One Way Love

"Terry, nooooo!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I woke up to find that I had slept far longer than normally. It had been a dream, but my scream was real. And I realized that the reason I had screamed had nothing to do with the dream.

My scream was because I was in mortal fear for my mate. I quickly dialed Fred's number. I had to tell him not to do it. I didn't want Terry hurt. In fact, since my misplaced anger from the previous day had passed, I couldn't abide the thought of Terry being hurt.

"You are a stupid bitch," he yelled. "I told you not to call me on this God damned phone."

"Don 't do it," I screamed over his protests.

"It's too late," he said. "He'll be fine. Just do your part and stick with the plan."

I called Terry at work. His dumb assed secretary was worried too. Fred hadn't arrived yet. I begged her to have him call me as soon as he got there.

I paced the floor and then tried calling his cell phone. He hated to answer his phone while he was driving, but I didn't care. There was no answer though. It went straight through to voicemail.

Just after noon, someone knocked on the door. I flung the door open to the last person I expected to see. It was Terry's older brother Ray. I was always amazed that Ray Stevens had become a cop. Terry had told me stories about his wild brother growing up. Ray had a penchant for showing up at big public affairs and running through them bare-assed naked. He was so quick a runner that he was never caught. They even had a nickname for him.

Oh yes, they called him the streak. The fastest thing on two feet. However, standing there with his head hung low, Ray didn't look like a streak.

"Britney, I always warned him about that God damned car," he said. Before he could utter another syllable, I grabbed my purse.

"Ah ... we haven't got time to waste Ray," I said. "Which hospital is he in?"

"Britney, sit down," he said.

"Ray, fuck the divorce," I screamed. "Right now, now he's still my husband. I have a right to be at the hospital. And I'm going to destroy that fucking car. I may go to the Ford dealer and fuck up every Mustang on the lot, so he can't buy another one. Now let's go!"

"Britney," he said softly. He took my arms and pressed them against my sides. He pushed me down onto the sofa and hugged me. "Britney, Terry didn't make it, Honey. My brother is dead."

That was all I remember. My vision just closed in from the sides to nothing but blackness. When I awakened, Ray was standing over me. He looked really concerned. He had a phone held up to one ear and was talking to someone. His eyes met mine, and the conversation halted.

"You can cancel the ambulance," he said. "She's finally awake. I'll talk to her a bit, and if she needs to go into the hospital, I'll drive her."

He turned back to me. "You scared the shit out of me," he said. Then I realized again what had happened to me, and I started crying. For a long time Ray just let me cry.

"Get it all out Britney," he said. "As soon as you're strong enough ... I hate to do this to you, but we need to go over to the accident scene."

"I ... I ... wanna see him," I stuttered. I could barely keep my voice stable enough to make words. I was torn apart by both guilt and a profound sadness. I couldn't believe that my husband was dead. It was so sudden.

At the same time, I wanted to kill Fred. That bastard had promised me that Terry would only have a broken bone or two. He had promised me that Terry wouldn't be seriously hurt.

I needed to see him for myself. My mind just couldn't comprehend the concept of Terry not being alive. I was sure that they'd made a mistake. I needed to see him.

I stood up, feeling surprisingly weak. I was afraid. But at the same time, I had a fierce desire to see him.

I got into a squad car with Ray. We drove about three miles to the freeway on-ramp. My subconscious mind recognized my only rival for Terry's heart before my brain did. I began to wail before I even understood what I was looking at.

Although I had never admitted it, because of my jealousy, she had once been startlingly beautiful. She was of course Terry's vision. She had started life as a normal 2014 Mustang GT. Terry had replaced almost everything on the car. He's started out with the engine before even driving the car. He'd gutted it, adding forged internals that were far stronger and more robust than the originals.

They needed that extra strength because he added a Roush Charger supercharger that gave the car another 100 plus horsepower. He added a more efficient fuel pump and under-drive pulleys. He also beefed up the car's coolant system and fans because all of that extra power would generate a lot more heat too.

Then he literally replaced everything except the body panels, and he modified some of those. The grills and headlights were blacked out. He did the same thing with the rims and tail lights. The glass was tinted the darkest legal shade. He replaced the spoiler with a bigger more aggressive one and added a very aggressive splitter to the front of the car.

Literally everything on the car was black with the exception of two greenish-yellow fog lights that were designed to look like cat's eyes. The car looked like a big mean black cat; one that purred in a mechanical symphony of pistons and cams.

When Terry put his foot on that gas pedal, the purring became a roar. But the big black cat would roar no more. I started crying again as I looked at the twisted and crumbling mass of warped metal and plastic. The fire department was still there trying to make sure that the flames didn't flare up once more. It looked as if the entire vehicle had at one time been engulfed in flames.

"How could anyone have survived that?" I wondered aloud. I guess I had spoken far louder than I expected.

"No one did," said Ray sadly. "Britney, except for Terry, you know the car better than anyone. Is this his car?"

Those gleaming yellowish fog lights, though damaged beyond repair were still there in the blacked out grill. Although burned beyond repair as well, his oversized after market black rims at least one of them was intact enough for me to recognize it.

I had never seen a Mustang with Terry's mods on it. That was one of the things that people loved about Mustangs. There were more aftermarket parts available to modify Mustangs than any other car on the planet.

A part of that was because the Mustang is one of the few cars that have been constantly in production for 50 years. No other muscle car can claim that. Another part of it is simply the fact that the Mustang as America's car attracts people from every socio-economic strata and age group. And every one of those Mustang owners wants to make his or her car unique and different from all the others.

Yet another factor is the fact that unlike some cars, there's a Mustang out there for everyone. A poor or struggling person buys a used V6 for only a few thousand dollars. An extremely rich or successful person buys a high end Shelby or even a highly sought-after classic. In the end, they're both still driving Mustangs and the people who love them, love both.

"Yes," I choked out. "I recognize the lights and the rims." I almost collapsed as I said it.

"Thanks Honey," said Ray. "Be right back." He walked over to another man at the scene and started talking. While Ray was talking, a couple of people walked by talking to each other.

"The fucking body was burned so badly, they had to scrape it out of the car," said one.

"Airbags failed," said the other one. "From what I heard the skull bounced off of the steering column so hard that the facial features wouldn't have been recognizable, even if they'd put the fire out. From what I understand, the face is completely smashed in and the neck snapped like a twig."

"The weird thing is that there are no fucking skid marks," said the first guy. "When they move the wreck no one will be able to tell that there was an accident."

"Dude, those are Brembo brakes," said the other guy. "The rotors and calipers probably cost about eight grand. This was no accident. I think somebody fucked with his brakes."

I fainted again. And from what they told me, I was in the hospital for observation.

The next few days were a blur. I think they kept me sedated out of fear for my emotional stability. I barely remember a cremation ceremony. I was in no position to make decisions. Fortunately, Ray was there to help me through it all.

I woke up this morning and stared at the large ornate vase that Terry's ashes were stored in. It was the first day that I had been alone in the house since...

I started crying all over again. I had no idea how I was supposed to go on living without him. Terry had been my rock; he had been my heart. And now he was gone. He was gone, and I was at least partially responsible. I needed to pay for my part in his death. And Fred needed to pay too.

I gave a serious thought to confessing everything. But self-preservation over ruled my honesty. Besides, Terry was gone. Me going to jail, wouldn't bring him back. Fred going to jail wouldn't bring him back either. The phone rang and I picked it up, expecting it to be Ray or one of our friends.

"Hey Babe, we need to talk," he said. "Remember the house is bugged, so go out into the yard and call me back on the phone I gave you."

Why had I never noticed now much like a snake Fred's voice sounded? I did as he wanted, because I needed to let that asshole know how I felt."

"You lied to me, you bastard," I screamed. "You told me he wouldn't be seriously hurt."

"Honey, it was a mistake," he said. "No one knew the guy drove that God damned fast. That car was like a missile. All my guy did was cut his front brake lines. He still had the rears. He should have just hit the guard rail. The guy had to be going close to a hundred miles an hour. Who drives that God damned fast before they get on the freeway?"

"You should be in jail," I screamed. "You're a murderer."

"So are you, Babe," he said. "You need to calm down because this ain't over they're doing an investigation, and if I go down, so do you. We need to get you calm so you can do what you have to do."

"And what do I have to do, now?" I asked.

"You have to put in a claim for the insurance money, give me half of it, and then we need to get the fuck out of here before they finish the investigation. You need to calm down."

The next morning when Ray came by to check on me, we sat down to coffee. As we talked, someone knocked upon my door. Ray went to the door. I followed him. There stood Fred. Luckily, Ray had never seen him before. He looked at him suspiciously until Fred shook his hand and introduced himself as my cousin, Fred. He apologized for his mother, my aunt, not being there; but told me that he would stay with me for a few days, until I got my feet back under me.

Ray warmed to him, then. Fred's plan was working. Without a job, Fred was unable to pay his rent or anything else. He had always intended for me to give him money as I had been doing before Terry's accident. What neither of us had foreseen was the fact that I only had access to the household accounts. Everything else was locked up until Terry's estate had been settled.

"I've missed your hot little pussy," said Fred as soon as Ray left. He reached out and pawed my breast, and I didn't have the motivation or the strength to even ward him off.

I just sat there on the sofa for the rest of the day. I didn't eat or anything else. As darkness fell, I heard a voice. I was sure it was Terry.

I turned around and saw Fred leering at me. "Time for bed," he smiled.

It was the worst sex I've ever experienced and the most painful. I lay there like a rock. Fred didn't seem to mind. The main reason that I didn't object was because I didn't want to be alone. To be truthful I was afraid. I could still feel Terry's presence all over the house.

Over the first few days, Fred explored the house. "Damn this is a nice place," he said. "If things were different, I could see staying here for a while. But I have to tell you, it feels weird here. It feels as if your hubby was still around the place watching us."

I looked at him as if he was crazy. He was acting as if we were having some sort of twisted honeymoon. I had no idea what made him think that I wanted any kind of future with the man who had murdered my husband. It was an awful situation.

During the day, we barely spoke to each other. He stayed on the phone constantly. I was torn apart by my guilt. I spent my time looking through albums of pictures of Terry and me during our marriage. At night, we were brought together by our separate needs.

I again was afraid to be alone. Fred, on the other hand, just wanted sex. We both knew that as soon as the insurance money came through we would go our own separate ways.

It was the third day that Fred was there that it happened. It was shortly after dusk when I heard a crash in the living room and the sound of glass breaking.

I ran down the stairs and into the living room, prepared to give Fred hell. Since he'd been there I was constantly screaming at him for even touching Terry's things. I had locked the door into the garage to prevent him from even looking at the collection of parts that Terry had spent so much time working on during his last days.

When I got into the living room, Fred was staring at the wall. He was as white as a sheet.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled. "What did you break now?"

He turned and looked at me. His eyes never blinked. "I saw him," he said shakily. "He was standing right there."

There was no need for him to clarify his statement. I instantly knew who "HE" was.

"He was standing right there," he repeated. "He looked at me as if he wanted to kill me. I could feel anger and hate coming off of him in waves."

Fred's teeth were chattering, and he was shivering. I had him describe what he had seen to me. When he was done, I had him tell me all over again. For the first time that I can remember, we slept together and didn't have sex.

The next night was worse, and I was a part of it. We had gone out to McDonald's since I refused to cook for Fred. We were eating the food and watching TV. We had been together constantly since Fred had seen what he saw.

We suddenly heard the sound of an engine revving up in my driveway. I was sure that it was the sound of Terry's Mustang. I heard it enough times to be able to differentiate that exhaust note from any other.

I looked out the window and saw nothing. Fred ran outside and looked around the yard. There were no hidden speakers or anything anywhere on the lawn or the porch.

When we walked back into the house, we were arguing already. "That was Terry's car," I sobbed. "But it was destroyed. I saw it."

"It could have been anybody," said Fred. As we closed the door behind us, I had turned to yell at Fred, and I noticed that his eyes were huge. I turned around, and I saw him myself. Terry was standing behind me. He was looking around for something. Then he looked up and saw us. His mouth opened as if he was trying to talk, but nothing would come out. He made a really furious face, and then I heard words. The voice was twisted and angry.

"Get out of my house," he said. There was no trace of love for me in his eyes. The only emotions I saw were anger and hate. Fred and I both ran out of the house. We sat at the curb, for over an hour before we had the courage to go back in.

Fred demanded that I go into the bathroom with him, so he could shower. During the encounter with Terry's ghost, he pissed his pants.

That night we got on the Internet and looked for factual information about haunting and ghosts. Most of what we found was conflicting and just sounded crazy. Every article seemed to report different things about the spirits of the departed. The one thing they all agreed on was that ghosts are the spirits of people who died leaving things undone or needing resolution.

That description fit Terry really well. Both Fred and I were afraid to be in the house. We huddled together to gain bravery out of our shared fear. We decided that one of us would remain awake while the other slept. We would switch every two hours.

In all actuality, now that I had gotten over my shock, I wanted to see Terry again. I wanted the chance to apologize to him for everything I had done. Fred made another one of his phone calls while I tried to sleep. I didn't actually hear what was said but after the call, his mood was better. It was so much better that he started pawing me. I rolled over and went to sleep.

"Fuck you," he said.

"Wasn't that what you were trying to do?" I asked.

"As soon as we get the money, I'm gone," he said. "You can deal with your ghost all alone."

* * * * * *

Terry

I laughed my ass off as I sat down. I looked around the small storefront building I had rented at the array of lasers and other equipment that we had set up.

"It's so good to hear you laugh again," said a voice beside me. Hearing the words, I nodded and then thought back to how I had gotten to this point.

I guess it all started about a month ago when I had the wool pulled from over my eyes. I discovered a lot of things about the woman I had married. Most of the things I figured out were not pleasant. I also finally realized how much of a fool I had been in regard to her.

I guess that for the past five years, I could be described as being fat and happy. For those of you, who are bad at spelling, fat and happy is spelled S-T-U-P-I-D.

I had fallen in love with Britney without realizing that we were both the same and very different. I loved Britney with all of my heart and soul. I actually enjoyed busting my ass, just so I could give her things. The problem was that I never noticed that Britney didn't love me the same way.

Britney apparently only loved the fact that I loved her. And since I loved her, nearly as much as she loved herself, we belonged with each other. We spent five years locked together in our mutual love for her.

I considered her to be the person I loved more than anything or anyone else on Earth. I would gladly have laid down my life for her. She regarded me with the same degree of concern or affection that one might have given to a puppy or other cherished pet.

She was very kind to me. She made sure I had everything I needed to be happy. Our life together was very joyful. We even had, or so I thought, a very robust sex life. We made all the plans that other going couples make. We had even spoken about exactly when we would start pushing out perfect children as Britney put it.

However, as they say, "Man plans, God laughs."

Until recently, this was an up and down year for me. It was filled with spirit lifting highs and absolutely dismal lows. However, through them all I had Britney. As my heart, my soul, and my anchor, Britney was there to cheer me up when I was low and to keep me grounded when I was high.

The high point in my life had been winning an engineering award and being recognized for it in a ceremony my company held. The low point I thought until recently had been seeing the 2015 Mustang, or that thing Ford was telling us was the new Mustang. I truly like what they tried to do. I love the back end of the car. I guess the sides don't offend me much. I can see the logic in the choices of engines, although for us purists, nothing will ever beat a V8. The independent rear suspension along with the improved handling gives me major wood.

But then they let us down by making the front of the car look just like the fucking Fusion. Don't get me wrong, the Fusion is a nice car. But I wouldn't put a horse on it and call it a Mustang.

Anyway, just after the ceremony Britney started acting funny. I decided to keep an eye on her to see what was going on. Any time a woman makes a major change to her life abruptly, there's a reason for it.