Chapter Two
Bob
and Kathy were just college students and hometown kids doing what young
people often do. Sitting in his car, they watched the full moon rise in the
east. They were planning a future and dreaming of a life together. He hoped one
day to be a pilot and fly planes for a living and travel the world. She --
always the practical one -- was studying to be a dental assistant.
The
young couple kissed passionately in an overpowering embrace until a gunshot rang
out as a single bullet pierced through them both. Death arrived instantly. The
two teenagers lay dead in a parked car.
The fatal shot shattered the side
window and passed through both of their skulls, leaving a mess of broken glass,
bones, brains, and blood splattered across the small car’s interior.
It had been a beautiful evening. The
sun vanished over the horizon, and a full moon rose in the east as the darkness
set in.
Musician Denny Hopkins walked into
the nearly empty parking lot where two small cars were parked. He stood only
a few feet from the teenager’s car, unaware of what had
happened just moments earlier. He waited for his friend Todd to arrive. What is taking him so long? He thought,
his patience wearing thin. I hate waiting
like this. The last time he did this,
I stood out here for nearly an hour. Note to self, never forget your cell phone
again … idiot.
He
waited … and waited.
Then
a primer grey, vintage 1988 Pontiac Firebird, pulled up and parked nearby.
Now, who’s this? Don’t
tell me Todd’s sent someone else. Do I know anyone with an old Firebird?
The
driver pulled up next to one of the cars where Denny stood. He flicked the
remains of a lit cigarette butt from the open window. Denny watched it roll across
the worn pavement, still smoking. He motioned for Denny to come over. Denny
hesitated. He’d lived in the city long enough to know something was up. It was
just a gut feeling, but he knew it was something, some kind of warning.
There’s something
strange about this guy. Something’s just not right here.
The
guy in the Firebird didn’t wait long. He pulled out of his parking spot and
rolled past Denny. He looked dangerously nervous with his long grey greasy hair
and salt-and-pepper beard. Denny could smell the burnt tobacco and hear the
empty beer cans rattling around in the passenger side of the grungy old car.
Then the beat-up Firebird sped away like a jackrabbit with its tail on fire,
roaring out of the vacant lot and into the busy city traffic, vanishing as
quickly as it had arrived.
Slightly
shaken, Denny realized he’d better pay closer attention to his surroundings. Never forget your cell phone again.
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