The Last Cartwheel

Dan Jackson watched as the dwindling countryside past him by just beyond the window as the train barreled down the tracks at fifty miles an hour. Chicago was swallowing up all of the natural beauty that was left around it and the city itself was swallowing its people. People died on the streets of that city every day. It was the norm. Everyone had accepted it. But Dan was not from Chicago. He wasn’t a member of their city. So, when his six-year-old son, Jason, was killed unexpectedly on those very streets four years earlier, he had not accepted it the way most Chicagoans would have.

           Anyone from the city would have planned, paid for and attended yet another funeral. They would have grieved, yes, but they would have chalked it up to bad luck. Just one more soul claimed by the second city. Nothing can be done, better to move on. Jason wasn’t supposed to die that day. He’d just been there by happenstance. It was an outlier. It wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d been with his mother. Gina. They’d just been passing through the city, and Jason had to go to the bathroom. It was that brief bathroom break that had made all the difference in the world.

           They’d missed their train home. And instead of waiting at the station for the next, they’d decided to wander to find a place to sit down for a meal instead of having fast food. That decision had changed everything. Jason had been so proud of himself the week before for having taught himself to do a cartwheel. Dan had tried to get him to reign it in, at least in public, but he didn’t have the heart to make him stop. There was so much joy in him. Dan didn’t have it in him to take that happiness away. And neither did Gina, which was why she hadn’t said anything as he'd gone cartwheeling down the sidewalk ahead of her toward the restaurant that day.

           They had gotten so close, at least that was the idea Dan had gotten from the officer who had delivered the news. Less than a block away from spaghetti and meatballs. Jason’s choice. Gina was in shock when he’d arrived and wasn’t able to tell him what had happened. She never was the same after that. She never forgave herself. Had she just told him to stop. Had she just made him calm down a little. But she hadn’t. And one horrific mistake in not doing so is what killed their son.  

           Dan thought about Gina a lot. Even more so since the divorce had become official. He didn’t regret ending the marriage. It was better for the two of them to be apart. Gina was convinced that Dan blamed her for Jason’s death and no matter how hard Dan tried to convince her otherwise, the fact that deep down he did blame her always shined through. He had tried to put it out of his head. Tried to shift his blame to the person who was truly responsible. But while he did hold Derek Hanson accountable, he couldn’t put it out of his mind that his wife had a share of the blame.

           He tried to focus in on the passing landscape, but all he could see was Jason. His little boy. His son who would have turned ten today. Double digits. They would have had a massive birthday party with dozens of presents and all the cake he could stuff in his little face. But that gathering would never take place. His son would never know what it was to turn ten. To get his driver’s license at sixteen. To graduate high school a couple of years later. To share his first adult beverage with his father.

           Milestones that occurred in the life of every child. Or every child that lived long enough to see them. He looked down at the large, silver revolver in his hand. He turned it slightly revealing the edges of the bullets that rested in the chamber. He’d never been much of a gun lover. He’d shot them a few times in his own youth but had never taken to owning them or shooting them on any kind of regular basis. The one in his hand was new. Expensive too. When he'd bought it, he thought about it all the way home wondering how people kept up with such an expensive hobby of owning and shooting firearms.

           What he hadn’t given a moment’s thought to was his own reason for finally relenting and purchasing the weapon. The Governor as it was branded by its manufacturer. He’d landed on the decision only six days prior to his ride on train. And as Derek Hanson trembled in the seat across from him, he was reminded of his reason. He’d been holding the gun angled at his son’s murderer for the better part of two hours. His arm was getting sore from having it so stiff in that angle for so long, but he wasn’t taking any chances of Hanson escaping.

           He’d already escaped his fate once when a jury and lawyers were involved, but here, on this train, Dan Jackson was the law. He planned to see to it that justice was served one way or another. He gave the legal system its chance. He believed in the process. He’d trusted it. And it had failed him. Not only had it failed him in providing the closure of seeing his son’s killer brought to justice, but it had also failed his son in getting the retribution he deserved. The system had failed, and it now rested on Dan Jackson to see that if Jason would never seen his next birthday, Derek Hanson wouldn’t either. He looked across at him in complete disgust and watched as Derek prepared to plea for the fourth time during the trip.

           “Come on man…please. Just let me go. I can get off at the next stop and disappear. You’ll never see me again. Please.”

           “Shut up,” Dan said coldly.

           “Man please! I swear on my mother’s soul I won’t tell anyone about this. Alright? Please just let me go.”

           “Don’t you see why I can’t do that Derek?”

           “How do you even know my name? I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this, but you don’t have to do this.”

           “Of course, I do. That statement just confirms that. You’ve done so many things in your life that would warrant this kind of response that you can’t figure out why this is happening. Am I the husband of a married woman you fucked? Am I the bookie you skipped out on and owe money to? Am I the guy who’s house you broke into and stole the jewelry from?”

           “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

           “How many lives have you destroyed Derek? How many lives have you ruined?”

           “Come on man! Please! Just let me fucking go. I don’t know who you are or what you want me to say!”

           “I know you don’t. But you will. Believe me when I tell you that before this is all over, you will know exactly why I am doing this. You will remember.”

           The tears formed fully and began to drip down Derek’s cheeks as he stared at the gun and found that he had no more words to speak. This man had him under complete control. Unless he wanted one of those massive, brass bullets putting a golf-ball sized hold in the back of his head, he had to do what the man said. And right now, the assignment was to sit on the train until it came to their stop, wherever that may be.

           He let his eyes drop to the floor and tried to go numb as the train moved them toward their destination. Derek’s final destination from the looks of things. He tried recounting what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He’d been at the bar. Typical for a Tuesday night. Walking distance from home. He remembered getting home, although he remembered having to fight hard to find his balance walking up the stairs to his apartment. It’d been open. He’d figured that Tiffany had just left it open on her way in.

           He closed his eyes and remembered the moment he’d walked inside and found her lying face down on the floor. The first thing he’d done was look around the floor for a syringe. It was their hobby. Getting high together. But when he’d found no needle, he’d bent down to wake her up. He’d known she was dead well before turning her over and finding the hole in the middle of her forehead. He hadn’t even had time to grieve or truly register what had happened before the man had revealed himself.

           He’d been standing the shadows of the dark living room watching Derek examine the body. He hadn’t said a word. He had led Derek to a car and given him a piece of paper that had an address on it. Derek drove to it to discover it was the train station. They sat in silence all night until the man had forced him onto the train and had held him, secretly, at gun point ever since. He had no idea what this man had in store, why he had killed Tiffany or why he forced Derek onto a train, but he figured he would get at least one of those answers soon enough.

           His thoughts were interrupted by the slowing of the train. It was coming to a stop. The man looked away from the window and down at the gun again. It looked as if he were trying to decide whether to kill Derek right there. Derek was only able to breath again when the man tucked the gun into his jacket and nodded for Derek to get off the train. He did as he was commanded, and the man followed closely behind him.

           He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he just kept walking straight. It was only when the armed captor placed a hand on his shoulder and shifted him in one direction or another that he deviated course. They walked for a long time. Well over an hour. It was cold. The October winds had picked up in Chicago and Derek wasn’t dressed for the occasion. Dan had a light jacket, and the wind nipped at his exposed neck and cheeks, but he hardly noticed. He was about to get the thing he’d been dreaming of for four years.

           They finally arrived at their destination. A cemetery. Derek stopped at it’s gates and looked at the ground as if stepping on the property would immediately turn him to dust. He turned to look at Dan who simply waved the gun to silently instruct him to move forward. They slowly maneuvered through the cemetery until a hand once again came down gently on Derek’s shoulder. This time there was no shift in direction. It was a symbol for him to stop.

           Dan stepped around Derek and walked in front of him a few paces with his back turned. It was the first time that the gun hadn’t been aimed at Derek since the start of his nightmare. This was the first and likely last chance for him to escape. He began cautiously looking around for an escape route, but the area they were in was directly in the center of the cemetery and there were very few trees. He was several seconds away from cover, even sprinting as hard as he possibly could. His next idea was to look for other mourners in the area who could help, but the place was vastly deserted. His thoughts were interrupted.

           “Is it coming back to you now?” Dan asked slowly turning around revealing a tiny tombstone behind him.

           “I told you man; I don’t know what the fuck this is! I don’t know who you think I am or think I did, but I didn’t fucking do anything!”

           “Seventeen beers.”

           “What?”

           “Seventeen beers, five shots, and a whiskey sour. That’s what you consumed in a matter of three and a half hours before getting behind the wheel of your truck.”

           Derek suddenly knew exactly who his captor was and exactly why he’d been brought to this place. Beyond that, he knew exactly who resided just below that tiny tombstone. He began to cry. Not because he knew what his fate would be, but because of what he’d done. He’d done everything he could to put it out of his mind and with the help of needles, joints and shot glasses he’d managed to do a pretty good job of it until this moment.

           “Jesus,” he said sobbing, looking up at the sky.

           “Don’t look to God Derek. He can’t help you. He can’t help anyone. Believe me I know. If he could, he would’ve done something to save my son. My six-year-old son! Do you know what today is?”

           Derek didn’t answer. He just shook his head as the tears crawled down his face.

           “Today is…was his birthday. He would’ve been ten today. Do you even remember his name?”

           Derek didn’t remember. He knew that he should, but he didn’t.

           “Jason. Jason Mitchel Jackson. He would have been ten. I’m not supposed to be here Derek. He’s not supposed to be here. We should be on our way to a baseball game. He should be stuffing his face with hot dogs and cotton candy. Instead, he’s rotting in the ground. Because of you.”

           “It was an accident man; I didn’t mean to hit him!”

           “It was an accident? You accidentally drank enough alcohol for the entire bar? You accidentally got behind the wheel instead of calling a cab? No! There was no accident on your part, only choices! Choices you made! Choices that killed my son!”

           Derek fell back into his sobbing knowing that arguing was no use.

           “The only accident was the one my wife made when she let him run off ahead of her. It was a mistake. Do you remember the moment?” Dan asked.

           Derek said nothing.

           “Do you remember the moment when you swerved an entire lane over and ran over my child? Answer me!”

           “Yes! Fuck, yes, I remember! I’ve spent four years trying to forget! You think I don’t hate myself for what happened? You think I don’t know that boy should be alive, and I should be in the ground? You think I don’t know that I’m worthless? Well, you’re wrong! I know all of those things! It’s a fucking miracle that I haven’t put a bullet in my brain myself!”

           “What was he doing?” Dan asked calmly.

           “What?”

           “What was my son doing just before you hit him?”

           Derek knew the answer, but it made him out to be ever more of a monster than he already was. A child doing something that children did. Just being a kid. Until a pick-up truck ended his life in a matter of seconds. It was over so fast, but not so fast that he didn’t see what the kid was doing.

           “…. he was doing cartwheels.”

           Dan smiled to himself and raised the gun. Derek stiffened and instinctively prepared his body bracing for the impact of the bullet. The two men stood there for several moments in complete silence, one man wanting so badly to pull the trigger, the other waiting for his fate to finally catch up with him.

           “Show me,” Dan said finally breaking the quiet.

           “What do you mean?”

           “Show me what my son was doing just before you murdered him.”

           “You want me to do a cartwheel?”

           Dan cocked the hammer back on the revolver rendering it ready to fire at the slightest pull on the trigger.

           “You said my son was doing a cartwheel right before you killed him. I want you to do the same thing.”

           Derek hesitated, but quickly understood that he had no choice but to do as he was told. He chose a lane in between tombstones and did his best version of a cartwheel. Dan began to laugh hysterically. A deep, belly laugh. He laughed so hard that he began to cry. For Derek it was like watching someone laugh who hadn’t done so in a lifetime. Like he was discovering how to do it for the first time. When the laughter finally subsided, Dan slowly stood back to full height once again raising the gun.

           “My son was much better at it than you. He should have been doing those cartwheels for years and years, but instead that was his very last cartwheel. It’s only fitting that the cartwheel you just did will be your last as well. May God have mercy on your soul…and on mine.”

           As if in slow motion, Derek watched as Dan’s finger gently pulled back on the trigger. He never heard the shot, but he saw the barrel of the gun explode in a brilliant blend of red, yellow and orange. And just behind the gun, he saw the smile on Dan’s face. It was the last thing that Derek Hanson ever saw, but the last thing he ever felt was relief. He fell backward onto the ground and to his surprise, the last thing he thought about before his world closed in on him was Jason Jackson doing cartwheels.