fleeting and disappeared just as fast as it was accessed. The effort to retrieve it left her unsettled, as if something vital was just out of reach, leaving an unsettling ache in the pit of her stomach.

      “Dancing on the beach with you, tonight.” She lied, placing her hand on his. He grabbed it, lifting it to his lips and kissed her hand warmly.

      “Well hopefully we can break through this traffic soon, otherwise we may be too tired to dance tonight, babe. I’d be happy just getting there at this rate.” 

      Jackson's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and his jaw clenched as he stared at the endless line of cars. He let out a slow, controlled breath, his eyes flicking to the GPS as if willing it to find a faster route. She moved her hand to the back of his neck and gave him a massage while he concentrated on the road, and the endless stop-and-go.

      “Let me check Google and see if there is a better way,” she said, grabbing up her phone. They had driven this route from Charlotte so many times in the past together that they didn’t need directions, normally. She entered the address of the beach house into Maps, hoping for a shortcut prompt.

      “It says that if we get off at this next exit, we can navigate around this awful traffic and save some major time.” They were heading east on Highway 64 toward the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and they were about to pass the mouth of the exit from the far-left side of the freeway. Even though they were barely moving in the densely packed two-lane tarmac, it would be difficult to make it all the way over and get off.

      Jackson didn’t hesitate, he simply acted. Looking over his right shoulder, he quickly navigated off the highway by squeezing between several cars and a tractor-trailer. He even earned a honk and a middle finger from one of them. 

      They came to a stop sign at the end of the exit ramp. To the right was a Handy Mart gas station and truck stop. To the left was the direction they needed to go to continue toward their destination. He looked at the car’s display on the dashboard. It registered in his mind that they only had twenty-six miles until the fuel tank would be empty.

      “Perfect, I need to get some gas,” he said as he made the right-hand turn into the parking lot and pulled up to a vacant pump. After coming to a stop, he reached over to her side and pulled her over to him, and gently kissed her. “Let’s make this quick,” he said as he hopped out of the car abruptly.

      Abigail opened her eyes slowly, savoring the wetness of his lips. She watched as he pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his tight jeans, and then satisfied she exited the car. She let the soft, warm breeze sweep past her face, and then she bent down and looked at herself in the car’s side mirror. Pulling her sunglasses over her eyes, she puckered her lips and blew herself a kiss in the reflection like Marilyn Monroe. 

      Standing up, she straightened out her sundress. It was the yellow and white one that she had been saving for this trip, because it made her feel sexy.  She eyed the area, noting that there were not many cars, certainly none that were worth a second glance.  It wasn’t the kind of stop that they were used to, the modern Quick Trip fuel stations that were found around the city of Charlotte. This relic was straight country, and barely still functioning. 

      Abigail entertained the idea of snapping a quick selfie with the station in the background, but she decided it wouldn’t suit her and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself from the locals. Abigail tugged at the hem of her skirt, her eyes darting nervously to the truckers who seemed to linger too long in her direction. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the weight of their gazes.

      She saw a couple of truckers talking to each other near their rigs on the side of the lot, and a girl smoking a cigarette while she pumped gas into her older model Mazda. Jesus, have you never heard of gas exploding? 

      There was also a teenager pressure washing some grime off a section of the concrete near the front doors to the mart section of the Handy Mart. He appeared, based on his haphazardly worn uniform, to be a begrudging employee of the place. His pants were too far down, fully advertising his underwear while he bent down to adjust the pressure of the machine. He had to hold his dreads with one hand so he could see what he was trying to do with the other. It made for a noisy, chaotic environment, especially when a tractor-trailer turned in or out of the lot.

      Abigail still standing by the passenger side of the car, turned and half-yelled across the roof of the Audi, “I’m going to use the bathroom and grab a water and maybe some chocolate, do you want anything Jackson?” He smiled as he looked up at her.

      “Can you grab me a low-carb Monster, babe?” Jackson half-asked, half-stated as he returned to looking at the pump and the ever-increasing indicators of gallons versus cost. He had left the Audi’s stereo on, and a remix version of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song was playing, reverberating with bass that wasn’t present in the original but made it much more modern. Jackson tapped his hand on the roof of the car along with the beat. It was one of the songs he had placed into a vast Spotify playlist for this trip to the beach.

      Abigail didn’t bother to respond, she just ducked her head into the car through the window and snatched up her purse from the floor. She had to get up on the tiptoe of one foot to make it happen. Satisfied her wallet was inside of it, she headed toward the store.

      The sun was shining bright, and her bare legs carried her across the lot and to the door quickly.  Once inside, she looked for a restroom sign. The lady at the counter, understanding this immediately, just pointed to the back corner of the store and said, “It’s back there, honey.” Her fingers were yellowed by the tar and nicotine from the cigarettes she quite obviously consumed heavily.

      “Thanks.”

      Abigail navigated the aisles swiftly and then turned the corner running into a young man. They collided softly.

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stated feeling embarrassed having caused a minor collision between the two. He was taller than her but not by much, but a decade older, possibly more. The man was wearing a battered camouflaged shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a stained trucker-style baseball hat that had some sort of fish logo in the middle of a Confederate flag. Abigail's breath caught as she instinctively stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest. The man smirked and stepped forward, his fingers brushing the air where her arm had been.

      “Oh, I’m not. Where have you been all my life pretty girl?” He asked and reached out to touch her arm. Abigail quickly evaded it and moved around him toward the restroom. 

      “Sorry again, have a good day,” she stated as she hurriedly swept by.

      She heard him say “Oh, I will,” but she was already past him and over it. She pushed the door to the restroom open a crack, and after a momentary glimpse changed her mind. No way I’m using that filthy bathroom, I’ll hold out.

      Her heart pounded as she navigated the narrow aisles, glancing over her shoulder every few steps to ensure the man wasn't following her. She practically darted to the beverage coolers, her hands trembling as she reached for a drink. Finding Jackson’s caffeine-enhanced energy drink and water for her, Abigail brought her items to the checkout lady.

      “Everything ok, miss?” she asked with a semi-toothless smile.

      “Yes, thank you.”

      “Not from around here, are you?” she asked, looking Abigail up and down, hovering a little too long at the top of her sundress where her cleavage was tastefully displayed. The woman carried a slight smirk on her face, like a vulture eying a piece of roadkill from its perch. 

      Abigail did not respond, she simply grabbed up the items after paying with her debit card and clutched them against her chest in a defensive way, shielding herself from view. Her pulse quickened, and she tightened her grip on her purse, forcing a smile as she nodded politely to the cashier. She squared her shoulders, recalling her grandmother's lessons on grace under pressure, and walked briskly toward the exit.

      A large fuel truck was passing by the front of the store, obscuring her view of Jackson. She wondered if he was done fueling up the Audi, so that they could leave this awful place and get back on their way. The truck revved through its low gears loudly, its airbrakes puffing out the overpressure.

      “There you are,” he said as he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her toward him. He smelled of stale beer and soiled clothes, with a heavy coat of body odor. His breath reeked of cigarette smoke or worse. “I told you she was pretty,” he said to his friend who only laughed and clapped his hands together like a fat man at a steak dinner. His clothes equally filthy, with stains on the front of his white “wife beater” tank top.

      “Leave me alone,” she tried to yell but he was squeezing her tightly against his torso and was pulling her quickly along the curb. She hardly could breathe, he was holding her so tightly. She looked in horror at the beat-up old white utility van with the sliding door. It was already opened, the darkness of the cabin within made her insides wash over with cold and despair.

      He whispered, “Don’t be scared, Abigail,” into her ear with his warm, sick breath. He started to laugh just as he was hit on the side of the head. The blow knocked the wind out of his lungs and across her face. He released his grip to try and break his fall just as he was hit again, this time his eyes rolling back into his head. When he hit the ground, he was unconscious, but that didn’t prevent Jackson from kicking him fully in the stomach. 

      How did he know my name? She thought standing there frozen.

      “Get in the car,” he yelled at Abigail breaking her from her confusion. Jackson pushed her behind him with a free hand as he advanced on the other man. She heard the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, but no words.

      Abigail ran for the car and nearly decided to jump through the window in a panic but opened the door instead, and then locked herself inside. The music was still playing, which meant the Audi keys were still inside although the engine was not running.  She leaned over to the driver’s side and rolled up all the windows.

      She could no longer see Jackson, as the van was blocking her view but there were shadows dancing back and forth underneath it. She found herself holding her breath as she stared at them, envisioning Jackson on the ground fighting for his life against those beasts.

      A moment later, he materialized at the driver’s side of the Audi and banged on the window. “Open up,” he yelled.  After several failed attempts at remembering how to function the locks, she finally unlocked the doors from the armrest on her side.

      Jackson opened the driver’s side door and fell into the seat. Jackson's chest heaved with each breath, and beads of sweat trickled down his temples. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, trembling with adrenaline. The Audi came to life, and Jackson piloted them quickly from the parking lot.

      He stopped at the intersection at the red light and turned to her. “Are you ok Abigail? Did they hurt you?” he asked while looking at her and placing his hand on her face. 

      His knuckles were scraped, bloodied and already swollen from the bruising. The sight of his hands made her feel sick and she began to cry. The adrenaline that had been pulsing through her veins was giving way to shock, and she was trembling. She began touching Jackson, searching his torso and arms to make sure he wasn’t injured, hadn’t been harmed by them, that blood wasn’t gushing out of him somewhere unknowingly. She noticed that he had lost both of his flip flops and was now barefoot.

      Jackson’s eyes were wild and bright, and alive. He smiled at her warmly, “I’m fine Abigail, I’m not hurt.”

      “Are you sure?” she asked, whispered out the words as she continued to check him. She was shaking slightly, like a cold shiver.

      He reached down with one hand and took her hands off him, gently stopping her frantic physical search. “It’s ok, I won’t let anyone ever hurt you, babe.” Then the smile faded as something caught his attention in the rearview mirror. Abigail turned around to see the white van speeding through the parking lot and turning onto the road, following them.

      “He knew my name,” she said staring at the white van.

      “What?”

      “He knew my name, Jay,” she said to him again, it was both a question and an accusation.

      “Hold on,” Jackson said as he watched the van in the rearview mirror and then mashed the accelerator of the Audi A6 launching the three-liter six-cylinder motor into action. His attention remained on the white van that was quickly approaching them.

      The tractor-trailer hit them broadside at nearly sixty miles per hour. The driver had powered it through the green light without having to brake, and he was hauling a heavy load of metal products. The driver had no time to react, as the Audi had driven through a red light at the intersection, directly into his path. The front of the rig had a push-bar bumper that slammed into the driver’s side of the black Audi, exploding all the windows on that side of the car. The momentum carried the truck continuously along its path, but instead of sliding along with it the tires of the Audi bit into the imperfections in the asphalt roadway causing the vehicle to flip.

      Abigail had been looking at Jackson when the accident occurred. Her brain registered the incoming tractor-trailer at the last moment, but the speed caused time to slow and warp. She watched as it approached. Like a highspeed train, it came at them with incomprehensible speed. The front of the truck was menacing, the grill even adorned decorative teeth.

      She was aware when they began tumbling and as all the car’s airbags burst. Glass fragments and other debris hung in the air, like droplets of water. Her hearing registered concussive sounds and the metallic scraping which was in unison with screeching tires and her screaming. Like a chorus tune of destruction. Then time sped up to an unimaginable pace, flipping her and Jackson over and over again.

      She went dark for a brief moment but was able to gain consciousness long enough to watch time slow again. They had come to a stop, upside down. All was silent, or at least her perception of the world had finally excluded all audio sound. She saw Jackson unmoving, his eyes closed. Blood was streaming down his face from somewhere, dripping down the tendrils of his beautiful hair and falling down onto the roof of the car. She tried to reach out for him, but simply couldn’t in time.

      Through the somehow undamaged windshield, she watched as the trailer from the truck that had smashed into them passed by, moving sidelong out of control. Their initial collision and the sudden braking of the truck driver forced the truck and its trailer into a jack-knife. The load had been too heavy for that type of hard stopping. It slammed into an oncoming truck traveling in the opposite direction at the other side of the intersection, it was hauling a massive fuel tank. The fuel truck had tried to dodge the impending collision but was only able to avoid a frontal hit, the tank was not spared the crash.

      The fuel container burst upon impact with the load of metal. The liquid spilled out in a torrent. A wave of it moved like a tidal wave and engulfed the front of the Audi as it washed past. Abigail was frozen with shock. The fumes invaded her lungs and caused her to wretch. Streams of tears rolled off her face and fell to the ground below her head, mixing with the pool of noxious liquid.

      The sudden explosion hit her like a sledgehammer. She felt in that millisecond that they were weightless and airborne once again. She saw the fireball as it reached out for her, she could see the brilliance of its features. Crimson on blue, orange streaked with black. The fire moved at her like a beast, unleashed on them from some sinister place. It sucked the oxygen from the cab of the car, from her lungs, with such force and determination that she could no longer fight to remain conscious. She only had but a moment before the beast devoured her, only one moment for her thoughts. Please God, let me live.

***