Copyright © 2010 Cutter Slagle. All rights reserved. 

The smell of gasoline was too much. Dixon pulled the heavy glass door toward him and entered the convenience store. He stepped over dirty, red vinyl flooring and registered several different things: how small and dated the place was, the bad lighting, the smell of stale coffee that now replaced the stench of gasoline, and then the guy stealing the object in the back.

Dixon stood at the entrance of the store, taking it all in: the sales clerk to his left thumbing through a magazine, the coolers that had seen better days in front of him holding beer, pop, and anything else that was to be kept cool, and then, to his right, in the back, was Boxer. Boxer, standing there in his camouflage jacket and holey jeans admiring the half off priced shelf full of odd items that Dixon tried to make out. Sunglasses, key chains, maybe even—he squinted—pocket knives. And then Dixon saw Boxer raise his long arm to reach the grime filled shelf, grasp something solid, and then thrust his hand into his coat pocket.

"Ready?" Dixon turned to his left and saw Lexi holding a small paper bag.

"Where have you been?" he asked, confused and contemplated telling her about the theft.

"Bathroom and then," she raised her bag. "Candy for Tara and I found a really cool lighter. I thought you were waiting in the car?"

"I was, but—"

"Let’s rock and roll, kiddies!" Boxer came from the back of the store and Dixon noticed the strut in the man’s step, the coldness of his dark eyes, and the overall hardness about him. And then Dixon’s eyesight rested on Boxer’s coat pocket. What had the stranger just stolen? Would he really get out of the store without being caught?

"We’re ready," Lexi said. Dixon saw her blue eyes light up. Did she like Boxer? It didn’t make sense, she didn’t even know him, none of them did. Yet she was all dressed up and smiling and ready to party with some stranger that stole from gas stations.

"I’ll just get the beer and then meet you two at the jeep." Dixon almost gagged as Boxer ended his order with a wink and then turned toward the coolers.

Dixon followed Lexi out of the store. They met the brutal coldness of November air and Dixon quickly zipped his winter coat up all the way to the neck.

"Everything okay?"

Dixon sighed and could see his breath. Everything wasn’t okay. They’d been driving since ten thirty, and now it was almost midnight. An hour and a half just to go to some party with some random guy that Tara had only met yesterday at the coffee shop.

"You need to loosen up, have—"

"Think fast!" At Boxer’s words Dixon looked up just in time to catch the silver beer can flying at him. The aluminum was cold on bare skin and Dixon almost dropped it.

"I don’t—"

"Start chugging!"

"I’ll take one," Lexi said.

"That’s the spirit!" Dixon saw Boxer dig into the cardboard case and remove two more beers. Boxer handed one to Lexi and then kept one for himself. "Booze cruisin’!"

Dixon turned the unopened can over in his hands. He didn’t have the urge to drink or to party.

Boxer’s and Lexi’s tabs popped in sync. "Drink up," Boxer said, with a nod toward Dixon as he drank half of his can in one big slurp.

Dixon hesitated. "No, I think I should wait. I can drive if you want—"

"Relax, it’s only a beer." And then Boxer finished off the can, crumpled it, and threw it to his feet. He reached into the box for another one. "Well, maybe two." He cracked open the new can, walked over to the blood red, driver’s side door, and got in.

"Lexi," Dixon whispered, "drinking and driving?"

She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed. "Come on, it’s two beers and he said that we’re almost there."

"Yeah, but—"

"Have some fun, relax."

Dixon was getting tired of people telling him to relax. He knew how to have fun, even liked to. But in his opinion there was a fine line between having fun and endangering yourself. Boxer was that line, and Lexi’s toe was crossing it.

"I just don’t think that—" He didn’t get a chance to finish; she turned and jumped into the back of the jeep. Dixon stood alone under the neon sign blinking red advertising gas; only the "G" was out so every time it flashed it spelled "AS." Maybe Lexi had been right, Dixon thought. Maybe he did need to have some fun. Relax or chill or whatever. Have a beer or two, and enjoy the party.

Mind made up, he walked to the other side of the jeep and got into the back. The blast of heat felt good as Dixon sat onto the warm, torn cloth seat. It was too late to back out; they were an hour and a half from campus and he had no clue as to where. He told himself that nothing bad was going to happen, opened his eyes, and decided he was ready to have a good time.

"Dixon," Boxer said, turning toward the back. "Do you think you could drive? I’m drunk already."

Dixon looked from Boxer to Tara in the front seat to Lexi who was right beside him. Each possessed a beer can in one hand and a smile on their face. This was it, Dixon knew. Sink or swim. Pass or fail. Truth or dare.

"Well, Boxer, if you’ve finished that beer you’d better have another one." Dixon was rewarded as he watched Boxer’s expression change from smile, to shock, and then to impressed.

"Yeah!" Boxer said, reaching under the seat and surfacing with another can.

They were back on the road again. There was really nothing to look at, Dixon noticed. Empty land without any houses, trees without any leaves and wooded areas everywhere, and curvy, narrow roads that Boxer seemed to know well as he managed to drink, turn the radio station, and drive without crashing. Drinking and driving, maybe not so dangerous after all.

"Did you guys see what Boxer bought?" It pained Dixon to hear Tara talk with her mouth full, eating the candy bar.

"What?" Lexi asked.

Tara held up an object about as long as a dollar bill and as thin as a ruler. "Pocket knife."

"Why did you buy a pocket knife?" Dixon asked.

"I like to hunt and thought the knife was kinda cool." Boxer drove around a curve. "And I didn’t buy it."

"I don’t understand," Lexi said. But Dixon did. The stolen object from the gas station that he had completely forgot about until now. The shelf with the sunglasses, key chains, and now confirmed pocketknives. That is what Boxer had taken and shoved into his pocket. And just like that, Dixon’s worries were back. Maybe he was overreacting, but the way he saw it was the theft and drinking while driving equaled out to two strikes. What was the third one going to be?

"You stole it," Dixon whispered. "Right?"

"If I told you that I would have to kill you," Boxer answered and Dixon saw another smirk in the rearview mirror.

A pit formed in Dixon’s stomach. He had tried to relax, be cool with things. But his instincts were once again telling him that something wasn’t right and this time he listened. He wanted out of the car, he wanted away from the stranger, he—

"He’s only kidding."

Dixon looked up at Tara. And then he saw Boxer’s and Lexi’s expressions too, and again everyone was smiling at him. A joke, Dixon thought. Boxer was joking. Dixon tried to smile, changed his worried look to a calmer one, but the damage was already done.

"So why steal it?" Lexi asked.

"Let’s just say I live on the edge," Boxer said with a smile. "Now, how fast do you think I can get her up to?"

"What?" Lexi asked.

"The jeep, how fast you think I can go?"

"How fast are you going now?" Dixon asked. Speeding, strike three.

"Just a little over seventy." And Dixon saw Boxer’s foot press down harder as the vehicle began shaking. Dixon leaned over to see the speedometer, it now read eighty.

"I’ve only had her up to about eighty five, and she shakes pretty bad then. Don’t know what will happen once she goes over a hundred. Might be fun to find out though." And then the vehicle’s speed was increased once again.

"You know, this might not be such a good idea." Finally, Lexi was making some sense.

"There’s a bend up ahead, there could be another car, or—"

"Don’t worry; I know these roads like the back of my hand," Dixon said.

"Yeah," Tara reinforced, "don’t worry."

Dixon looked at Lexi, who shrugged and then gripped the handle above the window. Everything was a blur. More deserted land flashed by, thickness of trees, dead grass, and finally, up ahead, another car came into view.

"Boxer, lookout!" Dixon screamed.

Boxer’s only reaction was an increase of speed. The meter now read ninety-eight. "Almost there!"

"Boxer!" Dixon screamed. "Why are you doing this?"

"You’ll find out soon enough," Boxer answered, only leaving Dixon more confused.

Lexi saw the car now, too. "Boxer’s there’s another car coming up ahead."

"One hundred! One oh one! One oh two!" The jeep was now in the middle, of the narrow road, with the car ahead coming quickly toward them. They were going to crash, Dixon thought. They were going to crash and at this speed they were all going to die. Dixon could see the newspaper headline now: "Four teenagers die in car crash brought on by drinking and speeding."

"Boxer, slow down!" Lexi tried again. It was useless.

"We’re going to crash!" Dixon’s turn. Again, no use. He closed his eyes and gripped the handle even tighter. He waited for the collision, knew it was coming. He wondered what death felt like, but knew he wouldn’t have to wait for long. He stole a quick peek: the car was close now, too close. He could make out the first few letters on the license plate. Hear the sound of the horn from the approaching car. He slammed his eyes shut again. More waiting. And then—

"We’re here!" Boxer said.

Dixon opened one eye and then the other. He felt the vehicle slow as Boxer pulled up a winding gravel driveway. He was breathing. He was alive. Dixon turned toward Lexi, she was alive. They were all okay, and once again, Boxer was smirking.

"I’m not suicidal. I told you I just wanted to see how fast I could get her up to."

"You’re an ass!" Lexi said, and then Dixon saw her hit Boxer, but then she did something weird, she smiled. "You really had me worried for a minute."

To Dixon’s surprise Boxer was laughing, now joined by Tara and Lexi. The feeling again, something was definitely not right. Boxer was like a ticking bomb, could go off at any minute.

"Oh come on, Dixon. Don’t be scared," Boxer said, picking up the pocket knife that Tara had set on the dash. "It’s fun!"

"I don’t think that—"

"What? You want me to take the knife back? Apologize for stealing it?" Dixon saw Boxer slide the cover from the knife, revealing a long, sharp serrated blade.

"N-n-no, but—"

"Pretty cool knife, huh?" Boxer asked. "I wonder how well it cuts into something." And without warning, in one motion, Boxer raised the knife high and brought it down hard into the center console. The knife split a hole in the middle of the leather, creating a discomforting noise. A noise as awful as nails down a chalkboard.

"Boxer!" Lexi screamed.

But Boxer only smiled. "Can’t take it back now, I’ve used it." He pulled the blade out of the gap. "And look at that," he said, admiring it. "The knife bent a little. Oh well." He snapped the covering over the knife and put it into his pocket. "Well, don’t just sit here, the party awaits."

Furiously, Dixon lowered his window to get a better view. It didn’t look like much of a party, not to him anyway. A two story house surrounded in darkness, one light on in the lower level, no music, and from his observation only one other car in the driveway. It had been a while since he had last attended a party, but he was almost positive it wasn’t supposed to look like this.

Lexi quickly asked, "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yep," Boxer answered, "give it time." And as he turned to the back and smiled, a chill ran down Dixon’s back. The feeling again. Something wasn’t right.

"Let’s go!" Tara said and as she jumped out of the car, Dixon did the same followed by Lexi and then Boxer.

Dixon looked around. There were no other houses in sight, not on the same or opposite side of the street. And though it was already cold and dark, the night seemed to get colder and darker just in a split second. And then there was the smell of burning wood, but no sign of a fire. Dixon felt nauseous.

"You alright?" Lexi asked.

Dixon shook his head. "You guys go ahead, I need some air."

Dixon saw Lexi stop; she was definitely annoyed again. "I’ll wait out here with Dixon, you guys go on in."

"Okay," Boxer said, "but hurry up now. You don’t want to miss out on all the fun." Dixon saw Boxer lead Tara up the path to the front door and then enter the house.

"What’s wrong?" Lexi turned and Dixon saw her expression—if looks could kill, well—

"I don’t want to be here, something’s not right."

"Oh, Dixon!"

"No, we’re in the middle of nowhere with no ride. And the pocket knife and speeding—" it didn’t make sense to Dixon. Boxer wasn’t just a stranger, he was a crazy stranger. And Dixon couldn’t help but feel that this crazy stranger had no limits.

"Boxer is harmless." Dixon couldn’t believe she was actually sticking up for him—again.

"Something feels wrong," Dixon repeated.

"Look," Lexi started, "come into the house and loosen up. If you still want to leave, then we will leave and I’ll have Boxer take us back to the dorms."

"And if he won’t?" Dixon wasn’t buying it. No way would Boxer agree to take them back. And even if he would, Dixon was unsure about another hour and a half drive with the stranger.

"Then I will call my roommate, or someone, and they will—"

"You don’t even know where we are," Dixon said. "We could—"

"Just come inside and stop worrying. Later if you want to leave I will find a way for us to leave. Okay?"

He didn’t answer her, but followed her lead toward the house. Lexi wanted to have fun, wanted to enjoy herself and Dixon knew he was preventing her from doing that. And after a couple of beers, well—Dixon decided to try anyway. He would try and have fun and loosen up—like everyone kept telling him to do.

"Seems like they’re having a good time." Dixon pulled himself away from his private thoughts to see what Lexi was talking about. He walked over to the small window beside the front door and looked in. Yes, he saw, they were drinking, Boxer and who he assumed to be Stevenson, Boxer’s brother. And Dixon noticed that Boxer’s brother had the same roughness, hardness, and redneck attribute that Boxer had. But where was Tara? He searched the interior of the house: dimly lit living room, shaggy, brown carpet, an old couch revealing some of its stuffing. Not the fanciest of places, with no noticeable TV or even so much as a painting or picture on the wall.

"I don’t—" Dixon’s focus changed. First to the white powder spread out in lines on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then to the sharp blade of the kitchen knife beside it. The knife was covered in something—wet, red. Dixon knew it could only be one thing—blood. And then the thought made sense as his focus shifted once again to a pair of motionless legs underneath the coffee table, no doubt belonging to someone dead. Someone murdered—Tara.

"Oh my God!" Lexi screamed, and Dixon knew she had seen it all too. He wanted to cover her mouth, tell her to be quiet, grab her and run. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. Something was keeping him in place; something was causing his legs to feel like lead, his eyes to swell with tears, his back to feel as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water down it. Fear!

Dixon turned toward Lexi. Her face had gone ghost white, and her breathing was getting harder. He finally found the strength to use his voice. "We need to get out of here." He was whispering and only knew he could be heard as Lexi nodded. "Slowly and quietly—"

"They’ve seen us, they’re coming!" Dixon turned his head from Lexi to the window. The two brothers were closing in on the front door. Dixon stole a quick glance at the coffee table—the kitchen knife was gone.

"Run!" Dixon pivoted, struggled with the motion to place one foot in front of the other and sprint. He could see Lexi keeping stride on his left, and he angled his head backwards, Boxer was closing in.

"Leaving so soon?" Boxer taunted, and at the sound of his voice Dixon almost tripped and fell.

"The jeep, Lexi! Get to the jeep!" Dixon screamed, and saw the vehicle in the distance. They were close and getting closer, but Boxer was too.

"Don’t you want to party?" Dixon faced back at Boxer. He was smiling and gaining on them. "I dare you to come back and have some fun!"

"Almost there, Lex! Hurry!"

He reached the driver’ side of the jeep and threw the door open. He climbed in, stretched his arm out for Lexi to grab, but she wasn’t there. "Lexi!"

"No!" He heard her scream. Dixon looked out, just feet away Lexi lay on the ground, Boxer on top of her, and he was holding something. Dixon saw it shine in the moonlight. Not the kitchen knife, but the pocket knife from the gas station. The gas station, he thought. And then he remembered. He searched the jeep hysterically until he found what he was looking for: the bag Tara had discarded on the passenger side floor. The bag that had once held the candy bar and the lighter.

"No!" Dixon heard Lexi scream again, as he jumped from the jeep and ran forward. He met Boxer, and saw blood—Lexi’s blood. Dixon raised the Christmas tree shaped lighter, pushed it to Boxer’s hand holding the knife, and pressed down. A yellow flame ignited and caught itself onto Boxer.

"Damn!" Boxer screamed and Dixon didn’t waste a minute. He grabbed Lexi’s hand, and supporting her, rushed her to the jeep. He helped her climb into the passenger side, as he dove into the driver’s side. He saw Boxer run up, no longer on fire and reach for the door handle. Dixon quickly smashed his hand over the lock, securing himself and Lexi in the four door vehicle.

"Oh my God, Dixon!"

"Lexi, are you okay? What did he do to you?" Dixon turned away from Boxer banging on the driver’s side window to face Lexi. She was sweating, had completely lost all color, and was still bleeding.

"I’m fine; he just cut me a little bit."

"Where?"

"My arm." And Dixon could see the cut as she raised her left arm. He had been right about Boxer all along. He silently cursed Lexi for getting them into this predicament. And then he cursed himself for not listening to his instincts, his gut feelings.

"You’ll never get away!" Boxer yelled. "You can’t drive without keys."

At Boxer’s statement, Dixon reached out for the ignition—empty. And then at the tapping sound to his left, turned and saw Boxer hitting the key against the window. They were trapped.

"Dixon, what are we going to do?"

"I don’t know, Lex. We just can’t let him get in here."

"Tara’s dead," she said. "And the other one, where’s Stevenson?"

"I don’t know," he said louder than he had intended to. "I don’t know."

"Dixon, I’m so sorry. I’m so—"

He turned toward Lexi. He wanted to yell at her, wanted to blame her, but there wasn’t time. "Don’t say that. We’re getting out of here, we just need to think—" he stopped. He couldn’t here the tapping anymore. He looked around, Boxer was gone too. Just blackness and the eerie silence.

Dixon knew Lexi had noticed too, because she asked, "Where’d he go?"

"I don’t know."

"But he has the keys, Dixon. He can get in here."

"Just watch the locks," he ordered. "If he tries to unlock the jeep hit the auto lock button."

"Okay," she said.

"We can’t let him get in here." For the first time Dixon noticed the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. The fresh cotton scent was almost enough to make him gag. "Sooner or later they’re going to ambush us."

"So what should we do?"

"We don’t want to be trapped in a tight space like sitting ducks. We need to get out into the open area."

"But what about—there’s two of them—"

"I know," Dixon said. "We’re going to have to split up, distract them. We need them to split up too."

"But—"

"Lex, we have to. We have to try and get help."

"The main road," she said, "it’s not too far away."

"Okay, good." There had been a car before, the car they had almost crashed into. And maybe, if they were lucky, there would be another one, one that would be willing to help a couple of lost teenagers.

"But what are you going to do?"

"We need to run in opposite directions. You go in front of the house, and I will go behind. We will meet on the main road."

"Fine," she said, "let’s do it."

He studied the outside again, his side and then Lexi’s—no one was around. "Okay, Lex—go!" He threw open his door and heard Lexi do the same. He was running, fast, and his side immediately began to burn. There was no one in front of him, the path was clear. He faced back, Lexi wasn’t running. Where—she hadn’t made it far. She was pinned up against the driver’s side door; Boxer was taking the kitchen knife to her. He could hear her scream, almost feel her pain, and even in the darkness see the scarlet color of blood.

"No!" He started to turn back, but out of nowhere Stevenson came running.

"And then there was one," he said, and Dixon was sure he saw Stevenson smirk, the same smirk that Boxer was famous for.

Dixon continued on, running for the back of the house, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. Stevenson was getting closer. Dixon cut to his right, the back door of the house was open. He ducked in, didn’t have time to shut the door, and met stairs. He used his last bit of energy to climb them. He couldn’t see where he was going, everything was black. He felt the carpet of the steps, thought he might fall, but tried to keep his mind focused. Someone was close behind him, he could feel it. Dixon needed to find a weapon, something to defend himself with. But how? And where?

He reached the second landing and turned. There was a closed door. He opened it and then quickly slammed it shut and threw the lock in place. He reached to his left and found the light switch. He flicked it up. A strong light filled the room to reveal he was in a bathroom. To his left, the shower and straight back the toilet, sink and a large window. Everything was the color of beige. The smell of soap was strong.

Dixon was out of breath. He needed a minute to think and rest. Lexi was dead. He slid down the wooden door and sat still on the cold floor. And then he remembered something, his cell phone. He recklessly threw his hand into his sweatshirt pocket and quickly grasped the device. He pulled the phone from his pocket, punched in 9-1-1 and waited. No service.

"Dammit!" He threw the phone down, upset with failure, but didn’t have time to dwell on it. There was a banging on the door and then suddenly the sound of splitting wood as a knife cut through it.

"No!" Dixon screamed, stood, and ran for the window. He banged on the glass, but it wouldn’t budge. He needed something to break it—anything. He looked toward the sink—toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream bottle. He grabbed the metal bottle, raised it, and brought it to the window. He heard a crack and then glass began to fall. He could feel the cool air, see his black surroundings, and taste freedom.

But then something was pulling him back. First a tug at his shirt, and then the feeling of sharp pain as something met and tore the flesh of his upper right shoulder. Dixon turned, fell to the floor, and then looked up. Stevenson was standing in front of him, holding the pocketknife which Dixon saw was dripping with his own blood.

"But why—" Dixon couldn’t finish; it was too difficult to form words, to breathe. His body was on fire—burning, throbbing. He looked up at the man. He wore a ball cap, sported facial hair, and dirty jeans. But worst off all, Dixon noticed, were his eyes. No compassion, no remorse, no feeling—just black. Like the black atmosphere Dixon had hoped to escape into moments ago.

"You weren’t supposed to be here," Stevenson said. "It was just going to be the ladies."

"Wha—" Dixon tried again. Tried to talk, tried to understand.

"Wrong place at the wrong time," Boxer said, entering the room.

"But why—"

"It’s a game we play, the game of dare," Stevenson offered.

Dixon was trying hard to understand, but it was difficult. A game of dare?

"Think about it, Dixon. Stealing the pocketknife, the speeding—we took the game to the next level, murder," Boxer said. "You asked me why I was doing this and I told you that you would find out soon enough."

Dixon was trying to focus. All of this—Tara dead, Lexi dead—was all because two brother’s dared each other to commit murder?

"So now that you’re here," Boxer started, "we have to kill you too. Well, only if—"

"Yes," Stevenson said. "I dare you to."

"Plea—" Dixon tried to beg, but he couldn’t find the strength. He saw Boxer take control of the situation, raise the kitchen knife and felt more pain as it entered his chest. Unable to hang on anymore, Dixon faded into nothingness.