"LIGHTS OUT"
AKA; RED DAWN PT. 2

My father had two boats. His California yacht docked in a Malibu marina, and a smaller version at our Florida home. The former was obviously the better one, but each was luxurious in their own ways, as Oscar Banks always had that sort of flare.

I never got to go on either of them past the age of twelve, but that didn't mean I couldn't brag about them. The wooden canoe Margaret had the three of us piling into was nothing like those boats.

As if he'd read my mind, Chet quipped, "Well it's no yacht, huh Baby Banks?"

"Real cute." I rolled my eyes, and took a seat next to him in the canoe.

We let Margaret take over the paddles since Chet couldn't really use them and I doubted I would be much help. The lake wasn't that big anyway, and she appeared strong enough to handle it. We rowed in silence for a few moments, the pushing water the only sound.

I laced my hand with Chet's and tried to keep up my own morale. All we had to do was get across the river and this whole night would be behind us.

Speaking of the other side, I glanced up, studying the tree line for any other signs of human-life. My brows furrowed when after a while when I didn't see any.

You couldn't blame me for still being suspicious of Margaret. What she said about Trevor and the bullets hadn't sat right with me and wouldn't anytime soon. The only reason I agreed to go with her was because I didn't think there was another choice. I especially didn't trust her now that there was no indication of people on the other side either.

Chet noticed too, and he commented, "I don't see anything out there. There's not even a light."

I nodded, "I swear to fuck if there's no one there I'm gonna put a pencil in my eye."

Margaret tilted her head and gave me that stupid smirk, "That's violent."

I wanted to glare at her but Chet elbowed me with his good arm. I knew he was right, I probably shouldn't provoke the person we needed on our side right now.

"Don't worry Oli, they'll be out there." He assured me, then turned to Margaret, " We're gonna get out of this nightmare."

She ignored him, "Do you ever think about death?"

I stared at her for a second after that because I couldn't tell if that question was serious. It was so out of blue. "Huh?"

"Do you ever think about death?" She repeated herself.

Chet shrugged. "I thought about it pretty hard when I was in that pit."

I sighed and considered joining in on whatever the fuck this conversation was. Truth is, I had thought about death several times since the night began, especially when Thomas was holding that gun on me.

"What do you think it's like?" I questioned, looking into my lap. I used my free hand to roll the hen of my shorts between my fingers. "Like what happens when you die? Is that it? You're just done?"

"Right? What if it's nothing?" Chet squeezed my hand, "A big black nothing." He agreed with me.

"You two wouldn't feel that way if you believed in God." Margaret cut in with her bible-thumping bullshit.

I glanced up, this time not suppressing my glare, and groaned, "God, here we go." I should've known that's what the conversation would turn into.

"God judges the righteous and the wicked, for when the cold hand of death squeezes the last breath from your lungs, it'll be too late to ask for forgiveness." She recited like it was engrained into her brain, because it probably was.

Chet quipped, "Thanks for the heads-up."

"You've lost a lot of blood." She talked us down. He tone was light and authoritative, the way you would speak with a toddler. "Make peace with your maker. Confess your sins."

"Fuck you." I said, "He's not gonna die."

"What about you? You know I read about you in the paper." Margaret directed to me.

I scoffed, "The paper?"

I didn't know if she was referring to my family or the countless rumours posted about me in Seventeen magazines. Either way, it would've gone against her Christian morals.

"I can see your torments. I know you're both harbouring terrible secrets." She continued. "I can always tell the real people from the fake ones."

I laughed sardonically. "You don't know shit about us. Row faster, I can't sit with you any longer." I demanded, glancing towards the open lake.

Margaret chuckled condescendingly, and pointed at the sky, "I tried. God is my witness."

Chet was just as annoyed with her as I was. Finally. "And you're so pure? There's nothing that you have to confess?"

She paused, putting down one of the paddles, "Actually, I do. There's nothing on the other side. I just needed to get each one of you alone with me."

Chet furrowed his brows, "Why?"

She stood up, picked it up again, and reeled back the paddle, "So I can kill you."

Before I even processed what she said, the boy beside me was whacked in the head with Margaret's oar.

I gasped and stood up, ready to push the bitch down, or tackle her, or really do anything that would avoid both of our deaths. In the meantime, she continued to kick Chet down.

I didn't even take the time to consider why Margaret would do this, I just knew I wasn't exactly surprised.

She retaliated my standing up by pulling a knife out of her pocket. She pushed it in my direction, but I dodged it at first. Once I regained, I tried to jump at her again.

This whole time the boat was rocking, and one big movement caused me to slightly lose my footing. That gave Margaret the upper hand and the perfect opening to put her weapon into my abdomen.

I winced, and fell back down on to the seat. I glanced down at the large knife sticking out of my stomach, but couldn't bring myself to touch it or take it out.

My breaths laboured as Chet cried, "Oli?"

I looked back and breathed heavier when I noticed his eyes wide. I opened my mouth to speak until something spilled past my lips. The metallic taste was indicative of blood.

Before Chet could reach or help me, Margaret tossed the anchor off the boat. I was confused at first when I heard the harsh sound of the chain scrape against the side of the boat. Though it all made sense when the weight hit the bottom, and Chet's body flew off the boat as he continued to cry out.

I fell backwards with the momentum, and slammed my head against the side of the boat. I stared at the starry sky and began to cry for what felt like the thousandth time.

I could still hear Chet screaming, then the crunch of flesh and bones as Margaret stepped on his hands until he and his voice were completely gone. My somewhat decent view was destroyed with Margaret's face.

"Lights out." She said before knocking me with the paddle.

✗✗✗

The blood had crusted on my lips by the time I opened my eyes again. Every part of my body hurt and I could really only open them a sliver before they'd close again. Through my daze I heard sirens on the shore. That's when I realized I was still lying on the boat.

Margaret must of rode it back to shore and left me there with the assumption I was dead. Personally, I couldn't believe I wasn't. After all the pain and horror I'd endured in the last few hours, it was a miracle I kept going.

Maybe it was all just a dream now. Maybe this is what happened when you died. You got one last taste of your life before the dark came. All I knew for sure was that if I was alive, I wouldn't last long.

My eyes drooped more with each second until they completely shut. I laid there on the slivered wood, my chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

I was honestly ready to die then and there. I was ready to let myself bleed out and into a slumber. I always figured I would die young anyway. I constantly walked alone in downtown Los Angeles at night. There was more nicotine swirling in my lungs than there was oxygen. My dad clearly had been out to get me since the day I was born, so there was that too.

I felt grateful for all I got to do. I met an insane group of people who liked to party, dance, and smoke just as much as me. I had a boyfriend whom I loved, and who loved me back. I got to go to school, even though it wasn't the degree I wanted, and I got to live in my own place. I got to get away from my dad even if it was for only a bit — I got to make the most of twenty-one years.

And the things I didn't get to? Live my dream career. Never see my family again. Who cared? It's not like it mattered anymore — 

"Get up." Someone seethed.

I stirred in my place on the boat, but did not open my eyes, nor acknowledge whoever it was fully.

"Get up Oli." It was Ray.

I lifted my eyelids slightly, almost relieved to see his face. I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. My throat was also too coated in blood I think.

When I didn't say anything, Ray groaned and stood up. Through my glazed eyes I could see his head turn. I think he was scanning the area for something. Eventually, he picked up one of the oars and began to bang it against the boat.

I flinched at the loud noise but adjusted to it soon. Shouts came from the direction of the sirens. Ray continued slamming the oar until the shouts got closer, and he randomly disappeared.

I was confused, but wasn't in the right mind to question it further.

A hand laid on my bloodied neck, two fingers taking my pulse. I opened my eyes as much as possible and saw a first responder hovering over me.

He whispered reassuring things, saying they had me now, and everything would be okay. They didn't bother to ask what happened, he just asked me my name.

I once again tried to speak, but coughed instead, a little more blood pouring out of my mouth. The responder told me to take it easy, but I tried again anyway.

I managed to wince, "Olivia.. Banks."

The first-responder scoffed, "Holy shit, Olivia Banks?"

If I was functional in that moment, I definitely would have said something witty to get them off my back.

The paramedics basically peeled me and my bloodied body off the wooden canoe. I must've been covered in like three different people's blood at that point.

I was laid onto a nearby stretcher that was soon hauled into an ambulance. The driver pressed the gas almost immediately. Once again my eyes began to droop.

I considered the possibility of hallucination. Maybe that's why Ray was there, even though Montana told us he ran. Maybe that's why I was somehow still breathing.

I stared at the trees beyond the ambulance window, and felt one of the paramedics lift my bloody hair away from my ear. He gasped, and I could only imagine what happened to my ear — or lack thereof now.

Only moments later we were exiting Redwood, the Welcome sign like a passing memory. Less than twenty-four hours ago I drove past this same sign.

It was different this time around, and always would be from here on.

an
i'm attempting an update scheduled for some of my stories including this one. killer queen will be updated every tuesday! i'm gonna try the best i can, but i go back to school on jan 6 so i might not be able to update it every week. just thought i should set that expectation from the start