“How the hell do we know where he’s at?”
“It has to be a recently dug grave.”
Matt and George tried frantically to keep up with me. With each footstep, I tried desperately to fill them in on what happened. Matt hobbled behind us, flinching and moaning with each stride. Obviously Aron knew exactly what he was doing. He had left me with the fucking handicap and the one who didn’t trust me the most. There had always been a reason to everything he had done, every step and I was just now learning how far off I was on keeping up.
In the far East corner of the graveyard, under one of the trees sat a freshly dug grave. The lack of rain had made the ground harden under the LA sunlight. I started digging. But the ground proved to be a tough advisory. Matt fell to his knees at what we assumed would be the foot of the grave and started digging with his bare hands. George at his side, dirt flying everywhere. My muscles ached under the sheer force of the earth. An hour to two hours later, we started seeing the edge of the wooden box. I dropped to my knees and joined the bloody hands of my friends and started throwing dirt away. A mix of emotions clouded my vision as I hoped it was Jorel’s and not someone else’s and that he was still alive. I couldn’t imagine or even wrap my mind around how long he could have been in there. I couldn’t remember the last time I had spoken to him. We pulled the box free from Mother Nature’s death grip; lifting it to the side.
“Jorel?” George’s voice was stern. I wasn’t sure if he was asking me or hoping that Jorel would respond back. I knocked forcibly on the side of the box, hoping I’d hear something in return. After a few painful seconds, there came a weak knock from the other side of the deadly wood.
“He’s fucking ALIVE!” George stood up, reaching for the shovel.
“Wait!” Matt, the only one with a level head, yelled.
“What?! We have to get him out of there!” George raised the shovel high over the box.
“You have no idea where his head is. What happens if you bust through and fucking hit him?!”
I leaned in close to the box, “Jorel! If you can hear me knock as hard as you can!”
We watched, desperately waiting for him to respond. I knew he was running out of air and had limited amount of space to move around but he couldn’t die, not when we were so fucking close!
“We can’t fucking wait any longer!” George raised the shovel again. But I raised my hand at the sound of a faint knock.
“Come on Jorel!”
This time I know he used whatever strength he had left and punched the boards so hard that I saw one move under his fists. “His heads right here!”
George moved his attention to where we still hoped Jorel’s feet would be and slammed the tip of the shovel down as hard as he could. The boards splintered under the force. With each forceful slam the wood splintered more and more. Finally one of the planks splintered allowing a gush of air to push through. I prayed it was filling Jorel’s lungs. We all started pulling at the wood; our fingers bleeding under the splinters. George continued hacking away at the sturdy nails. Within minutes, we had him free; lying at our knees.
His tattooed face was cold to the touch. My heart sunk at the thought of being too late. Matt pushed us away, bending over our friend and blowing into his mouth. He started doing chest compressions, and with each excruciating minute, my hope started dwindling. I couldn’t lose my friend. Not here, not in a cemetery, not because some ex band member had a personal grudge against all of us.
I fell backwards, not wanting to even look at Jorel or Matt or even George any longer. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing any of them. My thoughts were racing; making my head spin. Before I could even catch my bearings I was spewing the contents of my stomach in the grass beside me.
To my surprise, Jorel started gasping for breath. He was coughing, trying desperately to fill his lungs. Matt fell away, allowing him plenty of space. I crawled over towards Jorel and wrapped him in my arms.
“You’re fucking alive…!”
He was still breathing heavy and quick, “I can’t breathe because my fucking thoughts are choking me now…”
“You son of a bitch. Glad to see you’re still alive.” Even George’s voice was small.
I pulled away, “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t remember much. I was going out the back door to my pool and then I remember waking up in the box. And all I could think about was that fucking Raven movie. How the hell did you find me?”
Just then my phone rang. Shaking I pulled it free of my pocket and knew immediately recognized the number. I held it up to my ear and waited, scared shitless of what I might hear on the other line.
“Jordon?”
“…Ronnie…?” My voice lacking every ounce of confidence I thought I had.
“I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I remember…” The phone was pulled away from her quickly.
“Now that you know she’s still alive it’s time to save your buddy Dylan. He’s been with us for the longest and I think he’s all but given up hope that he’ll ever get away.”
“You monster….”
“I told you, I’m not a monster. I just employ monsters. Now you better hurry. In the trunk of a yellow Mercedes at the North Street junk yard, you’ll find your friend. Dylan has enough air so you don’t have to worry about that. But I don’t know how long it’ll be before the junk yard decides to smash his car.” And with that he hung up.
“We need to go guys. Dylan is at a junk yard. Jorel catch a cab and go home.”
He looked up at me, determination set firmly in his face. “No. I want to destroy this son of a bitch just as bad as you do.”
