Alfie Henderson’s customised 2008 VW Golf GTI came skidding around the corner at the end of the street. Inside, his custom speakers mounted in the boot pounded rhythmic base deep into the skulls of the car’s two occupants. Kelsey, Alfie’s girlfriend of two weeks, skipped the track impatiently, before relaxing as Biggie Smalls’ sonorous opening bars thumped through the car.
It was summer, the two teenagers were heading back from a party just outside of town. It had been a great night. Danny, the host, lived on the banks of the Thurborne river and the lingering tendrils of warmth in the air had tempted many of the partygoers for a late-night dip. Alf, as his friends sometimes called him, had only passed his driving test the previous month, a week after his seventeenth birthday, but had been obsessed with cars since his dad first took him go-karting at the age of eight. This was how he had come to own his precious Golf which he liked to think made everyone in his friend group envious. Alf barely needed any evidence with which to convince himself, he merely took great pleasure in showing off his car and his driving and conjured for himself a false sense that his passion for cars was shared by his friends. For Alf, driving his girlfriend too fast home after too many beers would only impress her. Kelsey, however, had other ideas.
“I wish you’d slow down!” Kelsey muttered, crossing her arms in her typically disapproving manner.
“Nah its dead quiet around these roads at night, trust me.” He replied casually, not once easing his right foot off the accelerator.
“That’s not the point!” Kelsey snapped at him frustratedly, slapping her thigh, exasperated that the past ten minutes of arguing had led to nothing.
Alf, startled by the slap, glanced over at her momentarily. As is customary with those under the influence, it took him precious milliseconds to focus his vision once he had again turned his eyes onto the road ahead. By the time he realised what was in front of him, it was too late. He slammed his right foot to the floor, pulling as much as he could out of the disc brakes his dad had helped him to polish last summer. Kelsey’s screams accompanied the screeching tyres, as a thud resounded throughout the car that was quite out of sync with the beats coming from Alf’s subwoofer.
For a moment everything sat still. It couldn’t have been more surreal with the silence of the stalled engine, the stunned teenagers and the quiet street contrasted entirely with the hip-hop that continued to blare from the speakers.
“Turn that shit off!” hissed Kelsey, first to come to her senses as she snatched at the volume control.
“Oh shit shit shit shit shit! What are we going to do!” murmured Alf, still in a complete state of shock.
The two teens scrambled out of the car and, cautiously, approached the front of the car. Kelsey stifled a scream as she saw the body, lying almost peacefully on the ground. A small trickle of inky liquid ran from the man’s head for a few centimetres into the middle of the road where it fell into a beam of light and took on a deep, burgundy tone. A pained, internal groan came from Alf as he stared down in disbelief, still tipsy.
“What are we going to do!” he moaned, wiping sweat from his brow as he struggled to breathe. “We have to call the police.”
“Call the police! Are you dumb? Alf he’s fucking dead! You killed him! You can’t call the police we need to leave right now!”
“But–”
“Get back in the car and drive idiot!”
Alf stumbled his way behind the wheel and, hands shaking, turned the ignition. The two drove slowly in silence through the streets of Stackley until they reached Kelsey’s house.
“Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll call you tomorrow.” said Kelsey through tight lips.
Nodding, Alf said nothing but watched her disappear inside before pulling away from the curb.
The following morning, Alf woke with a splitting headache and the elating feeling of certainty that it had all been a dream. Before he could allow himself to relax, he crossed to the window and peered out at his car parked in the drive. Despite his assertions of dreaming, the tell-tale dent stood out on the bonnet as if to signify to anyone who passed that something was not right. Cursing under his breath Alf dressed and immediately went to try and flatten out the bodywork of his car, but it was to no success.
He retreated inside, heart pounding, and headed for the kitchen. Using his hangover and a muttered mention of someone attempting a drunken backflip off his car he managed to avoid further questions until later. At any rate, his mum was soon distracted by her phone buzzing from the kitchen counter. She walked into the hallway, not quite out of earshot, and answered happily. Alf listened as she exchanged small talk before a gasp echoed through the doorway.
“No! On Cross Close? Oh how awful!”
Alf stiffened in his chair and felt his stomach churn inside him. He pushed his bowl of cereal away from him, took a deep breath and walked as calmly as he could to the sink where he filled a glass of water. He stared down into the sink, watching a trickle of water drain away slowly, but was broken from his trance when his mum hurried back into the room.
“That was Maddy, you know, Ollie’s mum, on the phone. She said they found a body in the middle of the road on Cross Close this morning! The poor thing was so shocked about it all, said the place is swarming with cops. I’m going to head over now and see if she’s ok, any plans for today? No? Ok well I’ll see you when I get back. Take it easy darling!”
Alf nodded, his brow furrowed with an anxiety he was disguising well as concern. His mother rustled out of the house and left him alone in silence.
Later that morning, having been unable to stomach any real food, Alf wandered downstairs again into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He flicked the switch of a small digital radio and tuned it to the local station for Stackley and the surrounding area. The news was on, and every word hit Alf like a blow. They had identified the body, a Mr Anderson. Being able to place a name to the scarring image of the lifeless body laid across the tarmac made things seem even more terrible. Alf sat at the table, head in hands, stifling tears as he ran through everything that had happened in his mind. What would happen to him when they found out? Because they would find out, surely. Or would they? Could he still have hope? But what use was hiding anyway?
He received no call from Kelsey that day, just one brief and punching message later in the evening.
We’re over. If anyone asks Sally drove me home and I didn’t see you after I left Danny’s.
Over the next couple of days, Alf became increasingly paranoid. Checking his bedroom window whenever a car passed outside. Reading in depth the news reports of the incident. How the bag the man had been carrying was full of curious items. How a Mr and Mrs Abell had brought forward new evidence which threatened to crack the case wide open. By the fourth day, Alf could take it no more. He had known right from the start that he was going to do it. He knew he could not live with himself if he just sat there and watched it all play out. It was agonising, watching the local news every evening, the photos of Mr Anderson in the paper triggering vivid recollections of that night after the party.
On the 27th of August, Alf drove his 2008 Golf GTI into the centre of Stackley and parked it on Eastern Avenue. He must have sat behind the wheel, staring into nothingness, for over twenty minutes, before, with a burst of decisiveness he lunged out of the car and marched down the street, turning left into Stackley Police station.