The Accidental Rebel (A Digital Short) Read online

  Staring at white Christmas lights adorning the windows, I felt like my mind was leaving my body. Disconnecting to protect itself from what was about to happen to me. My gaze wandered from the blue and white striped decorative anchor hanging on the brown log support beam, to the red plush dragon with a pink belly, hanging on the display in the gift shop, to the table where a white shell bucket with ROB'S emblazoned in red sat emptily.

  A tug on the arm. "Let's go sweetie. Say goodnight to Sheila."

  "What?" I blinked. Sheila was smiling at us both. "Oh…Good night."

  "Congratulations you two!" she said. "Enjoy yourselves on your honeymoon."

  "Honeymoon?"

  Chad pulled me along. "Great meeting you, Sheila."

  As we walked towards the gift shop, a uniformed police officer stepped into the restaurant. Chad didn't so much as flinch. He knew me too well. Once he'd gotten me in this place of fear, I was his.

  The officer removed his hat, tucked it under his arm and picked up a bag of sugar free taffy, right beneath the plush red dragon toy with the pink belly.

  Chad murmured in my ear. "Smile and walk, babe. Got it?"

  I nodded.

  My pulse hammered in my ears with each step we took towards the gift shop. I'd been conditioned never to do anything that would make Chad angry. And if I messed this up for him, I'd pay dearly.

  The police officer looked up and made eye contact with me.

  I quickly averted my eyes to the window, where you could still see the tall golden stalks of overgrown beach grass swaying in the moonlight.

  Three more steps and I'd be able to whisper in the officer's ear. But I knew better. Chad knew better. I'd never do something that stupid.

  We passed the officer.

  Then, as he clenched my arm painfully tight, I realized something: It's insane to go on with this. I'd rather die than go through that hell with him again.

  I turned around suddenly. Broke free and started waving my hands in the air. "Officer, help! He's got a gun!"

  "Stupid bitch!" Amidst the chaos of the screaming customers, Chad pulled out his gun.

  Before the officer had a chance to react, a shot thundered like a canon.

  The officer's chest burst out in red.

  He stumbled and fell on his back.

  The whole thing must have taken two seconds, but before I knew it, I found myself in a choke hold. Still hot (really hot), Chad pressed the muzzle of of his gun into my left temple. It burned sharply.

  The elderly man with the navy blue baseball cap ran over and shielded his wife. Sheila, her eyes wide like those of an owl monkey, dropped tray full of drinks on the hard wood floor. She covered her gaping mouth with both hands.

  "Everyone shut the hell up!" Chad blew out a breath/groan. "Now listen carefully. No one else has to get hurt. All right then. We're going to walk out of here quietly. Then you can all continue what you were doing!"

  "Chad, you've got to give it up. For God's sake, you shot a cop!"

  That earned me a swift backhand in the face. Flecks of silver light flittered around my eyes. But you know, it was interesting. Having been there, done that, it didn't hurt as much as I expected.

  "We're outta here." He grabbed my arm again and yanked me towards the exit. That's when another police officer--probably the partner of the one Chad shot--entered the restaurant, stood behind a support beam, and aimed his gun.

  "Drop your weapon, Mister!"

  Chad answered by jamming the gun swiftly into my head.

  Screams.

  Chaos.

  "Back off, man!" He was breathing rapidly as he spoke to the officer. "You’re going to let us out of here."

  "There's no way out," said the cop behind the beam. "You still have a chance to come out of this alive."

  "You got it all wrong," Chad said. "Far as I'm concerned, I'm either out of here with my girl, or I'm dead. I don't care which!"

  "Big mistake, Mister."

  " You're looking at a hostage situation here. You decided the body count, okay? Now get the hell out of my way or I’ll start shooting people."

  I could not believe this was happening. Why didn't he just go and get himself killed and spare the rest of us the pain? "You can't do this, Chad. It's over."

  He scoffed. "Apparently not." He nodded to the entrance.

  The cop was backing out of the restaurant, speaking into the walkie-talkie clipped to his shirt, and with one hand aiming his gun at Chad.

  After he got down the steps the entire Restaurant was completely quiet, except for the classic pop radio still playing "Oh, Happy Day."

  Chad leaned forward and eyed the entrance, the parking lot outside. Seemed everyone inside Rob's fixed their eyes upon us. Even those on the extreme opposite wall of this U-shaped restaurant.

  This couldn't be happening. I kept telling myself it had to be a nightmare because this was just too bizarre to be anything but that.

  Within seconds, blue and red lights flashed outside. Around the parking lot, several squad cars pulled up just outside of Rob's.

  " Dammit!" Chad lowered his gun for just a moment. "Could this day get any worse?" Funny, I was thinking the same thing. He was definitely a criminal that should be locked up for a very long time, but he wasn't a pro by any stretch of the imagination. I was pretty sure he hadn't planned on shooting a cop and taking me as a hostage.

  All in one day.

  When the phone rang, Chad cussed. To the cashier: "Don't answer that!" It rang four more times, then stopped.

  Then outside, over a megaphone: "THE ENTIRE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. I NEED YOU TO PICK UP THE PHONE SO WE CAN TALK THIS OVER."

  Chad turned to Sheila. "Kill the lights!"

  She nodded and went to the row of switches on the wall in the hallway next to the kitchen. A collective gasp went up when the lights went off. The sky outside had turned a deep purple/amber hue. It wasn't absolute blackness inside Rob's, but I suppose from the outside, it would be difficult for any of the police sharp-shooters to see us moving about .

  Just then, Sheila said, "We've got to call an ambulance. The policeman you shot's dying!"

  “Shut up!" Chad's sudden shift from Mister Nice Guy to psycho murderer must have shocked her. Didn't surprise me, though.

  All this violence (the ant crushed, the police officer shot), it was more than I, Stacey--couldn't-hurt-a-fly--Tanner, could take. Any moment now, I might lose it and toss my chowder. "If he dies, you'll be charged with murder," I said, trying to appeal to his self-centeredness.

  "I don't care."

  Somehow still deluded about how nice Chad had been, Sheila stepped right up to him. "Come on, please? If we don't get an ambulance, the cop's gonna die."

  "I DON'T CARE!" Chad struck her in the head with his gun.

  Sheila fell to the ground.

  At that very moment, I saw myself on the floor. Beaten down like I had been so many times. A new, completely unfamiliar feeling surged up from my core.

  Rage.

  Not sure if this was anything like Chad's temper, but it felt powerful.

  Powerful enough block off my fear.

  What happened next took Chad (and me) by surprise.

  I shouted and rammed my elbow into his gut.

  In the short time it took to break free, I turned around and drove headfirst into him.

  We both fell to the ground.

  The gun went skittering onto the dimly lit floor towards the hallway.

  We both struggled to get up, but I made it first.

  The phone rang again.

  I started for the gun.

  But he caught my ankle.

  I fell again.

  Let out a startled cry.

  He was laughing now. An evil crazed laugh. "I am so impressed, Stacey." What he didn't realize was that as I fell, my hand actually found the gun. Hand over hand, he grabbed my leg. Pulled me over to him mercilessly.

  Closer.

  Closer…

  Until I was close enough to turn,
point the gun into his face and cock the hammer. "Get your stinking paws off of me, you sick sonofabitch."

  "Oh, ho, ho…lookie who's gone on and grew herself a set!" But he did release me.

  I got to my feet. Walked over to the light switch.

  flipped it on.

  Held the gun with both hands. God, it was so much heavier and bulkier than the one Dad taught me to shoot, when they put a restraining order on Chad.

  He was standing just a few feet in front of me. Completely unfazed. "You're being a really bad girl. Kinda turns me on, but I'm gonna have to punish you first."

  My hands were trembling so badly I could barely keep the gun trained on him. Shaky, but at the top of my voice, I shouted out to the restaurant guests. "Everybody get out now!"

  A mad rush ensued.

  Probably wasn't the best idea, as it would most likely cause confusion and complicate things for the police outside.

  The phone kept ringing.

  As the stampede went on, Chad pulled a hunting knife out of his jacket. "Gonna have to carve you up a bit too, Stace." He flipped that lights off again and started walking toward me with smug confidence.

  The many feet trampling the hardwood floors, along with the cries of panic drowned out the phone ringing. The radio was now playing Help! by the Beatles.

  Chad strutted over slowly. Smiling. He knew he still had me. "What are you gonna do, babe? Shoot me?"

  "D…don't mess with me. I'll do it."

  "Stacey couldn't-hurt-a-fly Tanner? Shoot anyone? You'll puke or pass out first."

  He was right. I could barely hold the gun. Tears of anger stood in my eyes. I cursed my childish phobia. It was going to get me cut up and killed, even though I held the gun.

  I win. I always win.

  My head swam in a sea of painful memories. The cuts, the bruises, the abuse. I must have been dreaming to think anything could ever change. It wasn't me who dared ram him and grab his gun. It couldn't be me who imagined she could threaten to shoot him if he tried anything. Chad knew better. I knew better.

  And then, he was right in my face. Advancing. Forcing me back down the narrow hallway until my back pressed up against a door. He stood there, his own gun in my hands, pressed into the center of his chest.

  "Give me the gun, bitch."

  I took in a trembling breath. "No."

  He pressed the tip of his knife just under my collar bone and jabbed it in just a bit to break the skin. Warm blood oozed down my between my breasts, past my scars. "I said, GIVE IT TO ME!"

  I shook my head, began to cry. "No."

  I couldn't tell if anyone was still out there. All I could see was Chad's dark outline silhouetted. The phone had stopped ringing. People were still clamoring out by the parking lot.

  "Last chance, Stace." He started to move the blade down between my breasts.

  Finally, my shoulders slumped.

  I knew it. He knew it.

  He stopped. Chuckled. "See? I win. I always win. And you know why? Because you couldn't hurt a fly. That's why I picked you, from the start, you spineless, worthless whore. Now, give it to me!"

  With a fierce shriek that caused his eyes to open wide in surprise, I pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang so loud in my ears, I heard nothing as he flew back and hit the ground.

  I stood there, still holding the gun when a team of armed policemen came in and confronted me. I vaguely heard the voice of one of them tell me to drop the weapon, which I still had aimed out of the narrow hallway.

  Before I set it down I noticed something.

  My hands were no longer shaking.

  ~~~

  I learned later that the gunshot when straight through his heart and left a gaping hole in his chest. I'm still not a fan of violence. I choose not to watch TV shows or movies that indulge in it. But I'm better now. I can kill a roach if needed. You might laugh (and you should. I still do, when I think about it) but that's still a big deal for a girl like me. But I've come a long way since that day in Rob's Restaurant which started with my fear of killing an ant, looming near my bowl of chowder.

  It ended with my freedom.

  FROM THE DESK OF JOSHUA GRAHAM

  Dear Reader,

  I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for reading THE ACCIDENTAL REBEL. It means so much to me.

  Did you know that you as the reader are the reason we writers write? Sure, we write to make a living, but most of all we write to entertain and take you places you might not otherwise go in “real” life.

  As writers, we owe such a great deal of our success to you, for it there were no readers, there would be no way for a writer’s career to succeed. Yes, I am stating the fairly obvious, but what you may not know is that you hold the power to turn your favorite authors into bestsellers. That’s right, you.

  How, you may ask?

  It’s a simple thing you do all the time without even thinking about it. It’s called “word of mouth.”

  If you have enjoyed any of my work, please recommend my books and stories to your friends. One day, you can say with pride that you helped me become a bestselling writer! Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

  Here are some other ways you can support your favorite authors:

  1. Send a note with your feedback! You can reach me at: www.facebook.com/j0shuaGraham

  2. Leave a glowing review wherever you can.

  3. Keep reading! The more of an author’s work you read, the more it encourages him/her to continue writing.

  Thanks, and I look forward to “seeing” you in my next story or book.

  Best wishes,

  Joshua Graham

  PS: Be sure to check out my debut novel BEYOND JUSTICE, available at all major online retailers.

  EXCERPT from the Bestselling Legal Thriller BEYOND JUSTICE, by Joshua Graham

  PART I

  The descent into Hell is not always vertical.

  — Bishop Frank Morgan

  Chapter One

  The question most people ask when they first meet me is: How does an attorney from a reputable law firm in La Jolla end up on death row? When they hear my story, it becomes clear that the greater question is not how, but why.

  I have found it difficult at times to forgive myself for what happened. But a significant part of the answer involves forgiveness, something I never truly understood until I could see in hindsight.

  Orpheus went through hell and back to rescue his wife Euridice from death in the underworld. Through his music, he moved the hearts of Hades and Persephone and they agreed to allow Euridice to return with him to Earth on one condition: He must walk before her and not look back until they reached the upper world. On seeing the Sun, Orpheus turned to share his delight with Euridice, and she disappeared. He had broken his promise and she was gone forever. This failure and guilt was a hell far worse than the original.

  My own personal hell began one night almost four years ago. Like images carved into flesh, the memories of that night would forever be etched into my mind. The work day had been tense enough—my position at the firm was in jeopardy because of the inexplicable appearance of lewd internet images in my folder on the main file server.

  Later that night, as I scrambled to get out the door on time for a critical meeting with a high profile client, my son Aaron began throwing a screaming fit. Hell hath no fury like a boy who has lost his Thomas Train toy. In my own frenzied state, I lost my temper with him. Amazing how much guilt a four-year-old can pile on you with puppy-dog eyes while clinging to his mother's legs. His sister Bethie, in all her seventh grade sagacity, proclaimed that I had issues, then marched up to her room, slammed the door and took out her frustration with me by tearing though a Paganini Caprice on her violin. All this apocalypse just minutes before leaving for my meeting, which was to be held over a posh dinner at George's At The Cove, which I would consequently have no stomach for.

  I couldn't wait to get home. The clock's amber LED read 11:28 when I pulled my Lexus into the cul-de-sac. Pale beams from a pregna
nt moon cut through the palm trees that lined our street. The October breeze rushed into the open window and through my hair, a cool comfort after a miserable evening.

  If I was lucky, Jenn would be up and at the computer, working on her latest novel. She'd shooed me out the door lest I ran late for the meeting, before I could make any more of a domestic mess for her to clean up.

  The garage door came down. I walked over to the security system control box and found it unarmed. On more than one occasion, I had asked Jenn to arm it whenever I was out. She agreed, but complained that the instructions were too complicated. It came with a pretty lame manual, I had to admit.

  The system beeped as I entered the house, greeted by the sweet scent of Lilac—her favorite candles for those special occasions. So much more than I deserved, but that was my Jenn. Never judging, never condemning, she understood how much stress I'd been under and always prescribed the best remedy for such situations.

  From the foot of the stairs I saw dimmed light leaking out of the bedroom. It wasn't even date night, but I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. So before going up, I stopped by the kitchen, filled a pair of glasses with Merlot and set out a little box of chocolates on a breakfast tray—my secret weapon.

  As I climbed the stairs I smiled. The closer I got, the more I could smell the fragrant candles. From the crack in the door classical music flowed out: Pie Jesu from Faure's Requiem. Must've been writing a love scene. She always used my classical CDs to set her in the right mood.

  A beam of amber light reached through the crack in the doorway into the hallway. The alarm system beeped. She must have shut a window. It had just started to rain and Jenn hated when the curtains got wet.