Everything you leave beh.., p.5
Everything You Leave Behind, page 5
Vincent could see the wheels turning in his head as the man considered his next move. He didn’t seem to have any immediate qualms with the act itself but was signaling skepticism. Vincent sat quietly while the giant thought things through. After an entire career spent in sales, Vincent knew when to give a prospect enough space to think, and he wanted Big Man to take his time envisioning what he’d be able to do with the cash.
“Okay, let’s say I do agree to this crazy shit. How do you wanna do it?” Big Man finally responded.
“Quick and dirty,” Vincent said, knowing he was now in the home stretch. “We just make this look like a carjacking gone wrong. You bust in the driver’s side window, reach in, and . . .” Vincent pressed two fingers to his temple and used his thumb to mimic a trigger being pulled.
“And you just assume I’m packing?”
“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t really matter. I’ve got a gun you can use. You can keep it afterward, if you want.” Vincent paused to see if he could sense any objections from Big Man but was met with an interested silence. He decided to push forward with the closing pitch. “Listen, you’ll be doing me a favor. Trust me, if I had a better way out of this mess, I’d gladly take it, but my back is completely up against the wall. What I’m proposing is merciful compared to what will happen to me and my family if I start missing payments.”
Big Man continued to sit silent, ruminating on what Vincent had just laid out for him. At this point the ball was entirely in Big Man’s court, and they both knew it; he just had to decide if he trusted what Vincent was telling him.
“Listen, man, this plan is all well and good, but I can’t be doing this shit right in front of my fucking house.”
Vincent knew this was the final stress test. As long as he could overcome this objection, the sale would be made.
“Already thought of that. Up around the corner is a secluded road that would be a perfect spot. It’ll look like I got turned around heading home through this detour.”
Big Man nodded his head in affirmation but didn’t say a word.
A few minutes later, Vincent found himself sitting alone in his dark car, anxiously waiting for the Big Man to stroll around the corner. Well, anxiously wasn’t quite accurate. His heart rate had slowed, and the sense of calm he’d experienced throughout the day reappeared the second the deal was closed. He couldn’t wait for the sweet release of death. For the first time in years—maybe ever—he was in control of his own destiny, and he was determined to see things through. The prospect of a long nap seemed divine.
After what seemed like forever, he finally saw the Big Man round the corner with his crew in tow. He hadn’t planned for any unexpected guests and could only assume this was not something that would work to his benefit. Warning bells started going off in his head, and he rolled down his window and hollered, “They can keep a lookout by the corner. Just you and me, Big Man, otherwise I’ll go find someone else who wants to make some easy money tonight.”
The three men stopped in their tracks, and after a quick exchange, the two interlopers nodded and started back toward the street corner. Vincent let out a deep breath as Big Man came toward the car.
With Big Man roughly fifty feet from the car, Vincent’s awareness of his surroundings dialed up to eleven. All at once, his senses shifted into overdrive. He heard the faint chirp of crickets as if they were lodged directly in his ear, felt his vision focus so sharply that he could see every individual dried leaf scattered on the street despite the near pitch-black conditions, and felt his skin cells come alive, as if an electric current ran through him.
Vincent’s heart was thumping in his chest like an unmuffled bass drum as Big Man took his final steps and placed a gloved hand on the top of the window frame.
“You ready?” he said, leaning in close enough for Vincent to get a clear look at his face for the first time. A long scar ran vertically down the left side of his face, highlighting a milky, blind left eye. He sported an unkempt goatee, and when he spoke, Vincent could see the glint of silver caps on each of his canine teeth. He seemed to radiate a power realized through a lifetime of violence. Vincent knew for certain that he had selected the right partner in crime, but he was no longer so sure that was a good thing.
“Hey!” Big Man said, clapping gloved hands in front of Vincent’s face, “I said are you ready to do this, boy?”
“Yes,” Vincent stammered. “Yes, I am.”
“Okay, so hand me that gat and let’s get this shit over with already,” Big Man replied, holding his hand out expectantly.
“Wait, first we need to make this look legit and think through all the angles,” Vincent said, regaining confidence and feeling the neurons and synapses in his brain firing to full capacity. “Here’s what we’ll do: I’ll hand you this gun and roll up the window. From there you’ll smash the window in with the butt of the pistol so the glass falls inward. Then, well, then you pull the trigger. After it’s done, you need to empty the glove box and center console. Leave the driver’s side door open. I want this to look like a real carjacking so my family doesn’t have any questions. You got me?”
Vincent paused and looked up at Big Man to make sure he was following and wouldn’t fuck this up at the finish line.
“Yeah, man, I break the window, snuff you, snatch your shit, and get the fuck outta Dodge.”
It really was that simple.
Vincent took a deep breath and reached over to grab the gun in the passenger seat. “One more thing,” he said, looking Big Man directly in his eyes.
“What’s that, boy?”
“Make sure it’s in the head. I don’t want to leave anything up to chance.”
Big Man grinned. “You got some nuts, man. I ain’t ever met anyone this crazy before.”
“I need to know you’re going to hold up your end.”
“Like I said, I got you. Now give me that fucking Glock and let’s get this over with already. It’s fucking cold out here.”
Vincent handed the gun over to Big Man, the electric sensation surging through his body. He rolled up the window, and Big Man immediately smashed it in with the butt of the pistol. “You got any last words?” he said solemnly.
Vincent looked up and felt every hair on his body stand up. This was it—this was his last chance to bail, to go home to Lisa, and pretend this was all a fucked up dream. But he couldn’t turn back now—everything was working out perfectly according to plan. He’d felt like a passenger all of his life, and he’d come too far to quit.
Vincent took a deep breath. “Just make sure it’s in the temple. Clean and simple. Lights out.”
Big Man nodded and pointed the gun at Vincent’s head. “You want to watch it happen?” he said.
“Better if I don’t.”
“I got you,” Big Man said and pulled the hammer back with his thumb until it clicked into position. “Last chance,” he said.
“Just fucking do it already,” Vincent replied through gritted teeth.
“All right, your funeral.”
Time slowed to a near stop and Vincent recalled an article he’d read a few years earlier about people committing suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. Many were successful, but to a man, the handful who survived the fall said the first thought they had after stepping off the bridge was that they didn’t want to die.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vincent could see Big Man’s index finger applying pressure to the trigger, and, suddenly, every fiber of his body was screaming for him to do something, anything, to stop this from happening. He tried to get the right words to communicate that desire from his brain to his mouth, but everything was moving too slowly. Finally, he managed to get his vocal cords to activate and utter a faint, “Stop.” In the same moment that the word escaped his lips, the blast of the gun rang out, his field of vision closed in, and everything began to go dark.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vincent was floating. He tried opening his eyes, but the darkness remained, making it impossible for him to know if his eyes were open or closed. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he had eyes at all. No matter—he would accept this new environment without further question.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in this impossibly tranquil space. It could’ve been a second; it could’ve been a year; it could’ve been a decade. He didn’t really care. He’d never felt so secure, so removed from all his earthly torments. He was at peace. He quit trying to connect with the senses that were omnipresent in his past life and let his mind truly relax. He still felt conscious, but without ego. Vincent Palmer was no one and nothing.
After some indeterminate amount of time, he heard a faint pulse in the distance. Surprised to learn that his ears worked, Vincent stretched to figure out where the sound had come from. Another pulse rang out, sounding closer but still hiding its source. It sounded like something you’d hear deep in the depths of a Tibetan monastery, but it felt intimate. Perhaps it was a song or melody he’d known in a different lifetime.
“So familiar, soft and steady, like a long-forgotten embrace,” a voice cooed in the distance, startling Vincent. “This body, this life, holding you close . . .” the mysterious voice continued, accompanied by a low vibration, almost like sound waves traveling underwater.
What was happening? Could it be that his time in this newfound haven was running out? He wasn’t ready to move on from this. Not yet. He needed to figure out how to hang on, but as he struggled to do that, the sounds marched on.
“We drift away from the memories, landing softly and choosing . . . choosing to be here, right now.”
What were they talking about?
The instantly recognizable feeling of anxiety began digging its claws in as a hot flush came over him. For the first time since he’d entered this realm, he could feel his heart, and it was beating furiously.
“Hold on; stay inside,” the voice chanted all around him.
That’s exactly what I’m trying to do! Vincent thought as he mustered all his agency to try and figure out what was happening.
“This vessel cradles me, reminding me that I belong . . .”
Vincent tried thrashing, thinking this must be some sort of dream. To his surprise his right foot kicked out and hit a wall. No, too squishy to be a wall, but he now knew he had a foot, and that was progress.
“This being is eternal . . .”
Something was changing around him, and the mysterious voice seemed to be wrapping up its prayer. Time was running out.
“All the pain is an illusion . . .”
The voice finished and Vincent was suddenly bombarded by piercing sounds of electrical feedback, a blinding light, and a sensation similar to being pulled beneath a wave. Powerless to stop what was happening and more terrified than he had ever felt, Vincent braced for the worst.
“Why isn’t he crying?” Vincent heard a woman ask. “Somebody help him! Please! He should be crying! What is happening to my baby?”
His eyes were still adjusting to the light, but Vincent could feel the pressure of giant hands all over his body, and all around him he heard a cacophony of frantic conversation and the continued cries of the woman. “Please tell me what’s happening!” she pleaded. He recognized the woman’s voice as one he’d heard millions of times before. She was sobbing.
“What’s wrong with him?” a strained but familiar male voice asked.
“He’s not responding to the CPR, doctor, and we can’t seem to get his lungs to activate,” someone said nearby.
“Keep trying. How are his other vitals?” another man responded.
“Why is he so blue?” the familiar voice asked.
Vincent was finding himself overwhelmed and overcome with exhaustion. He desperately wanted to return to wherever he was before all of this madness. Maybe if he closed his eyes and let go, he’d be welcomed back.
“He’s flatlining . . .” Vincent heard faintly in the background as his eyelids drifted shut. He felt that peaceful feeling begin to embrace him, as comfortable as a warm blanket on a crisp winter evening. But before he could fully disengage, Vincent felt his eyes flutter open one final time and he heard one of the men saying, “I’m so very sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Palmer—there’s nothing else we can do.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Vincent! It’s time to wake up; we’re running late!” a woman’s voice shouted from another room. The voice was incredibly familiar, but Vincent couldn’t figure out where he’d heard it before. Despite his curiosity being piqued, Vincent kept his eyes closed and decided to fade back into a comfortable slumber. Right before he fully crossed over into the dream realm, he heard a door handle jiggle, something push the door open, and he was jolted awake by a large shaggy dog fervently licking his face.
“That’ll get you moving,” the woman said from the hallway, laughing as she walked back to wherever it was that she came from.
Now that his eyes were open, Vincent took a second to gather his bearings and figure out where he was. After a few seconds spent shaking the cobwebs out of his brain and wiping the slobber from his face, he noticed an Arizona Wildcats poster on the wall, just like the one he had in his room throughout his early childhood. Opposite the poster was an old rocking chair sitting next to a trunk Vincent knew was full of toys without even needing to open it. He looked down and locked eyes with Luna, the energetic labradoodle that had been his chaotic partner in crime early in life.
What the fuck was going on? The last thing he remembered was . . . a hospital? Was that it? He wasn’t totally sure, but he clearly remembered the peaceful dark place he was yanked from. And the events leading up to what he had expected to be the last moments of Vincent Palmer’s life.
“Hear that, honey?” the woman said playfully from another room. “It’s your song, so you better get your little butt out here before it’s over!”
Sure enough, Vincent could hear the opening chords of Garth Brooks’s “Standing Outside the Fire” playing on a radio outside of his room. It was then that something clicked and he jumped out of the bed, sprinted out of the room, took a left down the hallway, and came to a dead stop in the open kitchen/dining room he’d spent so much time in during his youth. His movements were automatic, and though he felt them, it was almost as if someone was moving his body parts for him. Speechless, he stared as his mother packed his bag lunch and danced to their favorite song—she was exactly how he remembered her.
“Mommy?” Vincent squeaked, trying to confirm what he was seeing was real. He hadn’t called his mother that in decades, but somehow it slipped out that way.
His mother looked up and smiled, “Good morning, handsome. How are you feeling today?”
Everything about her exuded warmth, from the loving twinkle shining through her turquoise green eyes to the little crinkles on the bridge of her nose that only appeared when she was genuinely happy to see someone. She looked so vibrant and full of life. Gone were the wrinkles and wisps of white hair, replaced by smooth, glowing skin and thick red hair that no hair dye would ever be able to replicate. This was the version of his mother who appeared in his mind’s eye when he would drift back to a time when life didn’t feel so difficult.
He’d missed that joyful smile more than words could adequately express, but when he tried to tell her this, nothing came out. His fists balled up in frustration, and he couldn’t get his throat to loosen up enough to allow his vocal cords to activate.
“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?” she cooed, running over to wrap Vincent in a big bear hug. “Come on, there’s no reason to cry! Listen, it’s your favorite part,” she said as Garth launched into the chorus and Vincent found himself dancing with his mom, his worries completely forgotten.
After the song ended, Vincent plopped down at the kitchen table and dove into a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. He knew something strange was happening, and his mind was kicking into overdrive, attempting to make sense of the impossible. He was himself, but he was also this kid version of himself at the same time. However, a gentle hand running through his hair was all it took for him to ignore the impulse to dissect the situation and simply appreciate the gift he had been given. His mother’s death had left him completely gutted, but today, sitting and watching her put the finishing touches on his bag lunch, he felt whole again. He didn’t care if this was a dream or hallucination; he planned to soak up every moment.
As Vincent finished slurping up the last of the now chocolate milk in his cereal bowl, his mom popped over, wrapped him in another hug, kissed him on the cheek, and playfully whispered, “Vincent Bryan, we have T-minus five minutes until the shuttle departs to take you to school. Can you complete the mission of getting dressed and brushing your teeth before it takes off?”
Vincent remembered these little games his mom used to play with him growing up. She always figured out how to make the most mundane things fun. She embodied love. He felt happy tears begin welling up behind his eyes again but jumped out of his chair before his mom could see and started running down the hall back to his room. “I’ll be ready, Mommy!” he shouted.
Before crossing the threshold into his room, he stole a quick glance backward and caught a glimpse of his mom’s authentic smile. He had forgotten how good it felt to love and be loved by someone so unconditionally, unburdened by anything else happening in the world.
It wasn’t until they were in the car that Vincent allowed his brain to start analyzing the circumstances he found himself operating within. He wasn’t totally certain how old he was right now, but his mind still seemed like his own. The memories of his “real” life remained, and his ability to process information was much greater than his childlike form suggested. But for some reason anything he said was translated into kid-speak—if he could manage to get words out at all. It was almost like there was some sort of filter between his brain and mouth recalibrating his thoughts into words that were more suited to someone of his age.
