Page 11 of Pocketful of Shame

"Listen to me –" Coughing and spluttering, he reached a hand across the console and attempted to squeeze my thigh. "This is all my fault, okay? I'm so fucking sorry, Romi. I am. I shouldn't have called you back tonight. It was stupid. I should've hung up the damn phone when they caught up with me again. I just, I couldn’t leave you like this. Defenseless. I need you to know what's happening. I didn’t wanna die for nothing –" A pained groan tore from his chest and he began to shake violently. "I don’t think I have much time left."

"Don’t say that!" I screamed, hands leaping off the wheel to clutch my hair. "Oh my god, oh my god, I can't deal with this."

"I've written it all down," he strangled out. "Everything. It's all there."

"What is?" I cried. "I don’t understand what's happening here."

"My journal," he whispered. "It's in my bookbag." He hacked up another clump of blood. "Backseat."

Frantic, I shoved a hand into the backseat and dragged his bag between the seats. "This one?" I asked, rummaging around in the bag and retrieving the brown, leather-bound journal he was never without.

Nodding weakly, Chris used his bloodied hand to push the journal onto my lap. "Take it. Keep it safe. Don't let them get it. Right now, I need you to keep on forgetting, but when it's time to remember, you'll find what you need in here."

"No." Shaking my head, I refuted those stupid words. "I need to know what's happening right now!"

"You already know," he choked out. "You're just not ready to remember."

"But that doesn’t make any sense!"

"He doesn't know I know," he slurred, head drooping forward. "He doesn’t know who he is. He isn’t who you think he is," he breathed. "None of them are. And you can't be in Pocketful after your eighteenth birthday. They're coming for you," he strangled out, blood dribbling down his lips. "For both of you."

"Who?" I demanded. "Who doesn't know, Chris? Who's coming for me?"

"Seth," he groaned. "It's almost time."

"Seth?" I shook my head in horror. "Who's Seth?"

"You know."

"No, I don't!"

"And Jacob."

"Chris, I don’t know any Seth or Jacob," I strangled out, sobbing hard. "You're scaring me."

"It's all there, Romi," he wheezed. "In my journal." Reaching up, he tapped my temple. "And in here."

"No, it's not," I sobbed. "I don’t know what you're talking about. I don’t know anything!"

"Yes, you do," he choked out. "I promise." Gasping for air, he clutched my hand weakly in his trembling one. "Now, I need you to do one more thing for me."

Bawling like a baby, I forced myself to nod. "O-okay."

"I need you to crash this car," he wheezed. "I need you to make this go away. Make what…happened to me look like an accident and never…go back on your word."

"What?" My eyes widened in horror. "What the fuck?"

"I'm serious," he whispered, eyelids drooping. "Those men…babe, trust me. This is what you have to do." Another fit of coughing engulfed him, this time producing dark, almost black blood from his lips. "They're challenging you… What do you think that phone call was about? They're watching us right now. Don’t doubt that. You have to do this…it will buy you time…"

"Time for what?"

"To escape." He groaned in obvious agony. "To remember."

"I don’t care, Chris. I'm not –"

"Do it, Romi!"

"I can't!" I screamed, delirious.

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