The Midnight Hour, Part 3
Death was odd, he thought. Or would have thought if he’d been able. Death had a way of taking away the ability to think, leaving only a sort of suspended time, fly trapped in the spider’s web. What he would have thought, he’d become. What he’d become was a sacrifice, but to what he’d never know. He only knew what came before.
He and Bobby had been fighting, not with fists, but with words. Sticks and stones and all that was one of the biggest lies fostered on man. Bobby knew how to hurt with words. Maybe it had something to do with the bad boy image he cultivated.
But they’d been hurting each other with letter bombs, always about the same thing. Mary.
See, the problem was, they both loved her, they both wanted her, they both claimed her. Stupid really, but what did kids know?
The dead were damn good at hindsight.
He shouldn’t have gone, should have known bad things would happen. There it was again with that hindsight. But he had and bad things had happened.
They’d been at their hang-out, down the steep hill at the end of Rugers Road, where they gone since forever, first in childhood to play Kirk and Spock. He’d always been Spock, but now wondered if he shouldn’t have been Kirk. But no, Bobby was the brave one, the smart one, the foolish one, always jumping in without bothering to look either way.
How he’d envied Bobby that.
Then to smoke and drink and dream. Make out, with girls of course. Neither of them went the other way. Then Mary was there, the third-party, the breaker of friendships, the only girl he’d ever loved.
Apparently, Bobby felt the same, but Bobby could have any girl he wanted. Girls loved the boy-gone-bad.
Voices raised. Shouts. Angry words. The next thing he knew were stars.
Did one recall the moment of death? He didn’t. Just falling, rolling, tumbling, smacking into the big rock, their Enterprise, at the bottom. Eyes wide. Stars receding, far and far away.
Far in the distance, the whine of a siren startled the night. Stars became darkness.