Blackbird Song (10)

One month later.

[Narrator]

We never know the moments that are going to change our lives. When we wake up in the morning, expecting one thing, maybe just expecting our lives to roll on like they always have, those are the days it happens.

We never know.


[Jenna]

"I think he's going to ask me," I confided. I held the phone away from my ear while Liz got her squeeing out of the way. "Listen, my phone's fixing to die, but I'll call you back as soon as I get home. Yeah, yeah, you're a dirty whore. Love ya too. Bye"

I turned up the radio, which happened to be playing Styx. Renegade. I started belting it out, drumming on the steering wheel, singing with all my might, and just feeling wonderful.

I adjusted the rear view mirror, and instead of seeing my reflection, I saw his eyes. Madman's eyes.

An instant later, I felt coldness against my throat.

"Pull over, pretty," he said, his eyes empty, blank.

"No."

He sliced the blade into my collarbone, the flesh widening into a grin, and I felt the front of my shirt hot and sticky against my skin. But I couldn't make myself pull over.

"Pull over, now," he said, no inflection in his words.

Meeting his eyes in the mirror, I stomped the gas, causing him to slide back into the leather of the seat.

The next instant, his hands were in my hair, yanking my head back, the knife pressing against my throat.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," I thought, as I felt the knife cutting into me again.

I mat the accelerator to the floor, and swerved into the tree looming ahead. I know that it probably won't end well for me. I know that, but I know whatever he's got planned for me will be so much worse. You see, I know him. I know that whatever lead him to make this plan, it's going to be so much worse than a few broken bones and bruises.

In this moment, I've made my peace. I may die, but I'm not going to die at the hands of a madman. I'm thinking these thoughts when we hit the tree.

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.

[Narrator]

As the strains of the song fill the air, dust caught in the headlights, blood dripping down Jenna's face, there's the smallest of sounds.

The rear driver's door opens.

Then, the driver's door.

Jenna doesn't feel her body being moved out of the wreckage that was her beloved Blackbird. She is mercifully unconscious as he grunts with her weight, and starts dragging her away.

She doesn't wake until days later, and when she does, she's in hell.



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