The Junk Drawer

04. Destination: Covina, California [74% Completion]

04. DESTINATION: COVINA, CALIFORNIA [74% COMPLETION]
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
2300 HOURS
ROUTE 370

➳

Over the gentle humming of the engine, music streamed through the speakers in low volumes, the very same music that had played hours earlier when I considered life to be as normal as it could get. Scenery flashed on either side of the windows, trees momentarily appearing against the white-wash hues of the headlights before disappearing back into the shadows of the night.

The sun had long set below the horizon more than a few hours ago; the drive to California was taking longer than expected. Carlie's car didn't have a GPS system installed, meaning I had to rely on signs and instinct to successfully make it to my destination. The roads were dark and solitary; no other cars seemed to be in sight.

I let out a shaky sigh and tried to focus on the quiet music but it only brought back flashbacks of the Ford behind the car, stalking silently in the shadows, signaling more to come than what was expected. My hand flew to the CD player and shut it off. I was immediately flooded with silence.

It was past one in the morning, the weather read fifty-three degrees, and I was running out of gas. Not to mention, my hands hadn't stopped shaking since I ran off with my friend's stolen car, my mother died, and I felt the need to run over my father and his air of mystery with this Mazda. Life was just great.

Angrily, I accelerated on the gas, gritting my teeth. The speedometer teetered just past eighty, and slowly rose higher and higher. This day couldn't get any worse, could it?

A loud bang shot through the night, making me jump. Quick as a flash, a rod of lightning colored the sky, disappearing as quickly as it went.

And then the rain started pouring down in torrents.

My feet flew to the brakes, skidding and enveloping the car with grey smoke as the speed dropped back to forty.

"Fuck you!" I screamed at the grey clouds overhead, as the rain pattered down. The sound of rain against the windshield was like a thousand bullets, yet again bringing memories back into my head. Hitting my steering wheel, I accidentally slammed on the horn and nearly swerved off the road in surprise. Before I knew it, I was choking back a sob and veering off to the side of the road. I put my hazard signal on and curled into a fetal position in my seat, letting the frustration seep through my body.

Surprisingly I found that no tears came although my clenched fists were still shaking. I sat like that for a while; eyes squeezed tight, heart rate shooting faster than a bullet, and the need to cry as an overwhelming sensation.

Cliché. That was all I could think. It was like in every cliché moment, whether in a book or a movie, comic or manga, show or article. "Life is unexpected." "You'll never know what you have until it's gone." That bullshit was true?

I had always laughed, but karma really knows how to strike back. But the thought that scared me the most was that now I was truly and utterly alone.

And I didn't know what to make of it.

The sound of sirens in the distance made me gasp, clumsily sitting up straight in my seat and hitting the horn accidentally again. They couldn't have caught on to me that quickly, could they have? Did Carlie rat me out? Did they find my mother? The dead men on our lawn?

"Oh, shit." I muttered various curses under my breath as I pulled the stick back into drive. My eyes skimmed the rearview mirror, noticing the faint blue and red lights approaching over the hill.

With a loud rev, the car instantly shot forward, veering onto the desolate street and straight down the path. All the while I kept glancing back to see how quickly they were approaching. The panic started to seep in when I realized that the police unit was drawing closer, speeding up even.

I considered making a break for it and accelerating even more, but the logical side of my brain told me to get my shit together and act like nothing was wrong. If you look guilty, there's a high chance you are. So that's how I ended up putting on a really bad poker face and slowing down the speed to thirty.

Only one car, Gwen. You can handle this.

As the police car approached, I realized that its sirens seemed louder than a usual cop's, and I furrowed my brows in confusion. Hesitantly, I peered behind me, only to find about five more police cars zooming down the road just behind the first one.

The blood drained from my face. Taking a deep breath, I kept at my slow snail pace, waiting for the police cars to pull me over and arrest me for life—

The cars each drove right past, still at top speed towards a destination that wasn't me. Their sirens faded into the night, enveloping myself back in the music of the storm.

I slowed the car to a stop once all police were out of sight. The engine was still running as I parked in the middle of the empty road. With a groan, I slammed my head onto the horn, letting its shrill cries echo into the night as the windshield wipers drove the rain and panic away.

➳➳➳

"The only way to get Cali is if you keep driving." I muttered to myself, realizing I was a) still parked in the middle of a road, and b) this was the second time in less than twenty minutes that I stopped my car to have another emotional breakdown.

I guess my body was still in shock, but if I really didn't get a move on, I would never be able to meet with Albert and figure out what was in my father's vault.

Putting the Mazda back in drive, I sped over to the right lane and drove off without hesitation.

It was only until eleven miles later when I figured out why the police had zoomed right past me without a second's thought. I saw it just over the hill I was currently on; the scene was utter chaos.

Fires graced the night sky, blending its rich, navy colors into various shades of purple and red and orange. Sparks were still fanning from the blaze, which was currently being doused out by several fire trucks. Had there been a forest fire or something? It must have been recent because the rain had only recently stopped and the fires wouldn't have been so large if it were storming.

The yellow, neon outfits greeted me as I made my way slowly down the hill, still staring at the wreckage ahead. It was then that I noticed what exactly was on fire. Two vans, both painted in a sleek, coat of black were charred to pieces, the infrastructure unintelligible through the damage. One was missing a wheel and its windows were smashed entirely, while the other looked like it was crushed by a conveyor belt.

Paramedics were also on the scene, their white uniforms making them glow like angels in the dark. They were lifting the charred remains from the vehicles. I stifled a gasp when I realized that the vans were occupied when they were blown into bits. The dead bodies, features now as unintelligible as their vehicles, were being lifted into body bags and hoisted into the back of the ambulance.

As soon as my car was close enough to the crime scene, I was met with a barricade, not allowing me to move past the sight. A police officer signaled me to stop, where I held my breath and widened my eyes as he approached the car. The man was slightly pudgy, his suit hanging tight to his stomach folds as he sauntered over to me. He had a scruffy moustache and dark green eyes, looking more intimidating as he got closer. Slowly, I rolled down the windows.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but you're not allowed to cross the crime scene."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, hoping news of my dilemma hadn't reached the state below and that the officer didn't recognize my face in the dark. "I just need to get around. I'm making my way to my grandmother's house." The lie came quick and easy; another lesson learned from Mama Rogers.

The cop bit his lip, lulling over the innocent expression I wore on my face. I mixed together confusion and distress, two emotions that weren't very hard to convey at that moment.

"I suppose I can let you around, but you'd have to drive around on the grass so's not to interrupt the investigation." he finally decided. The static on his walkie-talkie buzzed, and a voice spoke through it, murmuring something that sounded like 'agency'.

"Thank you." I breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief, smiling up at the officer. He gave a small smile back, tipping his hat in my direction before glancing behind him at the other guards and gesturing to let me move on. "Oh, and Officer-?"

"Williams."

"Officer Williams, what exactly happened here?"

Williams scratched the tips of his moustache, glancing over at the fire before turning back to me. "Honestly, kid. We're not sure. Them suit and tie folks won't confide in the local militia, and it all seems very hush, hush. They're only telling us that the explosion —that's why there's so much fire— was purposeful."

I glanced over at the 'suit-and-tie' folks, inferring that he was talking about the FBI. Men in expensive looking, black suits with earphones in one ear, and wore sunglasses at night. It had to be FBI. I leaned my arm over the windowsill, gesturing to the agents. "So was it technically murder? If it was on purpose?"

"Like I said, we're not too sure yet. But from the likes of it, it probably was. Them agents said that the explosion was caused by a small-range bomb, probably dropped from a helicopter above while the cars were traveling, and the impact made the swerve into each other as they exploded."

"That's... crazy." It took a while to find the right word, and even the word insane seemed too kind.

"You wanna know the scary part though? These dead people —bless their souls— but they don't even have identities!"

"Identities?"

"As in, their names and faces don't match up with the identification cards found on their bodies. Genetics are probably doing a scan as we speak to see if they even existed socially in the world."

"Insane." I repeated, frowning at the wreckage.

"You can say that again."

"Insane." Together, we both examined the scene. The flames were slowly decreasing, but they were still high enough to put Lindsey Lohan to shame. The body bags strewn across the floor before they were planted in the ambulance were in the grass; I counted at least seven by the curb.

"Now wait," Officer Williams remarked from my side, drawing my attention back to the Southern accented cop. "I don't think I was authorized to tell you all that information, now actually." Poor Willy looked nervous, realizing his mistake of releasing private information to a civilian, let alone an eighteen year old girl, who little did he know, was a 'criminal' herself.

I winked, smirking half-heartedly. "I won't tell. Promise."

"But still—"

"Let me guess, first day on the job?"

"That obvious, huh?"

I let out a strangled laugh, feeling the heat radiating from the flames as the warmth reached the car. "Thanks again for letting me through, Officer Williams. I can't wait to see my grandfather, bye!"

"Grandfather? But didn't you say—"

Leaving him to finish his sentence in my dust, I drove onto the grass and past the barricades before ol' Willy could get the chance to be suspicious.

➳➳➳

Nearly there.

After getting gas at a rundown gas station just off the border between Washington State and California (and only an hour past that explosion site), I was finally less than two hours away from the Bank. With only six hours left to spare before the appointment time.

My fingers drummed anxiously against the steering wheel as I hummed out of tune to calm myself. I was both excited and nervous; maybe there was something useful in the vault that I could use to track down my father? Maybe, he was already in California?

I couldn't help myself; a small smile latched itself on my face, unable to leave. Maybe things were starting to get better. As I kept my eyes peeled on the road, still pretty much empty at around two in the morning, I noticed something in the distance that caught my eye.

It wasn't another crime scene, or a cop, but I was intrigued by its shape and rugged stature. As I got closer, I started to make out distinct features; the object was a human, said human was covered head to toe in dirt and mud, and said human had—a gun.

"Oh, God. You've got to be shitting me." I whispered in a frenzied objection. I couldn't catch a break, could I?

The sound of the engine didn't seem to go unnoticed by the mystery gunman because he turned around as soon as I was close enough to see him in full detail. The man actually looked around my age, with raven black hair and a bandana wrapped around his mouth, and his face scrunched into a scowl.

Just drive by, just drive by.

In a split second, he jumped in front of the Mazda —still moving forward by the way— and stood there unmoving, without the terror of realizing he could get run over at any second. I slammed on the brakes, its loud screeching deafening in my ears. Smoke rose from the skidding of my tires, and when it cleared, it revealed the boy with the gun standing inches away from the hood. He hadn't seemed to have moved at all.

Breathing heavily, I clutched at my heart and watched as he made his way to the passenger door, reaching out his free hand to latch onto the handle. Quickly, I fumbled to the controls on my side, making sure the doors were locked. When he realized this, he merely shook his head in amusement and tapped on the window with his gun.

Gun boy removed his bandana, revealing soft-looking lips graced in a straight line. "Aren't you going to let me in?" he mouthed innocently. I couldn't say a word. Instead I just meekly shook my head.

The boy shrugged and moved his body to the side. I assumed he was going to take off but instead, he brought his body right back around with enough momentum to swung his fist right through the glass of the window. Shards flew onto the passenger seat, one managing to cut my cheek before I covered my face with my arms to defend it.

Peeking through a slight crevice in my arms, I watched as his arm reached into the car and unlocked the doors, before climbing in and taking the seat opposite me in a casual manner as if we've been friends for years. As if he wasn't a stranger with a gun. Who just happened to smash a car window open with one punch of the fist.

"Hey." His voice cut through the tension between us, but I didn't bother to look up. My heart was racing with fear and if I had a say in being murdered, I'd rather not have seen my eminent death coming. Something about his voice though, made me peek through anyway. It was ragged and low, having a sort of edge to its velvetiness. "Drive."

"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously. I peeled away my arms, confused by how calm and casual he seemed to be acting.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"Listen, you bastard. You just jumped in front of my car, punched my window open, and now you're demanding me to drive you?" Instantly I began to feel more angry than frightened. The nerve of this douchebag to just order me around when obviously—

There was a sound of cocking and then I felt the cold metallic surface of the gun on my temple.

I gulped as he fixed his cold, emotionless gaze on mine. They were amber, the color of dark gold. His hair short and messy, spiked up towards the front. It was dark brown but looked golden underneath the light of the moon. "I said drive."

"Where to?" I breathed, turning to the wheel and gripping both hands onto it tightly. I was aware that he hadn't removed the gun from its position, making me squirm.

"As close to DC as you can get."

"Washington, DC?"

"Where else?"

I bit my lip. Was he insane? That was on the other coast, he didn't expect me to drive him all the way there? I had things to do, someone to find.

Closing my eyes, I imagined the karate lessons I had suffered through as a child. Mom said it was to learn self-defense, but I was adamant at the time. When would I ever need it? God, I wish I listened to her more. The various lessons swam through my mind; I was vaguely aware of the boy watching me curiously.

Then, quick as a flash, I shot my hand out and knocked his gun away from him, into my lap. My right arm twisted to the side in a fluid motion making his left arm twist entirely back in a painful manner. With my free hand, I scooped up his gun and held it up shakily to his face. Gun boy didn't even flinch, but I hissed out, "I'm not so easy to mess with."

He glanced down at his arm, which was turning an alarming shade of pale white and purple under the strain of my hold. "Well, guess what, short stuff?"

Even quicker than I assumed was possible, he used his free hand to strike at a muscle in my neck, which made me lose all feeling in my right arm. It dropped numbly from the hold on his arm, and I gasped at the fact that he had just incapacitated me with a jab I didn't even feel. He grabbed my other arm, which held the gun and slammed it against the window behind me, above my head, pressing me up against the glass.

His face inches from mine, the only thoughts running through my mind were about our close proximity. I felt his breath on my cheek, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, and the fact that his amber eyes held green towards the irises. With a flick on my wrist, he sent the gun spiraling into his other hand —the one not holding mine up— and cocked it at my face, smirking. "I'm not so easy to mess with either."

I swallowed, feeling beads of sweat on my forehead. He reached a hand towards my face, making me flinch. Instead of knocking me out like I expected, he wiped away the blood from the cut on my cheek, staining his pale fingers. Gun boy raised an eyebrow at me before settling back into the passenger seat and lifting his legs casually onto the dashboard. "Now do what I say and drive."

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