The ride to the Warehouse is boring and uneventful. I am forced to progress backwards and take the Road to the East. Not my favorite road, but nonetheless, I have to venture it. It’s the only way. The only path. The only choice.

Right?

I wish I had a cigarette right now. That always seems to be the best solution for all the hard-boiled detectives and anti-heroes in the movies. Whenever they take a long drag off that cancerous roll of paper, ideas just seem to pop into their heads. One drag, and voila, the problem is solved. Just like that.

Only my problem has to be a tough little bastard. He won’t go down so easily.

I’m driving along a country road. The gravel makes a terrible grinding noise as my tires roll over it. The wind is cold for a spring night. Too cold for any good. It blows my hair around my face blocking my vision of the road. For a minute I think I’m going to crash again, but I see the lights of the warehouse in the distance and know that I’ve come too far to blow it now.

I regain my composure and fight off this growing paranoia and anxiety only to hear the familiar click of a gun being cocked. I can sense its cold barrel behind my leather head rest. I wait for the sound, for the hit, and for the darkness, but instead I am greeted with a raspy voice that‘s all too familiar.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says. “Keep driving. Just stop at the Warehouse like you were planning.”

“If you knew that I was going to stop there, why now? Why pull the gun now? You would have been better waiting until I stopped the car,” I say.

“I just thought that I would get the show, the surprise, and the shock of it all out of the way.”

“A little too impulsive. You’ve always been that way. Call it a flaw. Call it whatever you would like. However, I’m not too sure if you’re going to kill me now as I’m driving or when I stop. So, I’m going to have to take precautions. You must have been lying low in the backseat since I got in the car. That means you don’t have a seatbelt on. I’m also driving a little over the speed limit on a gravel road. You know what that means.”

I would have liked to seen the look on his face as he realizes what I am going to do. Then again, perhaps I don’t give him enough time for a reaction anyways. With lightning movements, I slam my foot down on the brake. The tires, like I plan, don’t have enough traction on the rough, loose gravel, and the car begins to spin and swerve out of control. I hear the intruder in the backseat yell as he slams into the back of my seat and then is jolted around in the back.

Eventually, the Nissan makes its way off of the road and into a tree. Reminds me of the scene in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” when George Bailey rams his old piece of junk into that age-old landmark piece of bark. Only thing different is that I didn’t have an angel named Clarence to help me out of this mess.

I jump out of the car once the Nissan’s engine dies. I reach inside my jacket instinctively, but of course, no gun is tucked away in the first place. I curse myself for not completing my plan after the initial crash. Here, he is armed, and I am just twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to line up the shot.

The passenger door of the Nissan opens with some force. I see him crawl out. He is a big guy that you normally wouldn’t ever want to get into a fight with in your life. His hair is cut, and I remember the days when it was long and in his face. Longer than mine is now, but I have to think that it served the same purpose for him. Bill’s words about him come back to me. “My guess lays with Alan.” And here he is standing in front of me. A ghost from the past.

I don’t have a gun or a hope left in this world. The only thing I can think of doing is to put my hands up in surrender. Hand me the white flag, I know, but maybe he has some shred of honor left in him.

“I’m unarmed!” I yell even though I’m not sure whether he cares or not.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, spitting out blood. “You made me bite my tongue, you son of a bitch.”

He laughs harmlessly, which makes me laugh also. I’m still feeling a bit uneasy, though.

“What happened?” I ask. “Bill’s in the hospital. They shot him up. He said they might be looking for me.”

“We have to go to the Warehouse,” he instructs. “They are waiting for us there.”

The higher ups. That’s who “they” must be. I hold back my questions about Carrie. Maybe he doesn’t know. She’ll be safer if she is left unmentioned.

We both walk towards the Warehouse. It’s probably only a mile away, but the distance feels insurmountable. The wind is still cold, and the sky is jet black. Not a single star to be found. I can only imagine that it might start snowing in a few minutes, but it’s spring, and weather like that doesn’t occur in spring. Only in my mind.

The sound of snow falling. It’s beautiful. I can barely hear it, but I know that it is there. Most people don’t pick up on this rare sound because it is so quiet that the only ears that hear it are the ones that are listening for its beauty in the first place.

Alan walks close behind me but not close enough that I can turn around and drop the hammer on him. He’s being cautious. Cautious of the old Thurman. He doesn’t realize that I probably wouldn’t have the strength to do that these days. My bones are old, and my mind is numb. The nosebleed wasn’t the only recent occurrence of blood spilling out of my body. I coughed up blood just a week ago. In reality, I’m falling apart.

Alan and I reach the Warehouse after that brisk walk. A light burns out front by a rusty old door that seems to be falling off of its hinges. That door brings back too many memories. My head hurts so bad.

“Don’t be afraid. Go on in,” Alan whispers behind me. He sounds like we are playing a game.

I touch the rotting handle, and the door swings open all its own. Its hinges creak and scream as they reveal the room inside. Its clandestine air fills my nose and mouth, which sets me into a coughing fit. After I’m finished hacking, I look at my hand. More blood. The moon makes it glow silver in the moonlight, and I can’t help but marvel at this display.

“Been doing that for a while?” Alan asks.

“No,” I lie while shaking the blood off my fingers.

We both walk into the drafty, lightless room after a half note of silence. He flips a light switch next to the door which illuminates my surroundings. The only furniture in the place is a wooden table and two fold-out gray metal chairs. I can see the dust hanging in the air waiting to drop down upon my unprotected head but there is nothing that I can do about it. No other living soul is in this room to help me now.

“Where are they?” I ask after Alan shuts the creaking door.

“Who?” he replies with a question which renders my previous sentence useless.

“You know, the boss, the man, the goons, whatever you want to call them,” I reply casually shrugging out of my jacket and draping it over one of the chairs.

“Them?” he replies placing a cigarette between his lips. “Let’s just say they won’t be around to make the orders anymore.

“You killed them.”

“Do you really care about those old farts?”

He blows a puff of smoke from his mouth that joins the dust hanging in the air. So damn casual.

“Why did you kill them?” I ask.

“It was a shift of power. They had to be eliminated in order for the shift to occur. I have to get people out of the way.”

“Then, why was Bill brought into this mess? He hasn‘t killed anyone in years.”

“He was a threat. He could’ve taken over if he wanted to. Anyone of us could have if we wanted to. The problem is knowing who wants to and who doesn’t. Who’s incapable. You are, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want it. I told you before that I don’t want this life at all. I’m through.”

“And that is why I’m not so sure of your motives. You say you don’t want this life, but yet here you are right now. You were going to this warehouse in the first place. I didn’t have to force you, but I did anyways just to see what you would do. There is still some of the old Thurman left in there even if you constantly deny it.”

“You’re wrong,” I whisper.

“You can’t even convince yourself, so why should I believe you?”

“It’s your choice,” I say, leaving all the options up to him.

He chooses the one that I was rooting against. He pulls a gun out of his jacket pocket. It’s color matches that of the folding chairs in the room.

“My choice is that I can’t believe anybody. There are no allies in this field. You must be killed in order to ensure my survival. Eliminate all of the competition. Survival of the fittest.”

“Sounds poetic,” I quip.

“Don’t get off the subject,” he says pointing the gun at me. “Either you are in or you are out.”

“I told you that I’m out. Even threats won’t change my mind,” I say coolly.

“Then I will have to kill you. Are you fine with that?”

“You know what, Alan, it sounds like you don’t want to kill me. We’ve been standing here for a while beating around the bush. If you are going to do it, then just do it.”

I can tell that he is getting angry at my comments. The gun remains pointed precisely at my neck. I wish that he would raise it ever so slightly. A shot in the neck would be a big mess with some unpleasant sounds to accompany it.

“I hate you,” he says, lowering the gun.

“You are not in charge,” I observe. “Tell me who is.”

“Just get the hell out of here,” he says. “Get the hell out and don’t look back if you know what is good for you.”

“Tell me who is in charge now. I know there has been a leadership change, but it’s not you. I can see in your eyes that its not you. You want it so bad, but somebody is stopping you. Who is it?”

His lips begin to form the syllables of a common name, but a bullet rips through his chest before a word is actually formed. He falls to the ground in one big heap. Collapses as though he doesn’t have a bone in his body. The gun flies out of his hand and lands spinning at my feet. The barrel stops facing the direction of the attacker. I allow it to control my gaze only to be greeted by sight of the dark angel, Carrie.

Alan isn’t dead yet, but he might as well be. Blood is running red from his lips as he tries to form words.

“You bitch,” he sputters. “Burn in hell.”

He reaches into his jacket producing another firearm. She casually lifts the small gun in her black gloved hands and fires two more rounds in him. He stops moving completely. I can feel the life pouring from him to join the dust hanging in the air.

“Why did you do that?” I ask her.

She stands in the shadows holding that smoking gun, but she doesn’t say a word. She just stands there in her shimmering blue dress that brings attention to her fiery red hair. She has grown it out since last a saw her, and a few strands of it hang over her bony shoulders.

“He was going to kill you,” she said.

“No, he wasn’t,” I say, coldly.

“I was just afraid. I thought that he would. You saw the gun, didn’t you?”

Her voice is airy and breathless. It reminds me of a silver flute that can be distinctly heard over the loud rumblings of a tuba. Her eyes are big and round like a child looking for forgiveness. They stare at me intently, and I am unable to pull my gaze from them.

“I killed you, remember,” I whisper, feeling tears coming to my eyes.

“I lived.”

That was the only explanation that she offered me.

“What happened that night?” I question, my voice failing me. “Why were you there in the first place? I was supposed to kill a man that night. Why were you in his house?”

Her childish eyes fall to the ground as she explains.

“They told me to be there. Said I was supposed to meet someone there. I didn’t know what was going on. They usually just let me do errands, you know how it is. They’re afraid of women, I suppose.”

“You’re saying they set us up?”

“Yes.”

“That night has made me hate myself for all this time. I hated myself because I killed you and every hope I had ever had in the very same night. I realized then what I was. A monster. Now I hate myself even more because I focused everything on that night and wasted my entire life because of it. Look at me now, I was a monster then, but what have I become now?”

“My savior, perhaps. My Lancelot,” she smiles, and I laugh.

“More like Galahad,” I proclaim.

“No, Lancelot’s cuter.” The smile doesn’t leave her red lips.

“Does anyone else know that you are alive,” I return to the seriousness of it all.

“Yes. You were the only one that didn’t know. I thought you had meant to kill me. I was afraid of you until I found out that we were set up.”

“Then, let’s leave together,” I say while crossing the dirt covered floor to stand closer to her.

“Where will we go?” she asks.

I take her black gloved hand in mine. It’s made of satin and is smooth to the touch. I can feel the warmth of her hand through the cloth.

“West,” I say. “They won’t follow us West. We’ll be safe there.”

She laughs lightly, but the room makes it echo so that my ears hurt from its sound. Her perfume is intoxicating and makes me dizzy, so that the room halfway begins to revolve around a central axis. Her right hand still holds the smoking gun in its grip, and now is the time that she chooses to raise it again. Its barrel points straight into my chest.

“You’re too easy, Lancelot,” she grins.

One bullet exits the chamber and lodges into my chest. I fall to the ground just as Alan did. I can feel the dirt from the floor clinging to my white shirt. I must be getting filthy from its combination with my own blood. A searing pain erupts from the wound causing my mind to cloud with too many thoughts.

“Why?” I mutter.

“We weren’t set up,” she sneers. “You were. They wanted you out because those old men with their feeble minds actually feared someone as weak as you. They feared what you would become. I, however, knew your weaknesses. I knew that if you thought that you had killed me, then you would be on the endless pity party for the rest of you pathetic life. You shot me alright, and it hurt bad, but I lived. And they were in my debt forever.”

“So then you are the one in control now,” I say.

“Yes. The first woman to ever be in control. Call a victory. Call it whatever the hell you want.”

She sits down on the chair that I had previously thrown my jacket over. The gun must be heavy in her small hand, but she carries it like a pro ought to.

“Why did you kill Alan?” I ask.

“He was weak. I told him to kill you, but he couldn’t. He thought that you could join with us even though I would never allow that. He may be reckless, but the man was having too much of a guilt trip over have to kill you, and I don’t need anyone like that working for me.”

She unwittingly lays the gun down on top of the table. I take this opportunity to grab Alan’s gun that I happened to fall on top of after she plugged a bullet in my chest. Its gaze rests right on her beautiful head.

“Don’t move,” I instruct. “Don’t grab the gun or I will kill you.”

I see the look of fear in her eyes, but she tries to shake it off.

“You were weak then, and you are weak still,” she says.

“Why do you want me dead then? You are the ones making the orders. Why do you want me dead if you also do not fear what I am capable of?”

“Because you represent everything that I once was. The stupid little girl that believed that this world was good and that everyone loved her. You made me believe those things. You feed me those lies every damn day and night of my life.”

“We all have our demons, Carrie, but doesn’t mean that we have to take them out on other people.”

“Not unless you take it out on yourself like you did. Look at you pointing a gun at me. Do you think you can kill me twice, Lancelot?” she laughs, reaching for the gun.

“If I was Lancelot, I would. If I was the man I was twenty years ago, I wouldn’t think twice. However, I am Galahad now and realize that I should not possess the power of choosing who lives or dies.”

I could feel the hand that held the gun involuntarily falling to my side. I could feel my entire body shutting down. All of my life, I had been running from all my past mistakes and problems. And here I was, faced with them right now, but if I did kill her, then that would mean nothing had changed in the past twenty years. I had to prove to myself and my friends that I had changed. The old killer was gone from me. I had extricated him after he killed an angel only to create a devil. Now that I was Galahad, I had to do the right thing. I didn’t have the right to kill her. I wasn‘t the higher power here.

She stands up from the chair ready to pump another few rounds into my beaten body just for spite’s sake. However, as her eyes are full of mirth, another feeling invades. Her face goes pale, and she begins a horrible coughing fit that results in blood escaping from her red lips. She joins the party of three on the dust covered floor. I don’t feel any life pour out of her, but I imagine that it joins the multitude of dust in the room where it belongs.

I recall back to the medical file that Julie had broken the law to hand to me. All of the medical disorders that she had on there was enough to make one think twice about smoking, drinking, or even leaving the house.

Raindrops begin to fall upon the battered roof of the warehouse. I can discern each drop’s melodic ding until they all sound like one large orchestra.

The pain in my chest continues to burn, but I still smile because my soul has remained intact. I have faced one more red nightmare, but this time I came out the victor. I wonder if the old man at the pearly gates will allow me admittance. I wonder if there is actually is a heaven in the first place. Either way, I’ll leave this world knowing that I’m not a bad person. Not any worse off than anyone is.

Now, I have to get out of this dust-ridden excuse for a building. I refuse to resign myself to this life. I will not let myself to be like Carrie and Alan. I’m not like them. An unseen force seems to pull me up from the dirt and onto my feet. My feet drag on the ground as I head towards the closed door. I force all my weight into it, but it refuses to budge. Its laughter fills my ears as the anger fills my body and powers my limbs to push it open.

The night air is so cold, but so is the rest of me. There is no difference between us. I fall onto the bed of soft green grass. The rain falls ever so lightly damping my clothes. They cling to me, but it feels so refreshing. Everything feels alright now, even though I can feel my blood spilling out into the earth.

Was my life all a waste? Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve tried to fool myself into believing that I was taking the right roads in life, but really, I’ve just been stuck treading the Road to Nowhere. I think I can see its end coming now. A curtain of rain blocks my view, but I still can barely discern a silver glow behind the wall.

And it's very far away,

But it's growing day by day,

And it’s alright, baby, it’s alright.