Drown #13: the story we tell, part 5.4

August 2086. Justin Kim is 26. Willow Nova is 5. Jeremiah Day is 29. 

* content advisory for Drown #13: the story we tell, parts 5.4-5.5: violence/gore

Justin stopped for coffee somewhere halfway home, in the wilderness north of Milwaukee, where the speedway ended and he had to drive manual. The day had been long, and he needed to wake up.

"Willow?"



She was fast asleep.

It wasn’t hot outside anymore and the sun had halfway set. The evening temperature had dropped to a comfortable seventy-two degrees. He glanced around the parking lot, a couple of parked cars but no people in sight. He wasn't one of those parents who locked a kid in a hot car on a summer day—he didn't want anybody to think that! It wasn't hot outside and she'd be fine in here. She'd never be out of his sight. 

"Willow?"

"Mmm," she mumbled, but didn’t wake up.

"I'm just going to get coffee. I can see you, okay? I'll just be over there."

"Uh, huh."

He locked the car and put the keys in his pocket.




The sight of Jeremiah reaching for the door handle where Willow slept awakened Justin faster than coffee ever could.



Justin ran to the car and tackled him from behind. "No you fucking don't!"


"Wait a minute, don't make a scene," Jeremiah said in a chillingly cool voice. "Human trafficking at rest stops? There are posters everywhere. How will it look when I shout that you kidnapped my daughter?"

Justin stiffened, taking a step back, trying to decide if Jeremiah was right. He glanced around the park, looking for the owners of these cars. How would it look?

Willow was drowsy, but awake now, frozen in horror and watching them both.


"Because you know how it will look," Jeremiah said. "She looks just like me, not you. Then I'll show them her birth certificate with my name on it. Hey, and I have a copy in my pocket. I bet you don't, not that it would do you any good, because it's my name, not yours. I'm legally married to her mother, not you."

Justin hadn't brought any paperwork at all. He'd just done what Stephanie told him to do.

"So here's what we'll do," Jeremiah continued. "You've already stolen absolutely everything else from me, so you're going to give me my daughter and we'll call it even. You can keep your whore, Stephanie. You've already ruined her with your bastard child, anyway. I don't want Stephanie anymore. Just give me my girl and we'll call it done."

"Willow, don’t open that door," Justin said to her. "Stay where you are. Do not move."

"Does she listen to you? How charming."

"I’ll just have to take her the hard way then," Jeremiah said, raising his fists in front of Justin's face. "I have to say, I was hoping for it to be Stephanie's parents. You know her dad is so old that I could probably knock him over with a huff and a puff. But I’m not worried. If you're going to make me fight for my daughter, I’ll do that. You sure you don’t want an out?"

"You're crazy."

"You stole someone else's family, and you call me crazy? You don't need her like I do. You're just doing this for Stephanie. So I'll give you an out. I'll rough you up a little so it looks like you struggled, so Stephanie won't lose faith in you, and I'll take my girl. Win-win. What do you say?"

Justin glanced at the door, wondering how fast he could slide in. If he failed, Jeremiah would get to Willow. He couldn't fail. He didn't know what to do.

"Go on, fucking try it," Jeremiah taunted.

"You'll never get away with this," Justin said. "You can't just take her. You can't do that. We went to court. The judge decided, he said that you can't have her." 

"God, I hate you," Jeremiah growled. "I hate you more than anything. You couldn't let a man settle things with his own family, his own wife. I wasn't even home a few hours before you swooped in and stole my family. I'm going to take pleasure in this, believe me. Last chance. Give me the keys." 

"Never." 

Jeremiah threw the first punch.


Justin struck back, not knowing what else to do. The last thing he'd ever do was give Jeremiah the car keys with Willow locked inside.




The problem was that Jeremiah hadn’t expected much of a fight, but Justin gave him one. Justin worked manual labor to feed five mouths. He carried shit up and down mine shafts. He had to hold his own against Cooper Dickhead Riddle, show me your fucking guns. Justin wasn't a scrawny office dweeb anymore, and he didn't fight like one, either. Which made Jeremiah furious.

And when Jeremiah got furious, he fought harder and dirtier. A knee blow to the ribs, twice, three times. Justin landed more than a couple of solid hits, hoping to… he didn’t know what. Justin had never been in a real fight before this very minute. How could this possibly end? He wasn’t going to knock Jeremiah out, but he wasn't going to give up, either.

Whoever owned these cars wasn’t in shouting range, and what else? The only person here was a five year-old and what could she do?

The watch. He couldn’t call out to Willow in time before Jeremiah landed another punch square in his jaw.

"Just open the car, give me my girl."

"No. Willow!—"

Jeremiah lunged a knee into Justin's ribs. He heard the crack of bones.


"Close your eyes, girlie. Don’t watch this."

Justin could hardly see her through his swollen eyes, but he knew she was watching. He would lose, he knew, and she would see it happen. Justin tried everything he knew to try, but it wouldn't be enough.

Justin pleaded with her through the glass. "Close your eyes, Willow. Turn around."





A straight shot to the nose, and the blinding pain singed through his head. Justin dropped to his knees.

Jeremiah did not stop. He didn’t intend to leave without his daughter, and if it had to be over Justin’s dead body, then so be it.

Justin was stronger than he used to be, but he was still four inches shorter and forty pounds lighter. This was still Justin's first and only fight. Justin fought with all that he had, but he wasn’t a fighter, he couldn't play dirty. That just wasn't in him. He didn't have what Jeremiah had—the rage, the hatred, the abandon, the terrible fury that Justin could never know in his gentle heart.


Jeremiah pinned Justin to the ground and growled at him, "You don't get to take everything. It's not yours. It's not yours. It's not yours."

Willow banged on the glass of the locked car window.

If Justin could speak, he would tell her, "Be brave, don’t be scared."

He would tell her, "Call your mom. Call the police. Press the red button, press it now! Scream, shout!"

He would tell her, "I'm sorry. I tried to protect you. I tried."

But he couldn’t speak with Jeremiah's vice grip on his throat. His vision flared with the white rush of blood to his brain and the throbbing of his broken nose and somewhere over the horizon, the blinding sun waned.




The blackness that came next was quick and unmerciful.

—

footnotes: we can't work it out 

notes: I meant for you to be able to inspect one of these photos more closely than the downsized photo reveals, so here is a larger size.

Sorry about the cliffhanger! I have the pictures ready for the next piece and will try to get it up ASAP.