tailgaters

Jun 19

The Witness

Detective Campbell and Detective Osaka walked into the room and sat across from me. Detective Campbell, the taller of the two with a neatly trimmed graying mustache, placed a notepad on the table in front of him. His partner, Detective Osaka, a woman with short-cropped hair and a no-nonsense expression, folded her hands on the table and looked at me expectantly.

"Naomi, we brought you in today because your account of what happened the night of the accident is crucial to our investigation," Detective Osaka began her voice steady but with an undercurrent of urgency. "Detective Campbell and I have been reviewing the evidence, and there are some... inconsistencies that we need your help to clear up."

She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "I know it might be difficult to revisit that night, but we need you to walk us through it step by step, in as much detail as you can remember. Even things that might seem insignificant or strange could be important."

Detective Campbell chimed in, his tone gentle but firm. "We understand that this case has been attracting a lot of attention, Naomi, and there are some... unusual aspects to it that we're trying to make sense of. Your perspective is key to helping us put the pieces together."

He paused, studying me carefully. His eyes softened just a touch. "So, whenever you're ready, please start from the beginning of that evening?"

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their expectations pressing down on me like a heavy, suffocating blanket. The room suddenly felt too small, the air stale and oppressive. I swallowed hard, feeling the knot in my throat tighten. "That night..." I began, my voice sounding distant as if it belonged to someone else. I caught Detective Osaka's gaze, her eyes intense and unwavering. I paused—then I started over.

The first few weeks of my junior year marked the beginning of it all. The school hallways buzzed with renewed energy, the excited chatter of students filling the air as they caught up after the long summer break. As I put away my books at my locker, I noticed something taped to the inside of the metal door. It was a small, rectangular object. Curious, I peeled it off and held it in my hands, feeling its worn and weathered surface. It was an old movie ticket, its edges slightly frayed and colors faded. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was for "The Outsiders," a film I had always loved.

Finding this ticket meant I now had access to Blue Horizon Beach, a secret place we locals affectionately called the Cinema. It had been a hidden paradise that only lived in whispers. It was one of those deals, if you know, you know. I would later find out that Ben, my neighbor, had vouched for me. He became a big brother to me after my mama passed. He cooked me dinner for months while I recovered from that heartbreak. He even read to me some nights. His soothing voice carried me off to dreamland like a lullaby. That tells you just about everything you need to know about Benjamin Allman.

I laugh because the air was electric the first night we drove to the beach; I remember it like yesterday. The whole way there felt different, the anticipation building in my chest like a gathering storm. The wind whipped through my hair as we sped down the highway. It carried with it the promise of something new and exciting. Ben confirmed it when he looked at me, serious as can be, while we were stopped at a red light. The neon glow of the traffic signal cast an eerie light across his face, making his words seem all the more meaningful.

"Listen here, darlin'," he said, his voice low and earnest, "whatever happens from here on out, it all stays between those of us on this beach tonight." I nodded a silent promise to keep our shared secret. After a dramatic pause, he softly said, "Victory of the Void." He winked at me, a playful glint in his eye that made my pulse quicken. Of course, I didn't understand the phrase at the time, but let me tell you, we Southern belles know how to chase a high just as much as we know how to keep a secret. It's part of our charm. A touch of grace mixed with a dash of rebellion is just how we like it.

Raised by my eccentric aunt, I grew up immersed in a world of fantasy novels and a touch of mysticism. While I was an ordinary child in many ways, my aunt's influence fostered a deep fascination with the extraordinary, weaving magic and wonder into the fabric of my everyday life. Her house was a refuge for misfits and had quite a collection of them. Runaways, dropouts, those in between stages of their lives—if you needed a place to meditate and collect yourself, my auntie’s house was open, especially on the first and third for seances.

Gettin’ back to it, if I may, I think it’s important you understand Blue Horizon Beach was our sanctuary, our altar where we'd gather to bask in the glow of the setting sun. We'd lounge on weathered sofas, sinking into the warm, welcoming sand as if it were an old friend. Under the open sky, we'd court and dance, lost in our own world, far removed from the wild tales that filled the headlines everywhere else. Most times, it felt like we existed in a bubble, a place where the rules of the outside world didn't apply. We had our own unspoken code, a set of guidelines that governed our little slice of paradise. And as long as you followed those rules, well, darlin', you were part of something special that couldn't be found anywhere else.

Detective Campbell cleared his throat, his tone all business. "Would you mind taking us through that night in particular?"

That Night

Halloween is one of those holidays that stirs excitement in both parents and kids alike. The entire town gets swept up in the spirit, transforming itself for the occasion. Street lamps glow an eerie orange for the whole week, casting a spooky charm over Main Street. Cobwebs, pumpkins, and haunting silhouettes drape the storefronts, setting the stage for the festivities. Not to be outdone, each house participates in this yearly Halloween transformation, turning the once-familiar neighborhood into a haunted wonderland.

On that particular day, Ben was deep in one of his episodes. Considering his cousin Franky had vanished last Halloween, it was expected. Franky, just a few years older than Ben, had been more of a mentor than a cousin. Like many of us in this town, they were misfit kids who felt abandoned by God—yours and mine. As Mrs. Strum, the town librarian, always said, that void in our hearts drove us to take such risks.

I had laid low for most of the day. After lunch, I cut out to smoke with Marques, my Ducky, like in the movie Pretty in Pink. It seemed like just about everyone in my circle was having themselves a day. Marques always felt destined for more, constantly discussing his plans to take off to the big city after graduation. I did what I do best: I listened. People often just want to be heard, and I find peace in providing that silent understanding. I learned that from you, Mama.

That year, Halloween fell on a Friday, which meant a longer, more perilous night lay ahead, as the extended weekend provided ample opportunity for mischief and recklessness to run unchecked.

Marques and I were heading to my aunt's place on Maple St. to prepare for the bonfires. In Marques's mind, we were roommates in all his scenarios, as he never liked the thought of being alone. He often slept at my place, and my aunt gave us the freedom to come and go as we pleased. To get to my aunt's house quickly, we decided to cut through the back of the school. It was always riskier when you cut out, but I figured I could always use a detention day to catch up on some homework if we got caught.

That night at the cinema was the night I was introduced to Ryder Cole. Just speaking his name now sends chills up and down my spine. He was an enigma. Homeschooled, he was like a cartoon, designed perfectly in every way. He wore his hair long but not obnoxiously so. His clothes clung to him like ivy on an old oak tree. His smooth olive skin and eyes—oh, his eyes—were truly indescribable. You would rarely see them during the day, as Ryder always wore shades due to his light sensitivity caused by his extremely light eyes. Walking over the mound towards the bonfires that night, his eyes glow in the distance like bioluminescence in the water. It was the only time he didn’t wear shades. According to Dotty, he had something called ocular albinism. Whatever it was, it made him most desirable.

That Halloween night, the plan was simple: kick things off at the cinema before diving into the annual bash at Trent's. Known far and wide, Trent's parties were legendary. Nestled by a serene lake, his home radiated an inviting energy that almost guaranteed good behavior. After all, with Trent's father being the town's chief of police, anyone thinking about stirring trouble knew better than to do it there. If tempers flared, the culprits smartly relocated their disputes elsewhere.

I was late to arrive that evening. One of my girlfriends, Dorene, had just endured a messy breakup, and it fell upon me to coax her back from the brink—with promises of liquor and flirtations as temporary balms for her wounds. We got ready at her place; Dorene dressed up as Bob Ross and me as one of his paintings, a sexy piece of landscape.

Perhaps it's because I sometimes believe I'm the lead in my own feature film, but as I stepped into the party, the music encircling the room slowed my movements to a cinematic crawl. The joint we shared en route likely played its part, sharpening this surreal sense of drama.

The night unfolded in a whirl of dance and laughter, my friends and I forming a tight circle on the dance floor. Each beat of the music and each shared glance reminded us of the fleeting perfection of these moments. In that instant, surrounded by the euphoria and the lights and laughter, it felt like it couldn't get any better than this. Then the fireworks started.

My aunt always said nothing good ever happens on these streets after midnight. She also believed people were reflections of her consciousness and that most of the world was made up of non-playable characters. I spent many nights scratching my head over that one, but I loved how she thought. Well, it turns out she was right. About half an hour later, the universe gently nudged us into a new chapter.

The Meeting Point

As the night went on, the wild energy of the party started to fade away. The night's excesses had taken their toll, leaving us with gnawing hunger in our bellies. Nine of us piled into cars, the engines roaring to life as we headed for Rory's Diner. The plan was clear: devour greasy burgers and crisp fries, satisfying our cravings before returning to the lake, ready to plunge back into the electrifying embrace of the night's euphoria.

Rory's was a time capsule; its vintage charm and classic comfort food were precisely what our ravenous appetites craved. We filled the booth seats in the back, our laughter and shouts echoing off the walls like a boisterous chorus. At that moment, we were untouchable, our youthful innocence a shield against the world's harsh realities.

I excused myself to the ladies' room, the siren song of a shared cigarette with Jenna and Monica too tempting to resist. Those two were like serpents in the garden, always luring me into bad habits with their forked tongues. Anyway, the restroom became our refuge, where smoke curled around our secrets and laughter echoed off the tiled walls.

When we emerged, the atmosphere had changed. The carefree energy from earlier had faded, replaced by a palpable tension that hung heavy in the air. It was as if the diner was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The boys were gathered together, their expressions somber and intense. Following Ben's stare across the room, my gaze landed on the Murphy Twins, surrounded by their giggling groupies. Their presence was a violation, an unwelcome intrusion from the other side of the tracks. Little did I know, this was the meeting point where everything would change.

As we returned to the tables, a shiver ran through me. Ben's wink and smirk were a silent assurance, but they did little to quell the unease that coiled in my gut. Ryder, who had been quiet most of the night, leaned forward. His eyes flickered around the table, ensuring he had our attention. His voice resonated with a hidden truth when he spoke as if he were privy to some cosmic secret.

"Embrace the present. This is the only reality we can touch." A low hum began to grow, a barely audible vibration that seemed to emanate from everyone at the table. It was a sound that belonged to the earth itself, ancient and primal. Suddenly, a loud bang shattered the moment, and we turned to see the Murphy Twins and their entourage—a dozen strong—bolt outside, their laughter and pointed fingers aimed at Ryder like weapons. He watched them go, his face a stoic mask, unmoved by their taunts.

We followed them, propelled by a force that seemed to push us forward. Ben directed me to his car, where Jenna, Marques, and Dorene were already waiting. As I strapped on my seatbelt, I noticed Ryder in his car beside me, his gaze meeting mine with an undeniable spark of curiosity. He revved the engine, its throaty roar sending a surge of adrenaline through my body.

We took off, Ben's car a bullet tearing down the main street. The uneasiness gnawed at me, a nagging certainty that we'd face the consequences come morning. Yet, I couldn't help but watch the Murphys weaving through traffic ahead, their taillights streaking like comets in the night sky. When we finally turned off, I let out a sigh of relief as they headed in the opposite direction.

Ben pulled into the corner gas station, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. While some of us stretched our legs and stocked up on junk food and energy drinks, others stayed back to gossip and listen to music, the pit stop becoming an impromptu break from the journey. Marques passed around a joint, and I lay my head back, watching the sky. Have you ever seen an octopus change color while it's dreaming? That's what the sky looked like. There aren't many high-frequency words to describe that sight, so I'll leave it at that.

We ventured into parts unknown, Ryder driving wildly around us, his skill evident in every deft maneuver. As we crested the hill, two cars blocked the road ahead, and other vehicles parked on the grass like spectators at a gladiatorial match. Red smoke filled the air—a crimson haze from a smoke bomb one of their groupies held up. I recognized her from the diner. Ben drove into the middle and stopped, Ryder pulling up beside us. "Let the games begin," Ben said as he got out, his words carrying the weight of a prophecy. As the two met the Murphy Twins in the middle, someone drew a chalk line separating the sides—a symbolic boundary that promised violence if crossed.

Still wearing her Bob Ross afro, Dorene asked the question on all our minds. "Can someone please explain what's happening here?" Jenna, already a member of their inner circle, spoke up. "They're setting up a race between Ryder and Tory Murphy."

"A foot race?" Dorene asked, surprise coloring her voice. Jenna chuckled, "No, silly—we're in tailgating country. Tory did the impossible and beat Ryder last week. No one ever beats Ryder, so the talk on the streets has been about this night. The rematch."

Marques shook his head. "Of course, these fools are into some crazy shit like tailgate racing." I was speechless, my eyes glued to Ryder and Ben as they negotiated terms, silently hoping that the chalk line was electrified, a deterrent against any trickery from Matt or Tory.

Jenna's voice held a note of dark promise. "Oh, y'all ain't seen nothing yet."

The Passenger

The tension hung heavy in the air, so thick you could almost taste it, like the metallic tang of electricity before a thunderstorm. Tory Murphy's hand extended, and as he and Ryder clasped palms, the crowd reacted in anticipation of the impending race.

Jenna's eyes gleamed with a fervor that bordered on obsession as she explained the intricacies of tailgating races. "It's a dance on the razor's edge," she said, her voice low and intense. "A single-file line of cars, each one kissing the bumper of the one in front, pushing the limits. Passing is a fleeting opportunity, a brief window at each quarter-mile checkpoint. Miss your chance, and you're trapped, forced to match the leader's pace until the next checkpoint."

Her grin was a slash of white in the dimness, a Cheshire cat smile that promised danger and delight in equal measure. "But oh, that final quarter-mile... that's where the real magic happens. All bets are off, and it's a no-holds-barred sprint to the finish line. Spotters or passengers become navigators, guiding their drivers through the chaos. It's a moment where everything hangs in the balance. The ultimate rush."

Ben's smile was a slow curl of his lips as he settled into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life beneath him. Ryder appeared at my window, and I rolled it down, feeling the cool night air on my skin.

"Spot for me?" Those eerie vampire eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. I looked at Ben, seeking his guidance. The world seemed to pause, awaiting his decision. A beat passed, then two, an eternity compressed into a handful of seconds. Then Ben smiled, slow and easy, and nodded. Permission granted. I had always trusted Ben's judgment, and this time was no different. I still wonder what possessed Ryder to choose me. But at that moment, emboldened by a courage I didn't know I possessed, I exited Ben's car, disregarding Marques' objections and taking my place in the passenger seat beside Ryder.

"What kind of cars were these?" asked Detective Campbell, his arms folded as he studied my story.

“Tory had a Miata, and I'm not sure what Ryder was driving—a Toyota two-seater, I don’t know. Cars were never my thing.”

"My apologies for interrupting," Detective Campbell said, his tone softening. "Please, continue."

Ryder's hand was steady on the gearshift, his gaze unwavering. "At this moment," he said, his voice a low rumble, "we're everything." But I couldn't let that stand or let him have the last word. "Not good enough," I shot back, my voice ringing with bravado. "You gotta promise me you won't get us killed. I've got plans for my future, and they don't include dying young in a blaze of glory."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled, his accent a slow, sweet slide of honey. His eyes met mine for a brief, charged moment. Then, with a quick thumb on his phone and a shift into gear, we rolled out. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared witless. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free, and my palms were slick with sweat. I wiped them on my jeans, trying to steady myself. But I'll be damned if I let it show.

Ryder's music filled the car, a haunting melody of strings and horns, the lyrics a whispered refrain: "When you come around, I won't be around." The words echoed my own fears and doubts, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. It was like floating through a fever dream, reality blurring at the edges. He turned the music down as my phone buzzed, Marques' name lighting up the screen. He was such a worrywart, always trying to keep me safe. But this was my moment, my chance to break free from the ordinary. I brushed it aside, caught up in the moment.

"The Ship of Theseus Paradox," Ryder said, his voice cutting through the brief silence. "You familiar with it?"

"The what now?" Detective Campbell asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

I explained, "If a ship has all of its components gradually replaced over time, at what point does it cease to be the same ship?"

Detective Campbell leaned back in his chair, considering the concept. "So, you're saying that even if something looks the same on the surface, it might have fundamentally changed beneath?"

I nodded, seizing the opportunity to delve deeper. "Exactly. And that got me thinking... Have you ever thought about what a soul really means to you? What does transformation mean to you?"

Detective Campbell shook his head, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Detective Osaka's pen hovered over her notebook, her eyes wide with a mix of fascination and disbelief.

Time seemed to stretch and warp as we delved deeper into the conversation. I lost all sense of how long we'd been driving. Then, abruptly, Ryder pulled over, the jolt of the brakes snapping me back to the present. A heartbeat later, a procession of cars streamed past us, a riot of honking horns and revving engines, the air crackling with anticipation.

Fear crashed over me like a tidal wave. Ryder must have sensed it because he turned to me, his gaze locking onto mine like a tether.

"Breathe," he said, his voice low and steady. "This was already written."

Eccentric didn't even begin to cover it, but somehow, impossibly, it worked. A sense of calm settled over me, a tranquility that seemed utterly at odds with the chaos around us. And in that moment, suspended between heartbeats, I felt more alive than ever.

The Race

Ryder crept the car up to the line, freshly spray-painted on the asphalt. The sharp, chemical scent of the paint mingled with the unexpected aroma of buttery popcorn wafting from somewhere in the throng of spectators. The overhead streetlights cast a stark, artificial glow on the scene, heightening the barely contained excitement that seemed to crackle through the air.

"Do you mind if I see your phone?" Ryder asked.

I handed it over, my fingers trembling. "Ryder, I don't know how I'm going to help you," I confessed, my words tumbling out in a breathless rush. He flashed me his confident grin and typed in a location on my phone's GPS.

"I'm going to talk you through everything. You'll do just fine," he assured me. "This is the course that we have to follow. Just signal to me where we're turning. Watch my blind spots and keep an eye out for pedestrians."

"Ready?" Ryder asked.

I looked at Ben and the gang. Their faces lit up with excitement. Marques waved, his smile tight like he was trying to hide his nervousness. I blew them a kiss, something I don't think I ever did before, and it felt like I was saying goodbye to the girl I used to be. And then, faster than a bolt of lightning, the world fell away, and there was nothing but the engine roar, the rush of the wind, and the thrumming of the car's vibrations through my body. Ryder asked me calmly, "Remind me what my first turn is," like we were just out for a Sunday drive.

I zoomed into the course map on my phone, my eyes straining to make sense of the jumble of lines and colors. "You're straight for quite a stretch, probably the first quarter mile. Then it seems like you'll turn right on Morrison," I said, my voice barely audible over the growl of the engine.

At first, the world was nothing but a blur of speed and chaos. It took me a minute to get my bearings, to realize that this was real, that the consequences were serious. But Ryder drove with incredible skill and focus, navigating the streets like he'd done it a thousand times before.

He cut in front of cars with precision, barely leaving any space between them and us. Tory matched his skill, sticking close behind us, refusing to let go.

"Morrison is the next right," I shouted, remembering the route. We barely made the turn, Ryder swerving around a parked car and nearly hitting a jogger who jumped out of the way at the last second. The lights ahead were green, but I knew our luck was bound to run out.

"Let's hope they stay green," Ryder said, his voice calm and focused, even as he shifted gears and sped up. We flew through the intersection, the honks of angry drivers fading behind us. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of flashing red and blue lights—a police car was joining the pursuit.

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. We were breaking the law, and there was no going back now.

The traffic lights ahead turned yellow, all four at once, and I closed my eyes, praying to a God I wasn't sure was listening. But Ryder just let out a whoop of pure joy and gunned it, the car leaping forward like a wild thing unchained. We blew through the first red light, the screech of rubber on asphalt, and the angry wail of car horns echoing in our wake. Tory swerved and spun out, narrowly missing a dog walker on the sidewalk, falling behind as Ryder shot ahead.

The road twisted and turned, leading us towards a small bridge. The historic stone structure, built in the early 1900s, was barely wide enough for one car to pass through at a time. Ryder didn't even tap the brakes, his foot heavy on the accelerator.

Detective Campbell leaned forward, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to see straight into my soul. "In your report at the time, you mentioned seeing something out of the ordinary. Can you recall what that was, exactly?"

I hesitated, my mind reverting to that strange moment during the race. It was like a fragment of a dream, hazy and surreal but still vivid in my memory. I looked out the window, and that's when I saw it. A car, moving backward. People walking in reverse. Like some glitch in the fabric of reality, the world had stuttered and skipped like a scratch on a record. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, but the strangeness of it all wouldn't shake loose.

The last thing I remember was Ryder's scream, my name torn from his lips as the car barreled towards us. The impact was a deafening symphony of shattering glass and twisting metal, the force of it slamming me against the door.

Pain exploded through my body, a searing agony that consumed every thought and sensation. Ryder's face swam in my vision, his features contorted. I tried to reach for him, but my limbs wouldn't obey. The world tilted and spun, the edges of my sight darkening like a closing curtain. And then, as suddenly as it began, everything fell silent and still, and I slipped into the waiting embrace of unconsciousness.

I woke up in the hospital a day later, my body feeling like it'd been through a meat grinder.

The Coma

Detective Campbell slid a photograph across the table, his face unreadable. I glanced down at it and felt my heart skip a beat.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I asked, my voice trembling. "That can't be real. It's impossible. I wasn't driving that car, I swear, on my mama's grave."

But the evidence was right there in front of me: a photograph of me sitting behind the wheel of Ryder's car, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. I stared at the photograph, trying to understand what I saw. It defied everything I knew to be true. I shook my head, but the image remained unchanged. I fought…

I fought.

I fou—

Their presence seeped into my consciousness, a whisper of awareness in the haze of my mind. As I lay there in a coma, the truth seemed to dance just beyond my grasp. Were the race, the crash, the photograph real, or just a dream? But even in that hazy, uncertain place, I could feel the love of my family and friends, a constant presence that kept me tethered to something greater than myself. And as I slipped back into the depths of my consciousness, I knew I wasn't alone. They were there by my hospital bed, waiting for me to find my way back. And that knowledge, that glimmer of hope, was enough to sustain me as I ventured deeper into the labyrinth of my mind, chasing the elusive truth that seemed to lie just out of reach.

Dade Fairchild