The Man in the Cab (The Chronic Chronicles #1) ✓

Jaxon Dempsey found himself staring at a childish image on the brick wall of a neglected alley, and he found himself fantasizing about how his wedding night was supposed to go. Certainly sex of some sort would have been transpiring right about then.  

Lurking in a crevice between two brick buildings, Jaxon withdrew a flask from his suit jacket; it had been empty for quite some time. With his animated gesturing—and no cap on the flask—the liquid had long been lost and now resided, in equal parts, on the ground and on his suit. When he tipped the flask, only a couple drops of rum landed successfully on his tongue. The alley reeked of piss, though it had become steadily less foul as faint droplets of rain fell from the cloudy sky.

To strangers, Jaxon would appear merely drunk. They'd see the quiver in his legs as he struggled to stand, the garbled speech as he spoke with enthusiastic hands to nothing in particular, and the way his head was drooping like an unsupported newborn. To those who knew him, they'd see more. They would see clenched fists, tear-stained cheeks, and a misery that only abandonment could cause. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, but he'd never admit that to anyone. 

The door to the bar behind Jax opened with a boom as it went flying into the wall. Jax did not turn around because he knew who was there. It was his best friend, Zach, who had tagged along to his pity party. Earlier in the week, last Tuesday, Jaxon's boss had texted him and told him to find a new job. Yes. Texted. The oil sands company, Brockton & Co had too many employees, and apparently fifteen years of loyalty to the company didn't mean shit. He would be lying if he said he hadn't contemplated destroying his phone; to hell with 'don't shoot the messenger'.

"What are you doing?" Zach asked him. Jax kept his gaze on the woman's purple lips on the wall. There was a lewd comment below the sexual picture that Jaxon almost said aloud. Zach regarded the wall as well. There was white paint smeared across the woman's lips. Zach put a hand on Jaxon's shoulder. 

"Jax... let me call someone. Should we try Carla again? Hey, where did your shoe go?" At the mention of Jaxon's fiancée—more like ex—Jax whirled around and nearly face planted as he took his other shoe off. He tried to whip it at Zach. However, it was not an accurate throw, and instead, it sailed straight into the air.

"Carla can go fuck a cactus!"

"Jax, watch out. Your shoe is going to hit you." Jaxon understood far too late to do anything about the shoe that was speeding toward his face. In any other circumstance, it would have been painful, but because of the alcohol gushing through his veins, he felt a dull thump and stared stupidly at the ground with his face slack.

Zach walked towards him with hands buried in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Both Zack and Jaxon were still in their wedding attire, a sad reminder of what was supposed to transpire. His jacket had rain on it, and the chill had seeped into his bones, but he disregarded the feeling because it was better than dwelling on the overwhelming nothingness beginning to bloom in his head and heart. Hands rested on Jaxon's shoulders, an amicable gesture, but he had never felt more alone in his life.

"Brighter than my goddamn future," Jax muttered darkly at his best friend's white suit jacket.

"What?" Zach asked, but Jaxon shook his head. Jax lost his balance as he attempted to go back inside the bar, but Zach spun him around. "Let me call you a cab. Wait here, and put your shoes on. Don't puke in the cab, bud. You can crash at my place until we can sort this out."

Sitting down on the wet ground and likely ruining his tux—not that it mattered anymore—he gathered his shoe into his hands and fought a losing battle with his laces. He gave up on tying them properly, and instead of attempting to stand, watched as the rain left ripples in the puddle by his feet. His reflection was just visible from the streetlight at the mouth of the alley several metres away. Saying he looked like shit would be an understatement. An abrupt honk pierced through the silence; a cab was idling by the sidewalk.

"Zach! I need help!" There was no response. Head swivelling, he looked around, but Zach was no longer there. Jaxon decided to be louder. "Zach!" Still, his best friend did not appear. Moaning and groaning all the while, he turned around so he was sitting on his heels and used his hands to push himself into an upright position. Swaying to nonexistent music, he patted his pockets to ensure his wallet was still there; it was. Staggering to the cab—whose door was already open— he collapsed against the back seat, which smelled like old people and cigars. Tucking his feet inside, he pulled the door shut. He suddenly wanted a cigar.

"Home, please."

He was sure he had said it audibly enough that the driver had heard him. The cab then began to move, and Jaxon waited for the driver to ask him where home was, but no question came. The light pelting of rain on the roof of the vehicle, and the hum of a gentle static on the radio as they passed street after street were the only things breaking the silence. He felt the need to investigate further, and in so doing, accidentally kicked the window on the left passenger door.

Shooting upright to inspect the glass with eyes that would not stay in focus, he quickly forgot what he intended to do. Instead, his fingers traced over the glass leaving smears along his path. He leaned in close to the glass and breathed heavily onto it, fogging it up. With a guilty grin, he drew a penis with less artistic skill than the pink graffiti one in the alley. Letting his finger drop, his head swayed to the side, and he watched the streets disappear behind him.

To his right, a cluster of women were stumbling in heels too high and dresses too short, and on his left, a couple was close to having sex on the sidewalk under an awning for a divorce lawyer. His eyes lingered longer than they should have, and a wave of sadness fell over him. He and Carla should have been doing that right about then—having sex that is, not getting divorced. They'd have to be married first. 

The static seemed to get louder the longer the silence went on, and he felt the need to ask the driver to change the station. When Jaxon sat up enough to see over the headrest to pop the question about a decent station, he stilled. There was no driver: only a vacant seat with a moving wheel.

"Hey, can you... er..." Jaxon struggled trying to figure out whom to ask to turn the radio to a station he enjoyed. There was no one there after all. "Can the radio be put onto 92.1 FM, please?" It was the local rock station. To his bewilderment, the radio turned on, but to the furthest thing from the rock station possible. He bit his lip and tried to figure out how to use his words once more.

"Yeah... mysterious driver? This is country music. Country sucks balls."

The volume went higher, and higher, and higher. The mysterious cab driver seemed to be a country fan, and the fact set Jaxon off. He was usually calm, cool, and collected, but due to recent events, everything annoyed the shit out of him. This was including, but not limited to, the radio playing shitty music, Zach abandoning him in a moment of need, and alcohol for running out before he could forget everything about this week.

The volume rose until he could feel the bass thumping through his body, and could hear nothing but the god-awful lyrics about some cowboy with a tractor and a beer. Clenching his eyes shut, Jaxon fought the urge to vomit, and instead, covered his ears feebly with hands. The interior of the cab had dark blue leather, worn and cracked from years of use and abuse. It smelled, oddly enough, like pipe, which struck Jaxon as strange because smoking's prohibited—even for the driver—in all cabs. He quickly disregarded it, however, because nothing about this cab seemed conventional. It was an old model of car, but not one he recognized, much to the chagrin of his jackass father. Jax had never been a car buff. He dropped his arms and gazed through the window where his home was quickly approaching. 

Watching with drooping eyes from consumption of beverage, he steadied himself with sweaty, outstretched palms on the seats in front of him. "Hey, my friend's house is coming up on the right there. Slow down a bit." The cab kept on going. "Hey, you're going past the house!"

In Zach's driveway was Jax's car, still adorned with bows and the banner that said newlyweds. It was false advertisement if he'd ever seen one. He watched the scene as the car kept going. The car lurched, causing Jaxon to clutch the handle by his head with white-knuckled hands.

His fingers curled around the handle above his door as tires squealed on asphalt. Sweat dropped down Jaxon's brow as his nerves made him release his bladder. He closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he wished he believed in God.

The car spun wildly, but then a sudden stillness took over. The car was floating through the air, and it looked as though it was heading to his house. 

The music stopped and turned to 92.1 FM. Jaxon blinked, and sank into his seat to enjoy the station he'd asked for, recognized Whiskey in a Jar, but no sooner had his shoulders slumped, the station changed once more to the country station.

"I hate you!" he barked out to the car, and when he turned his head, writing was appearing on the window like fingers across frosted glass, though no hands were physically there.

'Why? I'm lovely.'

"I'm way too sober for this."

The tranquil state the car had been in stopped and it became as jerky as it was before. The car lurched, and the breaks squealed as if they were older than sin itself. Jaxon did not know exactly how long sinning had existed, but he knew sinning had been a thing for a long, long damn time; he was a master at it. Jaxon's head smashed into the seat ahead of him, and he briefly remembered the thing called seat belts; however, he was sure he wasn't coordinated enough to do much of anything at the moment. Jaxon let out a yelp of surprise as the cab turned a tight corner. His hands shot forward and curled around the headrest in front of him. Craning his neck to see high above him, his apartment with Carla came into view, and his hand got ready to pull the handle to the door. A distinct clicking noise made Jaxon turn his head. The car had locked the door.

"Excuse me."

The car huffed.

"Excuse me, this is my stop."

He unlocked the door and waited for the car to stop. It didn't. The car locked once more, and Jaxon found himself fighting with the car in a frenzy of flicking the lock back and forth. At this point, Jaxon merely wanted the damn door opened so he could jump out and escape.

His seatbelt flew over his torso and clicked in place, yanking him back into the seat. The car rumbled as though laughing at Jaxon's thoughts, and sped up before driving onto the curb. "What the f—" The cab folded and undulated as the car drove up the side of the building.

"Holy shit!"

Jaxon suddenly realized why the cab wanted his seatbelt on. He smiled at the thought that the car may have cared about his safety. "Thank you for putting my seatbelt on." The seat in front of him flew back towards his face, and cheek meeting leather with a keen smack, his eyes watered and eyelids fluttered as he blinked the sudden onslaught of tears away. He pouted and patted his nose, expecting blood to be present, but none was. He looked up at the wheel and glared.

Perhaps the car did not care about his safety.

Crushed against the side of the car staring into the streets many stories below, Jaxon yawned through an expression of alarm, not expecting the car to start moving sideways. Adjusting his seatbelt so it wasn't crushing him, he let his body sag into the door as he watched rain fall onto the streets below. The neon lights from a couple clubs suddenly came to life, and clusterfucks of people came into view as they began their nights. It was barely eleven o'clock.

The cab held a constant vibration as the car drove over individual bricks in the wall. The glass under the tires crackled and popped under the weight of the vehicle, but apart from the sound remained in place and did not shatter; the cab floor and doors seemed to be invisible as did the walls to the apartments because he could see everything clearly. Jaxon peered down to see Nancy, his neighbour, sitting in the armchair by her window reading another shit romance novel by a Gina someone-or-other.

"Why are we driving on a building?"

The radio crackled to life, and Jaxon's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head at the sound of it before he listened to the station because even plain old news was better than hick, country BS.

"—traffic jam on Memorial drive NW. The Flames' victory over the Bruins has caused quite the commotion and an accident near the venue has caused nearby areas to be affected. An alternative route would be—" Jaxon stopped listening because he found out what he needed to know. The Flames won the game. He hated the Flames even though he lived in Calgary. He was a fan of the Canucks, and he always joked that the Canucks were like the Leafs, but with far fewer fans. Well, it was a half joke because unfortunately it was true.

"This is your reroute? Really?"

The car folded once more and went around the side of the building. His apartment with Carla came into view and the dainty, white curtains billowed in the wind. A soft glow from within the room made a distinct shadow appear, and Jaxon's heart clawed at the confines of his ribcage. It was very clear what was going on. His fiancée was with someone else on their wedding night. Dialogue concerning himself cursed the open air. Jaxon found he could hear them despite the car window being firmly shut.

The car drifted closer until the car appeared to be floating inside the apartment. He was standing in the living room and he could not look away. He wished his eyes deceived him, or that it was merely a bad dream, but Jaxon had always relied on his senses to give him the truth, and if that were the case, the scene before him was true and real.

"I sent him to my place for the night. We won't be interrupted."

Jax could not believe his ears. Zach had left him sitting in the rain, drunk and sad and waiting for a cab to take Jax somewhere far away from the rendezvous Zach was going to have with Jaxon's fiancée. Un-fucking-believable.

Carla and Zach were in an embrace with lips locked. She was in red, silk, lingerie, and she was pinned up on the wall next to Jaxon's favourite photo of her and himself; their engagement photo. Zach's hands were tracing the hem on the top of her thigh before dragging the material up, up, up, and when Jax attempted to shout, he was sucked out of the scene.

The car leapt off the bricks, and spiralled into the air towards a new reality. The city blurred into streaks of light, and the cab rose above the rain and clouds. Being this high ensured the stars were visible, though (believe it or not) they were difficult to see with eyes clenched shut.  If only he could burn the images of the affair away.

Gravity pulled him back into the seat forcefully and blood pooled at the back of his throat when his teeth tore through his tongue. Spitting it out into the open air, he winced when he saw it land on the window. The blood left a trail down the now icy window, and froze in place, a reminder of Jaxon's failures. He couldn't even spit right without ruining something.

Jaxon's breaths were clouds. Shivers ripped through his body, and when he moved to adjust his jacket on himself, his seat belt unbuckled, the window opened, and the car threw him out of the vehicle.

Jaxon plummeted to the merciless world below.