Terminus Finale

Your eyes snap open.

It’s three minutes to boarding and Madonna’s “Like A Prayer” comes on the radio. You reach out with a shaky hand to switch it off, but don’t. Soon you’ll be safe, far away from here, up the coast and away. The ferry docked ten minutes ago and all the vehicles and human traffic have disembarked and you wonder what they’re waiting for. Don’t they know you’re in a hurry?

It’s then that you notice the mars lights flashing in the rear view mirror. How did they find you? No matter. The cops are climbing out of the vehicles now.

When you call my name it’s like a little prayer

You glance around, only to see that the cops are all over the place! They’re weaving around and setting up behind the empty cars that are lined up behind and beside you at the final stop. It’s over.

In the midnight hour, I can feel your power

Only one thing to do, and you know what it is. You pull the rucksack from the passenger seat beside you and dig through it. Your are at the same time unsure, yet certain about what you will find inside.

Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there

Your hand finds the cold grip of the Baretta 92F and a calm comes over you. This it it! An amped voice reaches your ears, commanding you to put up your hands and slowly exit the vehicle. You pop open the door. An alarm pings and tells you the door is ajar. You smile and think about that old cornball joke your friend Bill always used to tell: “When is a door not a door? When it’s ajar!”

With one foot on the damp tarmac, you hear the clicking and snapping, and cocking of various police issue projectile weapons.

Just like a dream, you are not what you seem

You stand, 9mm partially hidden by the RX-7’s doorframe. The amped voice again explodes in your ears telling you to put your hands on your head and lie face down on the ground. You turn and face the gun barrels and uniforms that almost surround you. It’s time.

Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there

You raise your right arm. There is more shouting. Weapon! Put the weapon down and get down on the ground sir!

You aren’t having any of this! You bring the Baretta to bear on the first weapon wielding uniform that comes into focus.

Just like a prayer, I’ll take you there

The first bullet hits you in the left shoulder and passes through cleanly. It’s strange, you always believed that it would hurt to be shot, but the wound in your shoulder is nothing if not just strangely warm.

It’s like a dream to me

You don’t get the opportunity to fire off even one shot as your body is wracked with round after round of police issue ammunition. As you begin to slump to the ground, feeling altogether light-headed, the last thing you see is your lower intestines peaking from a ragged hole in your shirt before two 9mm slugs tear through you cerebral cortex.

In the bullet ridden RX-7, the song on the radio slowly fades out.

It’s like a dream to me. . .

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