Penance

"The money is in the trunk."

The words tumbled out in between choked breaths and wheezing sounds as I smashed my shirt into the hole in his neck.

"It's all there. Every penny. I swear. Don't hurt her. Please. Please."

Shit. SHIT. "Stop talking ok!" There's too much blood. I jump up to call for help and his head jerks off of my lap slapping the ground with a disgusting thud like a steak on a butcher counter. I run to my car and grab for my phone but it's buried somewhere under glass and the crap from my seat. My heart is pounding in my throat. This is my fault! I'm going to jail. If he dies, I'm going straight to fucking jail. There are gurgling sounds and I turn around to see his face white as chalk and his mouth making a perfect O shape with tiny drops of blood popping out like a bass on a hook. And then. He's not. He's perfectly still, and my life is over. Think Andy, think THINK. Am I over he legal limit? Yes. Definitely yes. How many did I have? Four Rum and Cokes? Five? SHIT. The sound of my car still running finally reaches me. My car is running. Will it drive? I shove my door back open and jump in. The car slides into drive and begins to pull forward. I jam my foot onto the brake. I can't just leave, can I? He's definitely dead. There's no help for him now no matter what I do. I scan the road in both directions and there is nothing but empty country road. What kind of an asshole hits a guy in the middle of nowhere and leaves him on the side of the road? I twist my fists into my eyes until I see bright green lights and then take a slow, deep breath. I open the door and step out of the car. Walking back over to the dead guy the scene is playing over and over in my head. The tail lights. I swerve The guy opens his car door and starts to get out and my car slams right into him. Sounds like a cannon ball blast, rubber smoke stink and glass everywhere. I take one last look and make a decision. He's dead, but I'm not. I get back in and put the car in drive. About a mile down the road the old guy's words hit me. The money is in the trunk. I slam on the brakes. What was he talking about? Was he delirious? What money? If I turn around and waste more time getting out of here someone might see me out here. Then everything is over. But what if? I could disappear if there is money. I have to just check real quick. I don't even bother turning around. I just throw it into reverse and push the accelerator. It only takes about a minute and I see the car come up over my shoulder. Wen I'm close enough I slam on the brake and get out. I walk over and reach inside of his car to pop the trunk. There is blood everywhere and a picture of a girl on the floorboard. I pick up the picture. It's a polaroid, like from old times. She looks, familiar. I pocket the photo and walk over to the trunk. Inside rolled all the way to the back is a black bulging duffel bag. I grab it and slam down the trunk. My throat is dry and tight and I can barely swallow on my way back to the car. Thank God my mother is dead and she'll never know what kind of person I am.

I've been glaring at the bag for over an hour. I just don't have the balls to open it. There are honking noises coming from down on the street. My neighbor is yelling at his old lady just like every other night. The smell of curry and rice is drifting down from upstairs. Everything is just like it always is and everything is different. My phone is nowhere to be found. It was on the seat next to me when I hit the guy and now it's gone. There's a duffel bag on my table, I'm a murderer and my phone is probably somewhere on the ground by the accident scene.

A door slamming rips me out of sleep and my eyes pop open. It's daylight. It's fucking daylight! I fell asleep. A quick glance around and I see the bag is still lurking from across the room. I grab the remote and turn on the tv and then head to the shower. I'll deal with this after I wash this man's blood off of my hands.

Walking back into the living room, I see a woman's face plastered on the television. My ears start to ring and the blood leaves my face. It's her. From the picture. I know it's her. The ice blue eyes are exactly the same.

"Police are reporting accident victim Paulo Sanchez, son of the late Sonny the Kid Sanchez, was found dead an apparent victim of a hit and run on Route 214 just two hours outside of New York City. Sources say there are no apparent leads for a suspect in this accident. This latest tragic event will further complicate the ongoing case of Catherine Sanchez, Paulo's only daughter reported missing and believed to have been abducted 3 weeks ago. Mob ties are strongly suspected in this disappearance."

No. No no no no NO. This isn't happening. Before I know it my hands are unzipping the duffel bag. I stare inside at the neatly bundled 100 dollar bills and I can feel my chest squeezing as my breath stops in my throat. There are footsteps coming up the stairs. I run into my bedroom and open the window to the fire escape. I can hear knocking on my front door. I carefully climb out the window. It's freezing out here and grabbing onto the metal bars feels like trying to grip icicles. How is this happening? I should have just done the right thing. How can a night of celebrating at my best friend's wedding end like this? I look back up at my apartment window and two men are staring back at me. One of them makes eye contact with me and a slow smile begins to spread over his face. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. It's my phone. Oh God. The second man pulls out a gun. My hand instinctively jerks to my face to protect myself and I lose my grip and all I can see as I fall is that white face with the lips in the shape of an O begging for his daughter with his last breath.