Giovanni Cartucci Part 2

They told me I was going home. We got into that black van with the transparent windows, the four of us. I remember walking outside, the sand crunching beneath my feet. The real fine sand and obsidian sky, oblivion. I step into the car too quickly, but the restriction of the doors feels normal, safe. The masked driver offers me a cigarette and light and I take them. I look outside but the windows might as well be painted so I close my eyes and remember home. My mom, the kitchen, the dog. The memories. That one withered spoon by the window that no one had touched for years in silent experiment. It is difficult to remember and the sadness makes me vulnerable, so I flick the wheel and light the seat in front of me on fire. It sprouts quickly, and by the time I’ve doused the driver’s hair in lighter fluid the fire has spread across all the interior. I grab Wheezy by the ponytail.
“Open the door.”
“No!”
His eyes are clouded with fear. I yank his hair inches from an open flame.
“Open it.” I hiss.
Wheezy jerks his head forward and I think I scalp him. I am sweating from the face and the air is heavy with smoke. My hairs are singed. Wheezy turns to face me. His face is burned. But the features recognizable. Samantha turns to look at me.
“Ryder I can explain—“ But then she whips around. “-Shhit.”
Boom
Her cheeks ripple like vapor and then she is lifted out of the seat and I hear a loud bang and I collapse to the floor of the car dizzy. Lizzy’s dead. Isaiah’s dead. Maverick’s nowhere to be seen. Samantha’s mouth is open, indented on the steering wheel back to her throat. Blood streams down leather in beads. The front right door was jarred loose and I stumble over Isaiah to the front of the car. This was my doing. The pony tail. Useful as a nuke. The lighter fluid was rigged. They’d meant to kill me. I blink fast but my vision remains red. Red on the windows, red on the seats, red on the roof. The jagged window sears through my arm and into my back when I fall. The first stars are coming out. I am Giovanni Cartucci. This is my story.