Did You Get What You Deserve?

I peered over the seat in front of me at the speedometer, then hurriedly sat back in my seat.

“Slow down,” I whispered.

“What was that?” he said, twisting around.

“Slow down!” I said.

The boy in the passenger’s seat grabbed the driver’s arm and twisted him back to face the road.

“Slow down,what?” said the driver teasingly.

“Slow down, please.”

He shook his head, twisting around again to face me.

“No, slow down pleasewho?”

“What?”

The boy in the front seat grabbed his arm again, twisting him around to face the road.

“Say daddy,” laughed the driver.

“No!” I said.

“Slow down!” said the boy in the front sternly.

“Not until he calls me Daddy!” yelled the driver.

“You’re not my daddy!” I yelled back. “You’ll never be my daddy!”

The driver snarled and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. I was forced back into my seat as the car shot forward.

“For god’s sake,” cried the boy in the front, “just call him daddy!”

“I won’t!” I yelled.

I saw the truck a split second before it hit the passenger side of the car.

I woke up, gasping and crying, still convinced I was in the car. It took a moment for me to realise that the wetness on my face was sweat, not blood, and that there was no glass digging into my hands, only my own fingernails. I sat for a moment trying to calm my breathing, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

“Ahh!”

I quickly stifled my cry, realising the ghostly face floating at the end of my bed was Alec’s. I checked myself, not wanting to wake Cari.

“Alec!”

I squinted at the clock on the wall. After a moment I was able to see the hands. It was nearly two.

“What are you doing up?”

“I was going to get a drink and I heard you.”

He reached out and patted my hand.

“Nightmares?”

I nodded. He shuffled up the bed and hugged me. Then he let go, sighed, and looked at the clock.

One fifty-nine and fifty seconds. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three.

“It was my fault,” he whispered.

I stared at him quizzically. He didn’t look at me, just kept staring at the clock.

Fifty-six. Fifty-seven.

And then, right on the hour-

“I should have called him Daddy.”