Death
folder
1 through F › Fast And The Furious, The › Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,655
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Fast And The Furious, The › Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,655
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Fast and the Furious, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
Part 2
**************
Sitting here now in this bar for hours
Trying to write it down
Fitting in hard with harder to come
Trying to fight it
Lifting the have drank Corona to his lips Vince starred down at the ink smudged napkin, a pen held loosely in his fingers. He'd come here to this dark place where he didn't have to be a part of anything, where he d fid find peace from the team and the months upon months of shit that had followed him like a bad dream. He remembered only bits and piece of that day, the day that Dom had monumentally fucked up. But he was clear on a couple of things, he was real clear about the indescribable tha that ripped at his left arm, and the paralyzing fear of being stuck to a semi like a bug in the grill. That had been bad, harder than anything he'd gone through. It had taken a week for the pain killers to leave his system enough to understand what happened, understand what happened to him and the youngest of their team. The only thing that eased Jesse's death at all for him was knowing Johnny Tran was dead. He knew he would have hunted down the bastard himself if Brian hadn't stolen that glory. But like most things, that day had slowly started to fade, healing had happened, and the team had gotten on with their lives.
Holding the pen a little more firmly, he jotted down another line or two and lifted his head. He took a moment to meet the curious eyes of the blonde at the end of the bar. With a inward sigh, he knew it was time to leave. He wasn't here for this, not tonight and most likely not any of the other nights he would return. Folding the napkin carefully, he pushed it into his pocket and stood then with a parting glance he moved towards the door and out into the dry California night.
"Shit," he hissed as he stretched his arms over his head, the creak from his spine signaled he'd been idle for far too long.
He ambled across the parking lot, in no particular hurry to be anywhere, and reached for the handle of the Maxima. He paused as a tingle raced along his scalp and down his back, raising goose bumps in its path. Taking a step away from the car, he peered carefully in the window, his eyes traveling the interior. Seeing nothing amiss he shrugged and jerked the door open. He slid behind the wheel of the car and sat there while seconds ticked by as he took breath after breath filling his lungs. Slowly the dizziness, the disorientation began to creep in and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was the NOS, that there had to be a leak.
Just as he would have reached for the key, his vapor filled mind forgetting the dangers of compressed NOS, a chilled hand clamped onto his shoulder.
"Can't kill me, Vince but can't say the same for you."
Tran's voice came floating through the fog to him. Instantly he sobered, glancing in the mirror as the dead man hung just over his shoulder.
"Sonofabitch!" he shouted, instantly grasping frantically at the door's handle. And as he shoved at the door, he knew it was locked - locked and there was no way in hell that he was unlocking it.
Light, menacing laughter filled the car lending more urgency to Vince's bid for freedom. Lifting his his elbow, he applied it brutally to the side window, not once, not twice, but he was rewarded on the third strike as the glass burst outwards. With a graceless twist and heave of his body, he slithered out of the window and scrabbled to catch his footing. As he sprinted away from the car, he heard the loud percussion of the explosion a fraction of a second before the rolling heat licked along his skin.
Wasn't Tran...Just seeing things...
*************
Push the glass, stain the glass
Push the writer to the wall
It may come but it will pass
Some say we will fall
Leon strode purposefully into the office laying the last work order of the day on the desk. He was tired, working longer and longer hours at the garage was starting to catch up with him. He was seeing things here and there, hearing things and each time he would excuse it as exhaustion. Turning, he was about to make his way back out into the large garage bay when his eyes fell for the tenth time that day, the hundredth time that week, on the computer that Jesse was always typing away on. Seeing it there, covered with a thick coat of dust, was a constant reminder of their missing team member, of his friend.
He changed his direction and moved to the far side of the office retrieving a roomy cardboard box. His chest constricted at the idea of what he was about to do.
"Awww, dawg, I don't wanna do it but it's time," he soulfully mumbled, his words were merely meant for his own comfort and not to be heard, but they were and very clearly.
Leon reached for the monitor, his hand slipping behind the screen towards the plug. Jerking the thick cord from the outlet, he drew back and automatically felt a searing pain across his fingers.
"Shit!" he hissed.
Lifting his hand from behind the monitor, crimson beads dripped from his fingertips across the screen running downwards in two thick rivulets. Green turbulent orbs locked onto the deep lacerations, watching thick blood spilling over the jagged edges of torn flesh. Leon watched until a faint flickering caught his attention. Slowly he drug his eyes upwards and took a involuntary step backwards. Across the now active monitor scrolled line after line, words from another time and place.
Go fetch my car.
Go fetch my car.
Go fetch my car.
His mind froze at what he was seeing, at what he knew wasn't possible. He moved to check the outlet again, second guessing himself. Had he really unplugged it? Had he imagined it? But no, laying there clearly below the edge of the monitor was the three pronged plug. Shaking his head, he took another step away from the bloodied screen.
This ain't happenin...He's dead and he can't touch us.
**************
Sitting here now in this bar for hours
Trying to write it down
Fitting in hard with harder to come
Trying to fight it
Lifting the have drank Corona to his lips Vince starred down at the ink smudged napkin, a pen held loosely in his fingers. He'd come here to this dark place where he didn't have to be a part of anything, where he d fid find peace from the team and the months upon months of shit that had followed him like a bad dream. He remembered only bits and piece of that day, the day that Dom had monumentally fucked up. But he was clear on a couple of things, he was real clear about the indescribable tha that ripped at his left arm, and the paralyzing fear of being stuck to a semi like a bug in the grill. That had been bad, harder than anything he'd gone through. It had taken a week for the pain killers to leave his system enough to understand what happened, understand what happened to him and the youngest of their team. The only thing that eased Jesse's death at all for him was knowing Johnny Tran was dead. He knew he would have hunted down the bastard himself if Brian hadn't stolen that glory. But like most things, that day had slowly started to fade, healing had happened, and the team had gotten on with their lives.
Holding the pen a little more firmly, he jotted down another line or two and lifted his head. He took a moment to meet the curious eyes of the blonde at the end of the bar. With a inward sigh, he knew it was time to leave. He wasn't here for this, not tonight and most likely not any of the other nights he would return. Folding the napkin carefully, he pushed it into his pocket and stood then with a parting glance he moved towards the door and out into the dry California night.
"Shit," he hissed as he stretched his arms over his head, the creak from his spine signaled he'd been idle for far too long.
He ambled across the parking lot, in no particular hurry to be anywhere, and reached for the handle of the Maxima. He paused as a tingle raced along his scalp and down his back, raising goose bumps in its path. Taking a step away from the car, he peered carefully in the window, his eyes traveling the interior. Seeing nothing amiss he shrugged and jerked the door open. He slid behind the wheel of the car and sat there while seconds ticked by as he took breath after breath filling his lungs. Slowly the dizziness, the disorientation began to creep in and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was the NOS, that there had to be a leak.
Just as he would have reached for the key, his vapor filled mind forgetting the dangers of compressed NOS, a chilled hand clamped onto his shoulder.
"Can't kill me, Vince but can't say the same for you."
Tran's voice came floating through the fog to him. Instantly he sobered, glancing in the mirror as the dead man hung just over his shoulder.
"Sonofabitch!" he shouted, instantly grasping frantically at the door's handle. And as he shoved at the door, he knew it was locked - locked and there was no way in hell that he was unlocking it.
Light, menacing laughter filled the car lending more urgency to Vince's bid for freedom. Lifting his his elbow, he applied it brutally to the side window, not once, not twice, but he was rewarded on the third strike as the glass burst outwards. With a graceless twist and heave of his body, he slithered out of the window and scrabbled to catch his footing. As he sprinted away from the car, he heard the loud percussion of the explosion a fraction of a second before the rolling heat licked along his skin.
Wasn't Tran...Just seeing things...
*************
Push the glass, stain the glass
Push the writer to the wall
It may come but it will pass
Some say we will fall
Leon strode purposefully into the office laying the last work order of the day on the desk. He was tired, working longer and longer hours at the garage was starting to catch up with him. He was seeing things here and there, hearing things and each time he would excuse it as exhaustion. Turning, he was about to make his way back out into the large garage bay when his eyes fell for the tenth time that day, the hundredth time that week, on the computer that Jesse was always typing away on. Seeing it there, covered with a thick coat of dust, was a constant reminder of their missing team member, of his friend.
He changed his direction and moved to the far side of the office retrieving a roomy cardboard box. His chest constricted at the idea of what he was about to do.
"Awww, dawg, I don't wanna do it but it's time," he soulfully mumbled, his words were merely meant for his own comfort and not to be heard, but they were and very clearly.
Leon reached for the monitor, his hand slipping behind the screen towards the plug. Jerking the thick cord from the outlet, he drew back and automatically felt a searing pain across his fingers.
"Shit!" he hissed.
Lifting his hand from behind the monitor, crimson beads dripped from his fingertips across the screen running downwards in two thick rivulets. Green turbulent orbs locked onto the deep lacerations, watching thick blood spilling over the jagged edges of torn flesh. Leon watched until a faint flickering caught his attention. Slowly he drug his eyes upwards and took a involuntary step backwards. Across the now active monitor scrolled line after line, words from another time and place.
Go fetch my car.
Go fetch my car.
Go fetch my car.
His mind froze at what he was seeing, at what he knew wasn't possible. He moved to check the outlet again, second guessing himself. Had he really unplugged it? Had he imagined it? But no, laying there clearly below the edge of the monitor was the three pronged plug. Shaking his head, he took another step away from the bloodied screen.
This ain't happenin...He's dead and he can't touch us.