“Is everything alright?” Madelyn was now sitting next to him. She looked lovely with her hair down; she had his overcoat on and a black skirt that flared at the end. She pushed her hair back out of her face and then placed her hand on his arm and smiled, “is everything alright?” The soft voice the glow and warmth of her skin screamed at him. Her eyes looked passed his own wrapping deeper around his soul. Looking into her lifeless eyes made him feel at ease.
“Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He returned the smile. She leaned forward and looked up through the windshield. As he watched her, he noticed her nose start to crinkle, and suddenly she looked frustrated.
“You know that I don’t like this place.” She sighed and plopped back into her seat, “You know it’s just like you not to consult me on anything. I want to go some were else; you know this place isn’t good for you in the first place. You know better!” She started to get angry. “Let’s leave.” She crossed her arms and sat back looking ahead, as if she expected him to actually leave. He couldn’t help but stare at her until her patients grew thin. “What are you doing?! Move it!” He winced.
His imagination would often take a sudden turn and get the best of him. She would feel so real to him when he imagined her. Over the years since her death the idea of her actually being there got stronger. Once while driving home after work he listened to a late night disk jockey talking about people who lose their loved ones and never being able to let them go. The radio show gave some advice on how to move on and the DJ even went as far as suggesting therapy. He always believed that therapy was for looney's. He cracked a smile at the thought that he might be crazy. But Lance assumed that the disk jockey never considered that some might not want to let go.
Imagining Madelyn raising her voice like that again only reminded him that their relationship wasn’t the strongest in the least. The thoughts of their last argument quickly came to mind. He could only remember the emotions that raced threw him while they argued. His memory of their last argument consisted of what he called flashes. Nothing significant, no real context just random moments racing threw his mind in a matter of seconds. Remembering that time always conjured up the same emotions of regret, self-blame and most of all anger.
His head snapped and hit the driving wheel. The shock and pain ran threw all his senses like a tidal wave.
“What the hell!” He was confused and shocked; his hands tightly gripped the staring wheel. He barely opened his eyes when his car was hit again but this time from the front. This was no mistake and he knew it. His car was boxed in with no way out. He was trapped.
The driver’s side door opened in the car in front of him with a man with a gun that quickly followed. With that cue Lance opened the passenger side door and rolled out but not before the man shattered the windshield with his hand cannon.
Laying low Lance scrambled to the back side of his car. Another shot rang out and shattered the back window tossing glass like confetti over the top of his head. Lance grabbed one of the baseball sized rocks that decorated the drive through and lobbed it over the top of his car hitting the lunatic trying to ice him.
A second man exited out of the passenger side and fired two shots. Lance held his breath, quickly stood up from behind his cover and pumped a single shotgun blast into the chest of the passenger.
Then suddenly Lance hit the ground with a smack. His vision blurred as he tried to tell his body to move while trying to figure out what hit him. The rain poured down on his motionless body as his thought drifted into what he could only describe as nothing.