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Blaze

I love being on my motorcycle. Flying down quiet, deserted roads in the middle of the night brings me so much peace — peace that I don’t get from anything else in my life. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like I’m free.

But it also reminds me how fleeting life can be.

All it would take is one wrong turn, and I’d be all blood and brain matter splattered across the road. I’d ruin an otherwise peaceful night for all the officers on duty. People would have to stare at my insides on their commute to work in the morning, starting off their day on a bad note.

The sadistic side of me would love to be able to float above the scene, take in their horrified and disgusted faces, listen to their conversations as they complained about how inconvenient my death was to the start of their day.

I’m sure all they would do is complain about how I ruined their otherwise boring day.

Not a single one of them would be concerned about the lost life.

People are honestly the worst.

I used to find peace in everything that I did. When I joined the band, singing on stage was the most euphoric release of my life. Better than sex or getting high drugs could provide.

But there is a downside to every extreme. Everything that I was feeling would fade away when I wasn’t in front of a crowd.

Like the way addicts build up a tolerance to the drugs they’re using, I needed more to feel the same high that I first did in front of a cheering crowd. The same was no longer enough to feed that deep-rooted desire.

I needed more of everything. More noise. More fans. More fame. So, I did the unthinkable.

I literally made a deal with the devil, and I’ve been dealing with the consequences of that decision ever since. It’s incredibly cliche, but it is what it is.

I sold my soul to the devil alongside all of my bandmates, and in return we were given fame and fortune.

It was simultaneously the best decision and worst mistake of my life. The celebrity status we received almost immediately was exactly what we wanted, but the cost of that gift was higher than we were told in the beginning.

This is why you hire lawyers to read the fine print before signing a contract. Too bad there aren’t lawyers who specialize in demon law.

The bodies piled up so quickly, and we were given strict instructions on how they were to be left after we killed them. They looked like some fucking morbid, pop-up art piece.

In the beginning it was difficult to kill the people he wanted the most. But as fucked up at it may be, it got easier over time. I’ve learned quickly how to pick my targets.

All women, per my instructions. Being a musician made it easy. We had groupies begging for a chance to spend five minutes with us. Little did they know, their five minutes with a rock star would lead to them being my latest sacrifice.

Sirens interrupt my thought process and I no longer know what I was just thinking about. The constant blaring of the sirens during this ride are just another thing interrupting my peace, and it’s beginning to give me a headache.

I get it.

You’re coming after me. But, is it necessary to have the entire Sheriff’s department after me, or for the sirens to be so damn loud? The police should look into more neighborhood friendly sirens. Ones that don’t wake the entire town when you’re trying to catch a bad guy.

The nosey fucking people in Wraith Valley come running the second they hear a cruiser flying down the street. The flashing blue lights and the people in this town is the equivalent of a moth to a flame. So predictable and pathetic.

“Pull the motorcycle over, Mr. Dubois,” one of the officers says through the loudspeaker in their car. I’m not sure which one of the pigs said that, but he’s hilarious if he thinks that’s all it’s going to take for me to turn myself in.

I’ve come too far to give up now. If Donavan wants this to end, he’s going to have to kill me in front of all his men. I want them to at least get a glimpse of the monster he is.

I’m not better than him. Actually, I’m probably worse than him at this point.

I know where I’m going when this life ends.

It’s about time he realizes he’s never going to meet the big man upstairs.

His fate was sealed a long time ago, and once the reaper comes to take him, he has a first class ticket to the pits of hell.

I’ll be there waiting for him. Fists ready to beat in his ugly face. I know I won’t kill him — obviously he’ll already be dead — but maybe the devil will let me keep pummeling him for killing one of his most loyal servants.

I turn onto Old Wolf Street and hope that I can lose them when we get to the bridge.

There’s no way they will be able to drive their cars over it to follow me.

The bridge has been closed for years due to its inability to hold the weight of a vehicle, and the town is too set in their ways to update it.

Though, my bike should be able to fly across the bridge without the whole thing caving in and sending me down into the depths below.

The rickety old structure comes into view. I’m so close. I know I can get there and away from them if I just push a little faster. Then I’m on my way out of town, and I’ll stay out of dodge for a while until I figure out my next move.

This is the end of my career, and I know it. There’s no way for me to continue recording and performing now that they know what I’ve done.

I have no way of knowing exactly how many of my crimes they can prove, and I’m certainly not going to ask and start confessing, but I know that they wouldn’t be following me right now with an entire brigade of officers if they didn’t have enough to put me away for a long time.

Up ahead, the bridge comes into view, though it takes a moment for my eyes to pick up the shape of the familiar structure through the ridiculous amount of fog rolling around the deserted outskirts of town.

I’m so close to finally losing the parade of patrol cars behind me when I notice flashes of blue lights on the other side of the bridge.

At first, I think they are reflections from the lights behind me, bouncing off the fog in the air, but as my motorcycle starts across the creaky wooden planks, I see the clear silhouette of a man and the cars attached to the blue lights across the way.

I’m trapped. I have nowhere to go. Unfortunately, this bridge is not over water. If it was, I’d just jump in, no matter how deep or chaotic the current below may be. I wouldn’t even question it.

Of course, I’m not that lucky. As I slow my bike to a stop, I lean toward the broken and rotting wall of the bridge, staring down at the deep, rocky ravine below.

Jumping isn’t an option. I will not jump to my death. If Donavan wants me dead, he will have to do it himself. I’m no fucking coward. I will not bow to this fucking pig.

The shadowy figure at the far end of the makeshift wooden road takes slow, sure steps as they move closer to me.

Without seeing his smug face, I know the identity of the man approaching me.

He’s the same man that has been so hellbent to see me removed from my place in the limelight since the moment we discovered we have something in common.

The second in command for the sheriff of this lovely town has some skeletons in his closet that he’d do anything to keep from becoming public knowledge. And by anything, I mean that he’d willingly put a bullet between my eyes and send me to the creature who has my soul.

As the sound of footsteps grow closer and the chattering from voices in the distance is carried in my direction by the wind, I drop my head back and look up at the dark, cloudy sky. This is where it all ends. There’s no fucking way I’m making it off this bridge alive.

I can feel it. Like I can feel that my life is about to end, and whatever is left in place of my soul is already being pulled down toward the bottom of the ravine below.

A voice clears only feet away from me, and I roll my head to the side and meet the dark, hollow eyes of Dustin Donavan. He does some weird tip of his hat in my direction. “Good evening, Blaze.”

“Is it, Donavan?” I pull the cigarette and match from beneath the edge of my hat. Donavan watches on as I light the match against the bridge and bring the flame to the end of the cancer stick, clearly on high alert by the way his hand hovers over his gun until I toss the match into the ravine.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold my hand up, stopping him before he utters a single word. Keeping my hand in the air, I take a long drag into my lungs and hold it. My lungs burn, not from the smoke but the length of time I’m holding the smoke in them.

Finally, I release the breath into Donavan’s face. “Is it a good night? Seems to be a subpar night for me, if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry you feel that way, Blaze,” he says, trying to sound genuinely apologetic, but I hear the disdain when he says my name. He hates me.

“Are you?” I tilt my head to the side, and with the blood painting my hands and face with crimson, I am positive that I must look like a psychopath right now. My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as I smile at the officer. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

Donavan clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the way I’m questioning him. “Mr. Dubois, I really think-”

I step closer to him. “So now I’m Mr. Dubois?” Donavan takes an unsteady step away from me, but he quickly stands tall once again and crosses his arms over his chest. I have to bite back the bark of laughter that threatens to erupt from me at his failed attempt at intimidation.

“Mr. Dubois, what would you like me to call you?”

“Oh, so are we pretending we don’t know each other?” I drag my tongue over my bottom lip, licking at the metallic, crimson liquid drying there. “Are we going to pretend that this blood isn’t as much your fault as it is mine?”

Donavan reaches for the walkie clipped to the front of his shirt. He presses the button, and the tiny device pings before he says, “Adding a fifty-one fifty to the responding call. Notify Wraith Valley General and let them know we will have a transfer on route momentarily.”

My laugh is low and humorless as he finally releases the button from the radio. “We both know that was a lie, but you told it so well, Dusty. I’m almost proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” It’s the first time I’ve heard or seen him look even the slightest bit intimidating. Who knew that all it would take is calling him baby . Too bad I don’t have more time to test the theory and make sure I’m correct.

During our back and forth, my cigarette went out. Without thinking, I reach for my zippo in my pocket, but I never feel the familiar cool metal against my hand. Instead, all I feel is the searing pain as bullet after bullet is pumped into my chest from the barrel of Donavan’s gun.

“Slimy fucker,” I wheeze as I stumble back toward the edge of the bridge.

When I cough, I spray a smattering of rivulets of blood across his face and uniform.

If nothing else, at least he’ll have to remember fucking me over later tonight when he gets cleaned up. “Don’t get comfortable. I’ll be back.”

With those last words, I take the last step off the side of the bridge through the empty space in the broken wall. Closing my eyes, I revel in the feel of the wind surrounding me as I plummet into the ravine.

It’s the most free I’ve ever felt. More freeing than being on my bike. It’s such a shame I’ll only get to experience it once before the end.

I’m sure he’s smiling up there, thinking he’s won. Little does he know, I expected this day to come, and I took the necessary precautions to ensure my return. All I need is for some pathetic, love-sick fan to find it and—