Limited Days: A Flash Fiction Story
By Joshua Scribner
Copyright 2016 Joshua Scribner
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
“Do you know why I stopped you?”
Morgan knew how to deal with cops. She’d already opened up her shirt a little.
“No, officer. I don’t know.”
The stone faced cop looked off.
She didn’t know what he could be looking at. There were no other cars on the road right now. She’d just come from the all night gas station, where she’d bought a pack of cigarettes.
He looked back at her. “That’s a lie.”
She thought that kind of strange. Maybe she hadn’t opened her shirt enough. “I’ve not done anything wrong. I just needed to go to the store to see if they had the right kind of formula for my baby.”
Again, he looked off into the night.
It was such curious movement. He had her looking too. There was nothing there but the dark night and snow coming down.
“That’s a lie,” he said. His voice was deep.
She’d not known he’d looked back at her until she looked at him.
“Is this your car?”
She didn’t suppose there was any reason to lie about that. “No. It’s my parents.”
He looked away again, but just for a second. “That’s true. Do they know you are driving it right now?”
“Yes. They let me use it.”
He looked away. This time, he actually nodded his head twice before looking at her. His face was so stone. He seemed so still. “It is true that they let you use one of their cars to drive. Is it true they know you’re driving it right now?”
This seemed like a weird line of questioning from a cop. “What does it matter if I took the car they let me drive out while they are sleeping?”
“Do they know you’re high?”
Now she was scared. “I’m not high.”
He didn’t look away this time. “That’s a lie. Why do they let you drive their car?”
“That’s none of your business really.”
“You will answer.”
“I will answer or what?”
“You will see. Now answer.”
She hesitated. He really did have the control right now. He could take her in, she supposed, her being so high and all. “Because they love me.”
He looked away again.
“Why do you keep looking away?”
He didn’t answer her. He didn’t look back yet either. He just held a hand near her face.
There was something very weird about his hand. At first, she couldn’t figure out what it was. But after a few seconds, she had it. “Your hand doesn’t have any lines.”
He pulled it down like it was a weapon he was trying to hide. Then he did look at her. “You lied. You know that is not the reason your parents let you use their car.”
This was so weird. How high was she right now? She’d hallucinated before, but never on just pot. “What? Are you saying my parents don’t love me?”
“Do you think that they love you?”
She shook her head. Maybe she could just shake the hallucination away. But when she looked back he was still there, staring with his still glare.
“Yes!” she snapped. “Of course I think they love me.”
He looked away again.
“What? What the fuck is this? Why are you asking me these crazy questions?”
He looked back at her. “You lied again. You know they don’t love you. Wicked things don’t get unfailing love.”
“Fuck you,” she said.
But it was like he was in her mind.
“Why do they let you use the car?”
“I’m done with this. You’re not a real cop. I either hallucinated you, or you’re just some psycho that likes to fuck with people.”
“You cannot leave.”
“Oh yeah. Watch me, fucker.”
She put the car in gear. She pressed down on the gas. There was nothing, not even a sound.
“You cannot leave,” he repeated. “Why do they let you use their car?”
“No. You can’t control me. You can’t make me talk anymore.”
A big, lineless, hairless hand slapped down on her wrist. He squeezed.
She both heard and felt bones crack. She screamed.
“Why do they let you use their car?”
“Because they’re afraid.”
He stopped squeezing. “What are they afraid of?”
“They’re afraid I’ll run off with my two kids. They now I will if they don’t give me what I want. They know I won’t take care of the kids. They know bad things will happen to my kids.”
He looked away, his hand still on her broken wrist.
She was amazed at how bad that hurt. She didn’t feel the numbness the pot usually provided.
“It was laced,” she whined. “That’s it. The pot was laced, and I’m on a trip.”
“Were you parents good to you as a child?”
She looked at his face again. She now knew she could not lie. “Yes. They gave me every chance, and now they want to give my children every chance.”
“And will you be better now?”
She felt some relief. There was still a chance. “Yes. I promise. I will.”
He looked off into the night. When he looked back his face was not so stone. He was grinning. There were no lines in his face. “That was a lie.”
It was not a trip. He grabbed her by the hair of her head and pulled her through the open window.
“Help,” she screamed over and over as he dragged her from the road and through a snowy field.
“This world won’t help you anymore,” he said. “Your parents no longer want you in it. Even your guardian angle won’t protect you anymore. She told me about your lies. I am the embodiment of a rule. You should have known your days would be numbered.”
“I’m sorry,” she screamed to the thing that would kill her.
It wouldn’t matter, though. He knew it was a lie.
About the Author
Joshua Scribner is the author of 18 published novels and five 50-story collections. He currently lives in Michigan.