Carson Cramer and Jake Caster have been best friends since high school. Now a rising tv anchor and a successful comic book artist, they’ve found that some things change, and some remain very much the same. What Jake isn’t telling Carson: that car accident in high school triggered his super powers, which he now uses for good under the name Phantom. What neither of them know: that same car accident in high school turned Carson into a split-personality superhuman, and the other personality with all the powers is evil. This story was to fill an object prompt. I had to use seven of the following ten items: lighter, ring, light bulb, hamster wheel, giant salad, lipstick, potted plant, boxers, vw beetle, stick
–
They were already going to be ten minutes late, so Carson Cramer didn’t bother to knock on the door until he was already halfway into the apartment. “Get a move on!” he shouted across the living room. “We’re already late!”
“Well, I hate you,” Jake Caster’s voice called back. He appeared from the direction of his bedroom, looking every inch the lazing artist that he was. He’d just pulled a shirt over his head, leaving his hair rumpled, and his belt wasn’t even fastened around his waist yet. Carson pointedly looked away; eleven thirty in the morning was too early to be confronted with even a glimpse of his best friend’s boxers. He kept his eyes on the withered potted plant that Spook used as a scratching post until the sounds of metal and leather subsided and it was safe to look again without too much mental scarring.
Clothes intact, Jake still looked like he’d crawled out of a comic-lined hole in the ground moments before. Carson shook his head in despair. “How are you just getting out of bed? It’s nearly noon!”
“Had a late night.” Jake brushed past him to check his hair in the mirror by the door. After a moment of consideration, he just ruffled his hands through it to make the mess look more intentional, and then bent down to gather up two matching shoes. He settled on the edge of his ratty old couch—the one that Carson constantly offered to replace with something that wouldn’t scare a woman away if Jake ever brought one home—and started to untangle the laces. His movements were a little stiff, and he held himself a bit to one side, like his left leg was hurting him.
Carson knew he had worry lines forming on his face, and didn’t quite manage to wipe them away before Jake glanced up and caught the expression. “Bad workout.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it—they had too much practice reading each other to get away with stuff like that, which was part of the reason this friendship was probably deeply unhealthy to Carson’s mental health. Before he could ask, Jake looked back down again and sighed, “Remind me again why Springfield’s most eligible televised bachelor can’t find a date to a stupid company picnic?”
“It’s the annual ‘Green Peace’ auction,” Carson corrected. “And shut it. You’re not exactly my first choice as a plus one, thank you very much.”
Jake tilted to his feet and stifled a yawn. “With sweet talk like that, no wonder.” He grabbed up his keys from their tray on the counter, adjusted the satchel magically on his shoulder, and made a grand gesture towards the door. “After you.”
And despite himself, Carson smiled. He’d never admit it, but they hadn’t seen much of each other lately, and he’d missed it. Jake had been holed up trying to meet his next deadline, and Carson was fronting the myriad charity events and PR appearances that the station put on every summer.
Besides, it was worth the whole exercise to see Jake’s face when they got to the car.
“What is it?”
“A Volkswagen,” Carson said unhelpfully. He grinned hugely at Jake’s alarm and slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t look like that. It’s not a bloody Flinstones car. It’s a classic.”
As a matter of fact the thing was a death trap on wheels, but there was a certain charm to the old VW Beetles that made it seem like part of the experience. Or so Elizabeth had insisted, when she signed Carson up to drive it to the auction since no one else would dare. This one tried its best, sitting there in the sun all painted with blue and yellow flowers. He had to admit, the advert people at the station knew how to promote a theme; this thing screamed “Peace, Love and Go Green” better than any poster.
It took them a few minutes to wedge themselves in. The car was barely big enough to hold the two of them, and Jake had to throw his satchel in the back next to Carson’s bag. Jake contorted his arm in an attempt to grab his seatbelt. “So how did you end up with the death trap on wheels, exactly?”
Carson gave him a look, despite thinking the exact same thing himself two minutes ago. “I’m the only anchor in the station who can drive a bloody manual without a diagram.” He gestured at the long black stick between them, stuck out at an odd angle like some kind of antenna. “Alright, let’s get a move on.”
The car started with great reluctance, grumbling and grinding into life like an old woman roused from sleep. It took some yanking on the wheel to get it away from the curb and drifting down the street. They were halfway to the park before the engine rumbled into something more like a purr, and the teeth-knocking shakes just became strong vibrations. Carson let up on the clutch a little and tried to pretend he’d done it on purpose. “There. Walk in the park.”
Jake laughed and rolled down the window. “Remember the first time we tried to drive a stick? When Mr. Jackson said that we could have the Impala for ten dollars if we could drive it down the street and back without stalling?”
Carson smiled at the memory. That car had barely lasted them the summer, between Carson’s part-time job at the paper and Jake’s ill-fated career as a hot dog vendor. It had blown out on them half way out to the lake just before school started, and they’d had to walk five miles in the dark before they found someone to give them a lift home. He could still remember the warm summer air, the smell of pine trees, the exhilarating feeling of being on their own, with no adults in sight to help.
“Wasn’t all bad, I suppose. At least it finally convinced Mum to buy me–”
He stopped dead, right in the middle of the sentence, because the air had just gone out of his lungs.
Buy me that green mustang, he would have finished. The mustang that Carson had been so proud of, the one he’d shined up to take Laurie Holstrum to senior prom. The one that Jake had driven them home in, after they’d both been dumped. The one he’d fallen asleep in, oblivious, only to wake to a bright, terrible noise, and the world turning upside down as the other car hit them head-on and spun them off the road, Jake’s scream ringing in his ears.
They’d never talked about it. Not once in the decade since it happened. He glanced over; Jake was fiddling with the cigarette lighter, ducked down so Carson’s couldn’t catch his eyes.
Jake had never driven a car with Carson in it, since then. Had barely driven one at all, really. They’d never talked about it. They’d never talked about a lot of things. He’d never really noticed why.
They were only three blocks from the park. Carson pulled the car over and turned it off. The sudden silence rang in his ears; the vibrations cutting out finally made Jake look up, finger resting on the lip of the lighter like he was thinking about testing it. It took a long time for their eyes to meet, and even then, Carson couldn’t find the words.
Because it was Jake right next to him now, just like he’s always been since the minute they met. And Carson should have been driving, and neither of them had been hurt. Well. That wasn’t quite true, was it. The words died on impact still rang in Carson’s ears, and he hadn’t even been awake for the collision with that poor sod in the other car.
Sometime in the minutes Carson had been staring into the middle distance, Jake had looked away again, this time out the window. He was trying hard to pretend nothing was wrong, and it made Carson’s chest squeeze a little.
This was ridiculous. They were two grown men in the middle of a summer day, angsting silently about something that’d happened twelve years ago, in another car entirely.
Well, what did he expect, really? They’d never grown up in any good ways, either.
Carson reached out and put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. He left it there, patiently, until Jake managed to look at him again.
“We’re gonna be late,” the other man pointed out, voice not quite steady.
“We’ll blame the car.” Carson didn’t know how to say it, any of it. He’d never been good with words that weren’t scripted for him. So he did the only thing he could think of. He tugged the key out of the ignition, twirled it on its ring, and then silently held it out to his passenger.
Jake’s eyes widened. “No. No, seriously, don’t–”
“You’re driving,” Carson told him, and got out of the car.
Jake got out too. They stood there glaring at each other over the yellow roof of the Beetle, Carson trying to be calm and Jake’s knuckles turning white around the keyring. A car whipped past, and the sound started them out of their showdown.
Finally, Jake took a deep breath and rested his hands on the top of the car like a sign of surrender. “Tell me one good reason why I should do this.”
Carson thought carefully about that. Because you’re my best friend and I trust you seemed the obvious answer. Maybe It wasn’t your fault or I’m sorry I fell asleep and left you alone. Maybe most of all, I’m sorry, because if one of us had to kill someone, even by accident, it bloody well should have been me.
But Jake knew all that, didn’t he? Surely, after all this time, he knew. Carson just had to remind him.
“I’ve been told,” he said slowly, “That they’re going to throw Elizabeth into a giant salad as part of the Go Green demonstration.”
Jake stared at him, and then all at once he smiled. “Yeah. Alright.” Carson breathed a sigh of relief. That had gotten more touchy-feely than he ever wanted to be again, and they hadn’t even talked about it.
They got back into the car, positions reversed, and Carson took a deep breath in unison with Jake as the key turned and the car started.
Jake looked over at him, just once, and gave something like a smile again. “Don’t fall asleep on me, alright?”
“No,” Carson agreed, far more seriously than either of them needed. He cleared his throat again. “Not likely, in this death trap.”
“I told you!” Jake glanced at the mirrors and took another breath. “Alright,” he said, mostly to himself. “Moving on.”
Carson barely hid his grin, and settled back into his seat as they pulled back out into the street.
They ended up being thirty minutes late. Carson couldn’t find it in himself to care.
