The summer breeze rushed through the red Suburban as tinted windows were rolled down, and Madeline's delicately curled hair began whipping in every direction.
"Put the damn windows up, Jim," She pushed the clinging strands from her porcelain face and glared at the monolithic figure behind the wheel. A cigarette was pinched between his fingers as he blew a cloud of smoke out the open window.
Jim cast a sideways glance at Madeline, "Chill out, babe. With all that hairspray in there, it's not going anywhere."
Her frown deepened and she reached over and plucked the cigarette from his hand, and it was sucked through the window and shot back down the dimly lit, two-lane country road, "Roll them up now, please darling?" She forced her glossy, red lips into a smile that feigned forgiveness.
"That wasn't called for." He moved a large hand down and slid the windows back until they sealed shut, "Happy?"
Madeline was looking into the small mirror attached to the visor and fixing her hair, "Yes." She flipped it up and reclined back, shivering slightly, "The turn should be coming up soon I think," She added.
"And you're sure this place is good?" Jim asked, scratching at his stubbled chin with the back of his hand, "Because I'm starving, and if I drive all the way out here and waste all this gas just to eat crap, I'm going to be more than a little peeved." He spoke gruffly, giving his wife a look that made her avert his gaze.
"Well you can blame me if it's no good." She was staring out the window at the trees passing by in a constant blur of dark green, and her hands were absently gripping at the black pants that hugged her willowy form tightly.
"You seem tense tonight." Jim freed his right hand from driving duty and rested it on her thigh, squeezing gently, "Anything wrong?"
"No," She shot back the answer too quickly and paused, cleared her throat, and mustered up the most genuine smile she could manage, "No, I'm fine. Just a little tired. Long day."
"Nothing a few glasses of wine and some Jim-Love can't fix, right?" He took his blue eyes off the road long enough to give her a big, dumb grin. She laughed nervously in response, resting her hand on top of Jim's.
Outside, darkness had completely settled in, and the road had taken on an eerie quality. Dilapidated wooden-fences ran along the outskirts of overgrown fields and little shacks were erected here and there, then that would fade into miles of tall pines that loomed on either side of the road, and then again with the gloomy pastures.
"We're going to McDonalds next time," Jim said as the headlights caught in a shaggy mutts eyes as he darted across the street, orbs catching the light and reflecting it brightly. Jim tapped on the brakes just to be sure. He didn't want to scrape dog off his grill.
"Okay well stop complaining. We're out here now." Madeline felt a sharp pain growing in her stomach and a nauseous feeling coursed through her. She almost wished the windows were down again.
"Sorry. My hunger is overcoming my ability to think." Jim had the car cruising along again fifteen above the speed limit.
"Well I forgive you-Jim, the turn!" She snapped her head backwards as the small, almost invisible road faded behind them.
"We missed it?" He asked, taking a look in the mirror.
"Yeah. Dartmouth Lane. that was it. We have to turn around." She turned back around in her seat, her body still remaining rigid.
"I'll find a driveway or something up ahead," Jim said, slowing down and squinting to try and find somewhere he could pull into, but he saw only dense forest.
Madeline was now breathing heavily and she had a death hold on the fabric of her pants.
"The hell is wrong with you? Something is up," Jim spotted a driveway with a lone streetlamp hanging above it, a foreign sight for this otherwise pitch-black rode, and he pulled quickly in.
"Mind telling me what's wrong before we get going again?" He pressed further at Madeline's mood.
She shook her head and Jim got a powerful whiff of her sweet perfume amalgamated with her shampoo and conditioner, "I'll tell you at dinner, okay? I mean it's nothing. Let's just go. Okay?"
He searched her eyes with a stern expression worn on his face, but then let it slacken and finally evolve into a gentle grin, "Okay."
He put the car in reverse and peeled back, gravel crunching beneath the wheels as they shot back onto the street. He was halfway into the turn when a blinding light streamed through Madeline's window. The jolting impact followed suit, and the sickening sound of metal scraping against metal. Jim heard the beginnings of a scream issue from his wife, but it was choked out before it ever fully formed. Jim felt the world spinning like he had been tossed into a dryer, and then consciousness fizzed out and introduced him to the longest darkness of his life.

***

Jim returned to reality to find it streaked all red and blue, and the wailing of sirens sung a sorrowful song to the night. For a few moments a feeling of delirium crippled him, but slowly he became aware of the situation, and bolted upright in the stretcher he had been lain out on.
"Madeline!" Her name rocketed from his lips, and he looked around frantically, slowly taking in the scene. Their suburban was upside down, resting battered and beaten in a pool of showered glass. The other car, a small Toyota, was bunched up like an accordion. Jim felt a wave of nausea overcome him, and just as he was about to fall backwards, a pair of hands grabbed him carefully and held him steady.
"Sir." Jim turned enough to see that it was not Madeline holding him, or even a woman, but a pimply, stick-figure cop, "Please lie down."
Jim shook free of the officer's grip and threw his legs over the side of the stretcher, but the man was on him again like a leech, pulling him back. Jim was a giant compared to the cop though and he easily yanked free again, this time wheeling around to face the young man.
"I'm fine, and I don't need to rest. I just need to know if my wife is okay-and what about the other people in the other car?" Jim stood fully erect, and a sudden dizziness took over. He steadied himself with a hand on the stretcher until the feeling passed.
"I insist you rest-" The officer persisted.
"Damnit, I told you I'm fine," He snapped back, his fear presenting itself as anger, "And you didn't answer my questions."
A large female cop with a skin tone that matched the night walked up from behind Jim and positioned herself at his other side. She looked at him with unsettling sorrow in her eyes, and the feeling of dread in Jim's gut tightened. He thought he might throw-up.
The woman placed her hand gently on Jim's shoulder and he let her guide him back down so that he was sitting again.
"How bad is it?" He asked, knowing without a doubt now that the answer wouldn't be good.
"Mr. Edwards." The woman's voice was tinged with a southern accent and, on any other occasion, would have probably been very comforting, "The passengers of the Toyota are going to be okay-neither are critical." She paused. Jim realized how bright the swirling lights really were.
"My wife?" Jim felt his heart racing, pounding against his chest, and he swore he could still smell Madeline's perfume drifting down the lonely road.
He made eye contact first with the woman and she looked down at the cracking asphalt, so he turned to the young officer, but he too couldn't stand to meet Jim's gaze. Neither of them ever had to say it flat out, but their silence spoke volumes. Madeline was dead, and the burden was his to bear.
He looked back down the street with cloudy eyes, though not a single tear ever fully formed, and though he could see nothing but trees and the thin yellow line running down the center of it all, he knew there was a road that he should have taken. And if he'd seen it in time, everything would have been different. And every day in his mind, he'd be missing that road; wishing with all his being that he'd slowed down, taken a sharp right, and driven down Dartmouth Lane with Madeline at his side.

***

It was morning when Jim arrived back home, the sun fringing the horizon with a bright line of yellow, and after the squad car pulled into the driveway and he had climbed out, he stood there awhile just listening to the silence.
His eyes were heavy and begged for sleep, but he wouldn't allow it.
Hair tousled and tangled, shirt wrinkled, and his tie loosened and hanging slackly around his neck, Jim went inside the house he would now live in alone and fell on the couch. A small clock ticked obliviously on the wall. Time never stops, not even for death.
Never before had he felt like this, and it was such a sensation of helplessness that Jim had no idea what to do. A mood bordering on lunacy befell him then as he lay face-up on the sofa, going from the verge of tears to screaming out in anger to an ironic bout of laughter fit for a madman.
"It's not fair," He found himself saying as he pulled mercilessly at his wavy, brown curls, and again blaming himself for everything. For being too much of a jackass sometimes. For all his many sins. And for missing that turn.
It was broad daylight now, and the twelve o'clock sirens moaned in the distance. The light pouring through the window and the sounds took Jim back to the night before. He covered his ears like a little child; a colossal man-of-steel sitting there one step away from sucking his thumb and curling up in the fetal position.
Jim had always hated his weakness. He'd always made sure everyone knew he was strong, often times at too great a cost, and anyone saw him like this they would cry Armageddon, the end is nigh!
Somehow he found the strength to stand up and he stumbled down the hallway to the very end, to his bedroom door. His hand gripped the knob, but could not turn. On the other side he would see a room so full of memories of Madeline that he knew it would overwhelm him. What walls inside him hadn't already been broken down would be brought to ruins. He would crumble and fall apart completely.
Or maybe her ethereal presence would calm him and allow him to finally sleep.
He turned the brass handle and pushed the door inwards, and it creaked in momentary protest. Jim hadn't been home since the morning before. He had picked Madeline up for dinner, honking three times in the driveway before she came running out in that sexiest damn outfit he'd ever seen, and the way it fit her body was simply divine. Maybe if he hadn't been in such a rush he would have gone inside and snuck up on her from behind, kissed her soft neck, and they would have made love. By then the Toyota would have been long gone down that dusty road and everything would have been different.
But the past was unchangeable and thinking about it only hurt more.
Jim walked inside the room and immediately smelled her, and he wondered if her scent would ever cease to haunt him. The bed was littered with clothes and the closet was open, a trail of socks, shirts, and pants leading to it and culminating in a messy heap. He picked up one of Madeline's shirts and pressed it to his face. Jim wasn't sure what she had been doing tearing through the closet in such haste, at least not until he saw the suitcase on the far side of the bed.
He picked it up and sat it on the cluttered mattress, unlatched it, and lifted the lid. She had packed to go somewhere for an extended period. He leafed through the clothes and his fingers brushed against paper, administering a tiny paper cut. He drew his hand back in surprise, but then went right back in and fished out the papers.
"Las Vegas." Jim stared blankly at the plane tickets. He had to be dreaming. Stuff like this only happened on those cheesy daytime soaps, not to Jim Edwards, famed badass and husband of the beautiful, devoted Madeline.
"Hell no," He said to the wall, ripping up the tickets. The fan scattered the shreds of paper all over the room.
Jim leaned back against the headboard and tilted head to the ceiling. He had a dead wife. A dead wife who, if she were still alive, would be leaving him for another man-flitting off to Vegas and leaving Jim heartbroken. Either way, this was the worst day of his life, and the only thing he knew to do was to just sleep. So he did.

Madeline's funeral took place on a day unmoved by even death, where not a cloud muddled the blue of the sky. The sun beat down upon Jim, and the suit he wore bottled up all that heat and turned it into sweat, which now clung to the tips of his slicked-back hair and occasionally dribbled down the side of his face.
Jim remembered almost none of the ceremony except when he had stood over the ivory and gold casket and tossed a single rose onto the top, and he recalled the other faces that had joined him, pitching their own volley of flowers out and drowning Jim's single gift at the bottom.
Time was shuffled like a deck of cards and Jim found himself back home, standing in the driveway and watching the procession of cars fill the cul-de-sac and then spill up the street and around the corner. The neighbor's would probably complain, but they could go to hell for all Jim cared.
His sister, Halle, and long time friend Eddie were the first to walk up the sharply angled driveway and join Jim. The trio stood there for a few moments, trapped in an awkward silence.
"We going to just stand out here all day, Jim?" Eddie asked, clapping a hand on Jim's barn-beam shoulder.
"No, I don't suppose we are," Jim replied absently and he fished out his keys and unlocked the door, showing them into the refreshing cool of the foyer.
"I'll start getting the food together," Halle said with a nod before meandering through the house and switching on the lights, humming an unrecognizable tune, then vanishing into the kitchen where she shouted; "Hey Jim, where you keep the cooler?"
"In the laundry room." Jim slid out of his coat and tossed it over his Lazy-Boy recliner. He sat down and unlaced his shoes before kicking them off and propping up his feet. Eddie took a seat across from him on the edge of the couch, leaning over with his hands dangling between his thighs. The first wave of guests entered through the front door. Jim offered them a nod, but Halle was the one to greet them formally as she skittered out from the kitchen and showed them inside and then outside where the tables had been set up.
"You look like shit, Jim." Eddie was the only man Jim knew that was bigger than him. He was a version of Jim before he had cleaned up, an image of the Jim that had once haunted the streets on a relentless quest for trouble.
Jim looked up at him long and hard, "No. You're the one who looks like shit. A big, steaming pile of horse shit." Eddie's eyes were sallow with big, dark circles hanging beneath and his naturally dark complexion had become unnaturally pale.
"Yeah, guess I do. That makes two of us." Eddie twirled an unlit cigarette in his hand.
"I thought you'd stopped all that." Jim's eyes wandered to the steady stream of arriving guests, but he didn't care to talk to any of them.
"Yeah well, it's harder than I thought." Neither of them was talking about just smoking either.
"I did it," Jim reminded him.
"Yeah well, you're stronger than me I guess." Eddie hadn't once looked Jim straight in the eyes, and even when Jim tried hard to meet Eddie's gaze, he just shirked away.
"Sorry. This isn't the time to bring that stuff up. Lend me a smoke?"
Eddie held out the cigarette he had been using as a baton to Jim and then tossed him a cheap, plastic lighter, "Jim, when did you become such a softie? I mean, Jesus, you've been a wreck for weeks now. I remember a time when it would have fazed you about as much as a fly on the windshield. Or maybe you'd even try to save a damn fly now."
Jim stared directly into Eddie's doped-up eyes, the once crystalline blue pools now murky and red, and again Eddie looked away.
"What does it matter?" Jim closed his eyes as he took that first, calming drag from the cigarette, "So I'm not the hell raiser I used to be. I grew up. Maybe you should too."
"You grew up?" A witch-like cackle burst from Eddie, "Grown ups don't sit around acting like big babies."
"Yeah well," Jim was getting visibly irritated now, a scowl passing over his face, "I don't think you're ready to sit at the big table either. I mean, where'd you get the money for that new stereo, Eddie? Or all that gaudy-ass jewelry you're wearing?"
"My God Jim, you just had to go there. It's not like you didn't do the same thing once upon a time."
"How you boys doing?" Halle came around the back of the sofa and braced her bony arms on it, "Hungry? Thirsty? Antisocial?"
"I'm fine," Jim assured her, "And I just don't feel like talking to all those people right now. I'll come out back in a few. I don't know most of them anyway. mostly Madeline's friends, you know? They didn't like me anyway."
Halle frowned, "Well I'm sure whatever opinion they have of you will be put aside for the day." She circled around and kissed Jim's forehead, "Just come when you're ready."
Eddie got up and brushed some stray ash off his jeans, "I think I'm gonna go grab something to eat." He followed Halle out of the room, and Jim thought it was probably for the best. He and Eddie were friends, the best of friends, but they had become two very different people and while mostly that was good, sometimes the differences knocked their heads together. Today it was more than that even-Jim felt hostility towards his friend, and putting some distance between them was for the best.
Alone, Jim sat there watching the shadows of leaves on the far wall and listened to the muffled chatter that came through the screen door to the backyard. It was like a damn party, and Jim didn't see a single reason to be celebrating.
The squeal of the front door opening and then the smacking sound as it shut snapped Jim's attention in that direction, and his sad, blue eyes landed on Prue Johnson. His heart skipped a beat.
"Jim," Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it, and he rose and moved nearer until he was standing close enough to touch her.
"What are you doing here?" There was a mild panic now in those same eyes and he looked around worriedly.
"I.I heard about Madeline. I just wanted to-"
"Prue, you know you don't have any place being here." Jim snapped. Then his face fell slack again and he shook away the anger that had momentarily resided there, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." She was looking down at the ground and her golden blonde hair cascaded down and spilled in front of her face. Jim had forgotten how beautiful she was. He'd forgotten on purpose.
"You should go though." Jim stole a glance into the yard and saw Halle busily playing hostess for his late wife's funeral reception.
"Jim, I know I shouldn't have come. I just. I don't know." She held out a small box, "Here. Just to let you know I'm thinking of you."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Think of me," He thrust the box back at her, but she refused to take it.
"I can't help it, Jim." Prue rubbed at her eyes. While Jim was a tank outside and a big, ball of mush inside, she was a small woman with insides made of unbendable steel, and he knew she would not allow him to see her cry.
Jim opened the door for her and stood there as she stumbled outside in a set of high-heels she obviously did not have a license to drive.
"You know my number," She said, turning to look at Jim again.
"Goodbye, Prue."
They looked at each other awhile, and it was Jim that broke it off and went inside. But he watched from the window as she staggered off up the street to her car. An awful feeling of guilt overshadowed his grief momentarily, a guilt similar to that he'd felt after waking up on that stretcher and realizing all of this could have been different if only he hadn't missed his turn.
He forced himself to stop watching and turned abruptly around. He nearly soiled himself when he bumped directly into Eddie who had been standing right behind him for who knew how long.
"Jesus Eddie," He pushed his way around the man and padded into the living room again.
"What were you looking for out there buddy?"
Jim grabbed his ashtray from the small table beside the chair and moved towards the hallway, not giving Eddie an answer.
"Fine then. But listen, Sunday I want you to come over to my place. Relax. Start living again a little."
Jim stopped midway to his room and just stood there, back turned to Eddie. It was true, he had to get over this and move on. Yet every time he tried, and he had been trying hard for a while now, something happened to bring him back to ground zero, and that nearly healed wound was ripped brutally open again.
"You going to come or what? And I won't take no for an answer, you know that." Eddie laughed vaguely, but it was choked out by a sudden fit of coughing.
"Yeah, sure." Jim said at long last. Then a long pause as he still stood there, a dark figure stationed ominously in the center of the hallway where the sunlight couldn't quite reach.
Eddie waited expectantly, knowing Jim would say something eventually.
Sure enough, Jim wheeled halfway back around.
"Eddie," Jim's voice was raw, "Did you know Madeline was having an affair?"
This time it was Eddie's turn to stand there in silence. His mouth hung open though no sound came out.
"I didn't either until the day after she was killed. But I can't be mad at her. It still hurts though, but I think that's more her not being here anymore than that she was cheating on me." Jim had relieved Eddie of the burden of having to say anything, and he found his mind racing back unexpectedly to Prue. Then, as he had done the first time, he erased her from his thoughts and purposefully shelved her very existence in the cobweb filled chambers of his mind.
"Sunday then," Jim continued, "I'll be there."
With that, he retreated to his bedroom where he laid on the bed and lit a fresh cigarette. He could still hear the voices outback, but barely, and he felt slightly bad for leaving Halle to do all the work, but she could handle it. She would understand. She always had. Jim was her little brother and she would lasso the stars for him one by one until he had them all if he had asked her to, and knowing that he had someone like that in his life made it worth living. Good old Halle; the reason he had put his old life behind him and gotten his act together. No, that wasn't entirely true. Madeline had helped with that too. That was the past though and Jim was looking steadily now towards the future.
Madeline's suitcase was living on the ground now, fallen down and spilling out all her hastily packed belongings. Jim reached over to the bedside table and picked up the one item he'd bothered to take out of the luggage-a picture.
There she was, flashing her knee-weakening smile for all eternity. Her arms were frozen in place around the massive man and her glowing cheeks were pressed up against his own, ancient pockmarks still cursing them. The two were obviously in love. Everything about their body language screamed it. Jim just wished it were him in the picture and not Eddie. He'd even given his best friend in the entire world the chance to come clean, but he hadn't, and that had Jim royally pissed.
He flung the picture away like a Frisbee and it whirred across the room until it hit the wall and dropped quickly down into a pile of dirty laundry, a heap of wrinkled and stained clothes that reminded Jim of the condition of his life, and as of yet he hadn't found a big enough tub of Clorox to wash it all clean.

***

Saturday arrived too soon, and Jim's plan of knocking on Eddie's door, shoving a six-pack in his hands, and then accusing him of having an affair with Madeline wasn't seeming as ingenious as it had at two in the morning while he sat on the floor in his tainted-pink briefs downing can after can of piss awful beer.
So, after flat out lying to Halle over the phone that he was handling things very well, Jim went into the oppressive heat of the two-car garage and got into the Jeep, the only car left after the Suburban had been totaled. He pressed a small switch and the garage door groaned upwards. He buckled up and started the engine, yet he couldn't drive.
His hands gripped the steering wheel, and it felt so alien to him. Since that night, he hadn't driven. He had walked blocks just to get a bus or even called a cab, but driving himself had been out of the question. Until now.
Moving on, towards the future.
Jim drew in a few deep breaths before he finally was able to back slowly out down the harshly inclined driveway and the rear bumper grated against the concrete as he crossed into the street. The cookie-cutter neighborhood screamed perfection, but Jim knew all too well the hurt that hid behind every last door.
The speed limit was fifteen miles per hour: Jim went ten. Even on the main road he inched along like an elderly woman behind the wheel of a bulky Cadillac, and, ignoring the aggravated people who got stuck behind him, he drove all the way to Eddie's at the same sluggish pace.
Eddie lived in a small mobile home on the line between the city and nowhere. The lawn had not seen a lawnmower in ages, and Jim clipped some of it down with the Jeep as he made a makeshift parking lot in the front yard. He heard something crunch beneath his wheels when he came to a stop. Probably some long forgotten toy, he thought-something swallowed by the tangled mass of grass and left there to rot. Or be run over.
He got out and waded out of the overgrown yard and onto the gravel sidewalk that lead to the front of the trailer, knocking three times before letting himself in. The TV was blaring some obnoxious game-show in the other room and the non-threatening yip of Eddie's Yorkshire Terrier grew steadily louder until it bounded around the corner and attacked Jim with it's tongue.
"Well just waltz in like you own the place then," Eddie came out from his room at the back of the hallway, wearing a badly stained white t-shirt and some boxers with smiling alien faces on them.
"It smells like dog crap in here."
"Probably is. Buddy here likes to be discreet-sometimes don't find anything for months. The smell always finds you though."
"Great. Got something to drink?" Jim asked.
"Yeah. Beer?"
"Sure. Take me to your leader."
"Huh?" Eddie looked bewildered.
"Your undies. Aliens."
Eddie looked down and then laughed nervously, "You're a riot." He left and when he returned he had two beers in his hands, one of which he tossed to Jim.
The two went into the den, and Jim pushed a stack of old newspapers and candy bar wrappers to the side to make some room on the couch. When he sat down, he could feel a spring digging into his ass, and he shifted to try and get comfortable, but to no avail. He finally just gave up and tried to forget about the pain in the butt, literally.
This was it. Jim had to confront Eddie about Madeline.
"Kind of like old times, eh?" Eddie said, nursing his beer, "Minus the getting into shit loads of trouble and raising hell around town."
"Yeah, I suppose so."
Jim's mind was too focused on what he wanted to ask Eddie to really have any casual conversation, and he could sense that same uneasiness in Eddie that he'd felt the other day. He was still avoiding eye contact with Jim, still acting funny.
"You remember that time in the old neighborhood when you acted like you were choking at Mr. Garbler's Store while I loaded my jacket with fistfuls of candy? Man, those were the fucking days."
Jim could have sworn Eddie just said, "Do you remember when I screwed your woman? Those were the fucking days." He just nodded vaguely.
"Okay, care to explain why you're acting like a space cadet today?" Eddie crossed his arms and examined Jim critically.
Jim felt the courage building up inside him finally to speak his mind. He paused and drew in a series of deep breaths.
"Yeah, actually I would. I asked you the other day if you knew my wife was having an affair. She had her bags packed, ready to flutter away to Vegas just like that. Leave behind her entire life. Seems so cliché, doesn't it?"
Eddie was silent.
"You knew she was seeing someone, didn't you? You knew, I know you did." Jim stopped and rose to his feet, and he turned and looked out the only window in the room, "You knew because it was you."
Jim felt in his coat pocket for the picture, and, without turning back, tossed it in Eddie's direction. He heard Eddie move to get the photo, but that was the only sound he heard for what seemed ages.
"Eddie, I just want the truth. I want my best friend to come clean with me and admit what he did. I'm not saying I'm all innocent myself. I've done things too. Things I regret. I was going to tell her, I swear I was. You know, you always plan your life thinking you have an eternity to do everything. you never set out everyday like it's your last."
Jim saw Eddie's reflection in the window just before the cold glass of a beer bottle was brought down on his head. He fell with a hard thud to the floor and the world went polka-dotted just before it went hopelessly blurry. He felt strong hands lifting him up and that was the last thing he remembered.

Then, he woke up.
He was dragged from the inside of a decrepit looking truck that he dimly recognized and tossed roughly onto the pine needles and twigs that littered the side of the road. His head throbbed uncontrollably.
Jim felt a booted foot slam into his ribcage and he roared in pain, rolling over onto his back. There, standing over him like a doctor getting ready to perform a surgery, was Eddie, wearing the biggest damn smirk in history.
"Mornin' sunshine," He quipped, smirk widening.
Jim was too confused, still only half aware of the world again after his brief lapse of consciousness, to say anything. He tried to move only to find his arms were bound tightly with rope, as were his legs.
"I'm not stupid," Eddie said, as if reading his mind, "And I think I owe you an answer. Yes. Yes, I was sleeping with Madeline. More than that though, I was in love with her. I was fucking in love, man."
"You. bastard." That was all Jim managed to get out. This was all happening too fast.
"No, Jim. You're the bastard."
Eddie grabbed Jim's face and forced him to look down the small road. He didn't have to say anything for Jim to realize it was Dartmouth Lane.
"Recognize where we are? This was supposed to be your gravesite. You were supposed to die out here in the boondocks, not Madeline."
Jim wrenched his face out of Eddies grasp, "I don't understand."
"She came to me, desperate. Crying. She told me about you and that whore, that she knew everything. While you were screwing that woman Jim, I was comforting your wife. I was there for her."
"Eddie."
"No, shut up," Eddie kicked Jim right in the gut, and not even Jim The Giant could keep from screaming, "I was there for her. And, at first, I told her that you would realize your error and come back to her and be the husband she deserved. I was on your side, man. I had your back. But you didn't stop and she kept on hurting, and. I think that's when I fell in love with her."
"I ended it with Prue two months ago."
"Well then that was two months too late, Jim. Madeline gave up on you. She chose me."
"No!" Jim thrashed about, trying in vain to break free of his bonds.
"She wanted to leave you behind. Wanted to traipse off into the fucking sunset and be done with her life here. I told her it wasn't so easy- I told her I knew you too well. That you'd find us, and you'd kill us. I know it's in you Jim. You may have become a big softie, but I know you've got it in you. I guess we all do in a way."
The thick forest filled solely with pines it seemed swayed restlessly from side to side and Jim began to work on untying the rope that held his hands together.
"She didn't want to hurt you Jim, but you didn't give her a choice. You didn't give either of us one. We were best friends, you and me. Believe me when I say this is hard."
Jim could feel the knots loosening, and the rope bit less and less into his flesh.
"The plan was to bring you out here, to this very spot we're at now. There's no restaurant out here, Jim. But I was out here waiting. Waiting for you to pull over because Madeline was sick. Waiting for you to get out so I could blow your brains out. Waiting so I could bury your body here in the woods. Waiting. so I could be with the woman I loved. The woman you treated like garbage. Well Jim, tell me, was it worth it? Was Prue a good enough fuck that you don't regret all of this?"
There were tears in Jim's eyes, something he hadn't expected. Right now he hated Eddie, but he loved him too. His best friend. His worst enemy. And he still loved Madeline.
The only person he truly hated, loathed with all of his being, was himself.
Eddie pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants and clicked off the safety.
"I hope it was worth it Jim. I sincerely hope it was good enough to die for."
The ropes around Jim's hands slid off and he sprung quickly towards Eddie, whose eyes widened in startled fear. Though his legs remained bound, Jim managed to knock Eddie over, his head smacking against the asphalt. He reached out and seized the hand holding the gun, but Eddie had regained enough composure to begin fighting back.
Eddie brought his knee up between Jim's legs, shoving his balls up into his stomach, and pushed Jim over onto his back, rolling on top of him and pinning him there. Jim still held his grip on the gun, ignoring the hot flashes of pain that ripped through him.
He looked up and stared directly into Eddie's eyes, and for the first time Eddie stared straight back. There was not pure coldness there, but something else-a wild passion. A sense of regret.
"You don't want to kill me Eddie," Jim said as he continued his brutal struggle for control of the pistol, "I made a mistake. You've made plenty yourself. Just stop this. we can talk."
Eddie wasn't willing to reason now though, and he shoved his elbow into Jim's face. A trail of blood issued from his nose, but the pain only made Jim fight back harder. He held Eddie's arm firmly in his iron grasp and he shook violently. Eddie held the gun tight though.
They were both rolling about wildly on the ground now. There were no strategies, just the will to live. And by now Jim knew only one of them would.
He shook again and this time the pistol went flying, sliding across the road until it came to a halt on the yellow line that ran down the center. For just a moment, both Jim and Eddie stared at it, frozen. Then Eddie made a move for it, but Jim grabbed his leg and pulled him back to the ground. He crawled on top of Eddie, his hands doing all the work, making up for his useless legs.
Eddie struggled beneath him, but Jim held him there tight. Eddie tried to kick, and for a moment Jim thought he was going to lose his grip, but he didn't. Eddie was physically bigger. Jim was, in all ways, stronger.
He grabbed a fistful of Eddie's hair and rammed his face one, two, three times into the hard blacktop. Then a fourth time, just because he could.
Eddie's whole body went slack and Jim used the moment to crawl forward more, slowly moving towards the dropped gun. He moved surprisingly fluidly on his belly, almost snakelike.
Jim heard Eddie stirring behind him just as he reached the gun.
He rolled over on his back and saw Eddie on his feet, his face massacred: a canvas of red.
"Jimmy."
"Eddie."
The two looked at each other for the longest time, sharing an awkward silence like that on the day of Madeline's funeral.
"Can you live with killing me, Jim?" Eddie asked, rocking to one side and nearly falling over before he regained his balance just in time.
"I don't know. But you can't live without killing me."
"I never wanted it to be like this."
"Neither did I."
"Choices," Eddie said cryptically.
"Yeah, choices. They can change everything."
"I loved her."
"So did I."
Jim shot Eddie just once, straight through the heart. He was dead even before his body fell to the hard asphalt of Dartmouth Lane.
The gun in Jim's hand slipped out and clattered indifferently to the ground and he fell back, his head resting against the ground, feeling far from victorious.
Choices. They changed everything.
That feeling in his throat, the one that made his jaw tremble, grew stronger, and Jim allowed himself to give in and finally cry. The tears came fast and they would not stop
It began to sprinkle, and Jim could no longer tell his tears from the rain.