The Wrong Choices Read online

start thinkin’ for yourself. Just do what you’re supposed to.”

  The car door creaked open. “I don’t think this is the building, Dad,” a girl shouted into the car.

  “Well get inside before you catch a cold then,” a voice inside the car answered.

  The door slammed shut then tires spun angrily in the snow before moving on.

  Jackson breathed a sigh of relief. He loosened his grip on the knife. The situation had become too real. There’s no way I can do this, he said to himself. If she hadn’t gotten into the car… He couldn’t finish that thought. He needed to figure a way out before someone else showed.

  Jackson wished he had the option to bail. He would gladly take a beating. The thought of moving away and starting a new life filled him with relief. No gang, he thought, smiling. No dysfunctional family. A fresh start.

  A flicker of light from across the street snared his eye, again.

  Digger.

  A dog barked at the end of the alley for a moment before moving on. The winds picked up and blasted snow against Jackson’s cheeks. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

  Frustrated, and unable to figure a way out, Jackson drifted away for a moment. His mind flipped through the choices he had made that led to this night. So many wrong choices, he scolded himself. If only I’d refused to go with my mother to the projects. If only I’d spent more time with Dad in his cab instead. Looking back, Jackson would have gladly swapped the dingy drug den for the stale smell of a cab with no air conditioning.

  Jackson continued. If I’d changed anything in my life, would I have met Asher and joined his gang? Another gang? His shoulders stiffened with tension. His arms felt heavy. Despite the frigid temperatures, his palms pooled with sweat. Had I never been born, would that have saved an innocent life tonight?

  Jackson refused to blame his parents for the way he had turned out. However, many people tried to convince him otherwise, including his psychiatrist. Something about nature vs. nurture, but Jackson never bought it. He owned his decisions. Be a man, his dad would bark as he educated Jackson with his leather belt.

  Laughter and music echoed down the alley from an open window above, startling Jackson out of his thoughts. A celebration, he figured, with Christmas only a few days away. A holiday he had never enjoyed with all the yelling and fighting that went on between his parents.

  His mind raced. He searched for a solution and didn’t like any of his options. If he turned on Asher, Digger would surely gun him down. Right now, the odds were in his favor, though, with the snow falling thick and steady. But what if it stopped? he thought. A feeling of panic grew in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Jackson knew he would have to move soon. There was no way Digger would miss such a large target. Jackson’s size had finally worked against him for the first time in his life.

  He took a deep breath and steadied himself. What if I go through with it? he asked himself, and paused, trying to visualize such a scenario. Maybe the person I kill is worse than Asher and deserves to die. Then I’d be saving other people’s lives. But no matter how many times he thought about it or asked the same question differently, he always reached the same conclusion—it wasn’t up to him to decide who lived and died.

  A cell phone rang.

  “Yeah,” Asher snapped, the rest of his words swept away in the wind. He ended the call and poked Jackson in the back with the muzzle of his gun, a reminder he was still there.

  “So, is the whole thing being called off on account of the weather?” Jackson asked, blowing air into his cupped hands.

  “You wish, Jacky-boy,” Asher said, and added, “I’ll tell ya later.”

  Only if we’re both alive, he thought. He flipped his coat collar up, covering his cheeks, and stomped his feet again.

  There was still no sign of anyone. No one else is foolish enough to be out in this storm. Only us, Jackson thought, and let his mind drift once more. Would my parents even care if I died? He believed there was a long time ago, before his brother Stevie died. But not anymore. My parents’ lives wouldn’t even skip a beat. He shoved his hands into his pant pockets and scowled. I’d be one less thing to cause them trouble.

  Jackson’s muscles tensed tighter. His sense of panic began to expand. He still had no clue how to get out of this situation. He relied on the only useful thing his psychiatrist taught him that didn’t involve medication. He visualized his favorite family vacation. It was the summertime, many years ago, at Canobie Lake Park, in New Hampshire. Stevie had dragged him onto the Turkish Twist and forced him to ride it repeatedly. When it was over, Jackson threw up a belly full of fried dough, ruining his love for the snack. But that day had been his favorite because blowing the crunchy treat made his brother also throw up. A few strangers even puked. Jackson smiled at the memory, and his muscles relaxed.

  An apartment building door nearby opened and slammed shut. A woman shouted out from a window above, “Marcus! Don’t go far and keep an eye on your little brother.”

  “I know, Mom,” a little voice whined.

  Jackson had lost track of time. The snow had already thinned and slowed. An avalanche of fear swept through his body. His cover was nearly gone.

  A moment later, a little boy and his older brother, stuffed inside winter jackets and mittens, turned the corner, slid to a stop, and stared up at Jackson. They reminded him of himself and his brother Stevie.

  These are just little kids, he thought. Jackson quickly peeled himself from the wall, and turned sideways, using his large frame as best he could to block Asher’s view. They don’t deserve to die. They’re not gangbangers. They’re not killers.

  Jackson screamed inside for the kids to run but they stood there frozen, staring wide-eyed at him. Then, the flash of the scope from across the street bore into his peripheral. His heart leaped into his throat. Digger wouldn’t kill these kids, he hoped. But if Jackson learned one thing that night, it was not to take anything for granted.

  “RUN!” Jackson yelled, raising his arms in the air like a madman. The kids screamed and ran away. Jackson heard a door open and slam shut. He knew they were safe. For tonight anyway.

  Jackson gulped hard, allowing his instincts to take over. He clenched his hand tight and whirled around. He led with his right elbow, and it connected solidly with Asher’s head. He heard a loud crack as his friend’s skull bounced against the brick wall then his body slumped to the ground, still.

  Jackson spun around and ran down the alley. He lost his footing in the slick, slushy snow as a gunshot resounded like a clap of thunder in the night, striking his leg. He caged a scream as his body yelled with pain. He staggered forward a couple of steps, leaving a trail of blood, and regained his balance.

  “Keep going,” he wheezed. “Don’t look back.”

  He didn’t hear the second shot but he sure felt it as it tore through his back, forcing him to one knee. He could no longer contain his pain. He let loose a guttural scream and fell, crashing shoulder first into the ground, then thudding onto his back.

  A moment later Digger leaned over him. “Coward,” he spat. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and turned to leave.

  Jackson struggled to breathe. He took quick, short breaths, and managed to get out one question. “Why?”

  Digger returned and knelt at Jackson’s side, sneering at him. “Asher said he wanted you dead. He knew you wouldn’t kill nobody. We brought your ass out here, cause, well, it’s Chapel Hill and ain’t nobody gonna give a shit about a dead gangbanger.” Digger leaned in closer and grinned. “You wanna know why?”

  Jackson turned his head and coughed blood onto the snow. With his back pressed flat against the ground, he nodded.

  “Asher found out who killed his older brother. It was your drunk-driving-punk-ass-bitch brother, Stevie. It took Asher a while to find out. But he got a connection with the Five-O, and he came through. And seeing how Stevie’s dead, somebody’s gotta pay. So that’d be you.”

  Jackson shook his head in disb
elief.

  Digger grunted and stood up.

  Jackson looked at him through tear-filled eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were caught in his throat, held back by the betrayal of two brothers.

  Digger shook his head and strode away.

  Jackson lay there, helpless. He watched Digger check on Asher. Within a few seconds, he ran off, leaving them both behind.

  He tried to sit up but could only move his neck. His head fell back, and he stared up at the sky, knowing there wouldn’t be an ambulance coming anytime soon—nobody rushes to the Chapel Hill district.

  The snow picked up, again. Jackson watched it fall gently, covering his numbed body. Coward, Digger’s words echoed. Jackson didn’t feel like a coward.

  “I did the right thing,” he whispered. “I saved those kids.”

  He licked the snow off his lips and closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt at peace, knowing he had finally made a right choice.

  Other Titles Available

  The Series: A Tale of Hope and Adventure

  Book 1: The Dragon Thieves

  Book 2: The Frost Giant

  Book 3: The Ogre King

  About the Author

  JONATHAN AUSTEN was born and raised in Waltham, Massachusetts. At the age of twenty-eight, he moved to Scottsdale, Arizona where he has enjoyed the sun ever since. For the past thirty years, he has worked as an IT professional building