Some Things Never Rest in Peace

Chad Murray silently hated racial minority groups with all the violence in his being. Especially he loathed his father, a general contractor, for hiring day laborers that stood outside of a weathered home improvement store. Chad often thought to himself, what virtue is there for being such a soft touch such as his father, hiring illegals to work for him, to communicate with them in their foreign language and to live amongst them.

The house they lived in was far removed from a palace. Rather, their home was small and constricted; surrounded by foul mouthed drug dealing neighbors and beggars at every corner, where the only splash of color in sight from all the filth only came from the lurid graffiti. Chad admitted but only to himself of his subtle racism and his embarrassment of their social position as a white family estranged to a slum, even his father knew not of his internal temper. But Chad had one thing he felt emotionally attached to that diverted his attention from a hateful spite into an intimate tenderness: his 1960s Cadillac Seville.

He was in love with this classic automobile, allured by the pure and captivating details of this stainless-steel machine: its iconic tail fins carefully manicured to blend into the architecture so seamlessly, its exclusivity and supremacy manifested through its fine craftsmanship, and the rich aroma of raw gasoline that to Chad was evocative and timeless.

On some nights, Chad had strong desires to isolate himself and drive miles away from the inner city into the suburbs where he felt he belonged with his vehicle. An American made machine blending in perfectly with the riches and purity of those neighborhoods, longing for a different life far from his own.

One day, he would move away from all the filth and violence from his city and never return. He envisioned himself somewhere near the ocean. He thought, the sun shined brighter on the other side.

"Hey Chad... you home?"

From the partially opened door of his room, he heard his father walk in one late night, carrying a pizza box.

"Yeah," Chad said. In his room he was inattentively flipping through the television channels.

"Come help yourself in the kitchen, bud. I bought pizza."

With a jaded tone, Chad asked, "From where?"

"Speedy Pizzeria!"

"Speedy Gonzales Pizzeria?" Chad said mockingly.

"It's just Speedy Pizzeria. You shouldn't say that and I'm especially hoping you're not saying that out there, alright? Come on and eat, buddy."

"You know they're not even Italian, right?"

Chad reluctantly steps out of his room and into the kitchen for what was left in the fridge: a half carton of milk and some eggs.

"Buddy, why does it matter if they're Italian or not? C'mon. Don't torture yourself with milk and eggs. Grab yourself a slice while its hot."

His father had known about poverty and hardship all his life while growing up with a single mother in disability and an ill grandmother. He kept a steady job to provide for them at a young age working in construction and continued to do so supporting his only son, Chad. Although the father was recognized as a loyal and hardworking man, continuously sacrificing his time for the sake of a steady life, his absence created a distance in the relationship between him and his only son Chad. Only Chad had a different approach to life. He hated the neighbors, complained when it was not necessary and even his father was an object of suspicion about how much money he made.

Chad, returning to his room, slammed the door behind him. He sat on his bed as he played with his pocketknife, contemplating his face from the reflection of the television. He was tired of pretending to tolerate his materiality, he thought. Turning on the television, a music video for a rap group flaunting money, weapons and women showed. Chad hated and envied their success and accomplishments and couldn't stand the thought of his own blood not possessing such wealth what he convinced himself should have been rightfully possessed. He grabbed his bomber jacket and headed out into the foggy night in his Cadillac.

Chad drove miles away into the suburbs again, only this time, he planned to drive further, proud and confident in his vehicle, would it withstand those mighty cliffs. He was often curious about heading past the suburbs, to go more distant into the wealthier parts passing those neighborhoods. He hesitated before because those roads were darker with less streetlights illuminating the path, but not even the dim and misty road were no match for the Cadillacs brightest beams.

As Chad approached the wealthier neighborhoods uphill, he discovered houses that appeared as colossal structures that loomed proudly, guarded by iron gates wrapped in ivy and overgrown ferns. An old winding stone path led into another mighty mansion flanked by rows of skeletal trees. And at the threshold of others, stood giant granite fountains where Chad heard the soft ripples of the clear water, surrounding the silence with its mellowness over the sound of his exhaust. Chad was mystified as he pursued his venture, detecting the scent of sea air as he approached a cliff road.

Reaching the steep cliff road, he felt determined to drive until the end of it. The growl of the engine roared so loudly; Chad could feel the rattling of his own skull as he continued to press on the gas. He grinned and nodded his head in approval of his appearance from the reflection of his rear-view mirror. As he proceeded, he felt in awe as he witnessed these curtains of rock that towered above him that looked insurmountable as the clouds covered the top of it. Chad turned on his high beams as he began to clear the murky road. A gloomy scene, yet Chad's astonishment overcame his fear. He reluctantly dared to peek over the steering wheel through the window to view the horizon when finally, his eyes uncovered the wilderness underneath him without the haze of discontent.

When his bewilderment took control of him, he suddenly lost control of the steering wheel as the car shifted closer to the edge of the cliff. Chad collected himself and panicked for the fear of his life as he quickly tried to evade from falling while maneuvering the Cadillac too swiftly. Chad slammed on the breaks and the hiss of his tires against the slick tarmac had skid towards the rocks that eventually made him smash one side of the hood. Distressed, he accelerated to maneuver away from the rocks as it scraped the side of his vehicle. Chad barely had time to take full control of the wheel as he steered away from the edge again. At a complete stop, he sat there in his car with his hands clenched on the wheel, relieved to not have fallen to his demise. He turned off the car and closed his eyes as he collected his breathing.

There he sat for a moment until strangely the engine somehow sparked back to life on its own. Smoke poured out from the exhaust pipes again, a skeleton key dangled from the ignition slot and the headlights were burning red like a demon's eyes. The supernatural events occurring before him suddenly made Chad realize that his car had morphed into a hearse, instead of the comforting interior details of the Cadillac he desired. It suddenly became deathly cold and he could see his breath as a crest of white steam lingering. He became even more frightened when the black tires of the hearse began to grind as it screeched into the dark wood ahead.

Terrified that the car screeched on its own, he attempted to slam on the break, but it wouldn't press, the steering wheel was also stuck as he tried turning it, and both doors would not open, as if the car were not an inanimate object, but possessed.

"This isn't happening!!" Chad screamed as his heart raced and his adrenaline rushed over his veins.

His hands gripped the sides of his seat as the hearse followed the road surrounded by dead trees, and on the side of the rear-view mirror he witnessed ominous shadows. The absolute horror completely paralyzed him, and the more he thought about moving a single muscle, the more discouraged he felt to do so.

As the hearse drove itself, it began to decelerate as it reached its destination, and Chad couldn't believe what he saw. A colonial cemetery and its twisted gates were illuminated by the red headlights. On the threshold of the cemetery, he watched in terror, the ancient iron gates slowly opening before him. The hearse entered, witnessing the engraved rows of crumbling mounds bathing under an ill moonlight. Finally, he found himself parked near a fresh grave as the headlights beamed in front of a headstone. Still paralyzed with fright, the driver door to the hearse opened on its own and Chad hesitated to step out into the fog. There was a name on the headstone in front of him he thought he recognized, but because of the hazy grimness of the fog, he letters were unclear. He stepped out and began to warily approach the headstone. With shock behind his expression, the headstone read: RIP CHAD MURRAY.

With absolute confusion and terrifying dread, he slowly turned around as the setting of the cemetery changed to what seemed to be his own death site: a head-on collision from the bottom of the cliff. He witnessed his own mangled body inside the smashed Cadillac underneath the cliff road he had come across earlier that night. Blood rushed across his physical face as the vehicle was left destroyed. The shattered Cadillac symbol laid next to Chad's ghostly feet. As his soul wept, he fell on his knees and gazed at the symbol in utter regret. To Chad, the Cadillac was nothing more than just another piece of broken metal.