This is a story for the
Money Honey writing event
.
[0] Prologue
"Wealth. What is its purpose in society? At its simplest, it provides food, shelter, and modest pleasures. At its most complex, wealth can be a tool or a weapon. Indulge me, and I'll expound upon these concepts. All of you are stinkingly rich, and that is why you are here tonight. Money can become a blunt tool, like, say, a hammer. Anyone can pick it up and swing it around or drive in their point like a nail. But that isn't the end of the hammer we are interested in tonight. No. The other side is a precise tool. Why? It applies pressure or force to a focal point. You try pulling a nail out of wood with your fingers, and you'll get nowhere. When wealth is applied correctly, it can multiply the energy you put into it for greater rewards. Ah, I see you grasp my meaning. Let me continue. I am here to channel the wealth in this room into a candidate who will, with your generous support, become the next president of the United States. Surely you want that person to understand your needs and guide this great nation in a direction that not only increases your already formidable investments but opens up new opportunities for growth and power."
"Why do you need our help our support?"
"I'm glad you asked. This candidate can bankroll their campaign quite easily, and then they'd be beholden to no one. They could chart whatever course they wanted, pass whatever legislation that took their fancy. Do you want a president that ignores your concerns? I mean, why should they listen to you when at a critical moment, you failed to show your support for them? I know what you are thinking. They could pay for the ads, the air time, and all the countless miscellaneous things that are the backbone of a political run for the White House. You've seen the polls and how popular this person is. Do you want to be behind them or in their way? Will you use your wealth as a blunt instrument, or will you wisely apply it focus it on one person? So, I ask you, ladies and gentleman, who do you want as the next president?"
[1] Breaking Storm
I woke to someone pounding on the door to the bathroom stall. Oh shit, I passed out again. I finished up and apologized. The floor and wall kept trying to trade places, and I knew it was time to call a taxi and get home. I splashed water on my face, but it did little good. I don't remember drinking so much that I'd feel like this I must have hit it pretty hard at some point. Where the hell was Leo? I tugged on the men's room door, and it wouldn't open.
"Push, dumbass," a well-groomed guy in an expensive suit laughed.
I leaned against the door, and voila, it opened. Leo was easy to spot. He was the tall, handsome guy with four fine bitches hanging on his every word. I was his average-looking wingman that, if I was lucky, picked up his rejects and made them forget Leo for a while. Hell, I worked out more than him. I pushed my endurance just to please the ladies because of him. I even reached the top of my classes to prove I wasn't a nobody. In the end, it didn't matter. He had money, good looks, and his father, a federal judge guiding him to success.
"Are you running for Congress?" One of the girls asked.
"It is a bit of a secret, but yeah, once I pass the bar," Leo halted and looked guilty as hell.
"So us going into practice together was another lie," I growled. The blast of thunder drowned out the curses I let fly. "I am calling a cab. I am too shit-faced to drive."
"Wait, sorry ladies, friendship first," Leo poured on the charm. "I hope you understand."
They did. The women always understood poor Leo. I must have been an idiot to think we were friends.
"Listen, I'll drive you home, and we can talk," Leo said.
"You have to be as drunk as I am," I fired off. "You need to get a taxi and get home safe." Despite my anger, I didn't want him to get hurt. I guess we were friends after all.
"I've only had a couple of beers," Leo explained. "Those were over an hour ago. What's with you? You have been drinking soda most of the night. Besides, I can't leave the Bugatti in a parking lot again. Dad will lose his shit. He might even take it away."
"I don't know. I woke up in the bathroom feeling like crap and dizzy as all hell." I looked at Leo, and he looked stone-cold sober for once. He usually hit it hard until they kicked us out. Tonight was the exception, thank goodness. "If you are sure you are sober. Fine, it sounds like the weather is about to turn to shit."
"I will go slow as hell," Leo promised.
That little voice in the back of my head felt his sincerity. I squeezed my eyes shut, fought off the latest wave of dizziness, and nodded. God forgive me, I agreed. He paid our tab, and true to his word, he took his sweet time until the storm broke over our heads. The sky opened up, and a torrent of water fell, nearly obscuring the road. I begged him to pull over, but for once, Leo was right. The two-lane street was not the place to stop the car. Someone would be sure to slam into the Bugatti, and injuries ensue. I looked on the right side of the road for a turn-off, and he searched the left. We were topping a rise when I saw the tiny strip mall's neon sign. It flickered weakly, but it gave us hope and a spot to pull over safely.
"I see it," Leo said, smiling. "I'll call dad and tell him we are going to be late and why."
"He might even call you responsible for once," I said as we topped the rise. The steep angle of the road and the nearly flooded conditions went against us. The soft metallic click preceded the ass-end of the car, starting to slide towards the driver's side. Leo overcorrected, and he lost control from there. I had a sudden flashback to a scene from the Doctor Strange movie. The Bugatti spun off the road like Captain America's shield and into the trunk of the ancient oak tree. Gravity did the rest. I lost consciousness somewhere between the second and third downward rotation.
The next clear memory was floating underwater. Below me is the perfect abyss, and above the dappled light of day. I swam upward, but I wasn't alone. Leo was next to me, and we fought our way to the surface. He desperately tried to pull me down, but friend or no, I wasn't going to drown. My head broke the surface, and I awoke.
[2] Awakening
Six months had passed since the accident. I learned from my night nurse that the doctors placed me in a coma to treat swelling in my brain. I was lucky to be alive. No visitors were allowed for the next three days to allow me time to recuperate some of my strength. I surprised doctors and nurses alike. For a guy in a near-fatal accident, I was walking with a cane for just a day. After that, I was mobile on my own by the fourth day. I was a bit shaky, but it would pass with time.
"Your family is here to see you," the day nurse informed me.
I was sitting by the window soaking in sunlight when they entered.
"Leo, thank god you are alright," June O'Brien, Leo's mother, greeted me.
"Leo? You must be mistaken," I replied. "I'm Stan, Stan Winchester."
"Oh Leo," Mora O'Brien, Leo's little sister, said soothingly. "Stan died in the crash, his body cremated, and his ashes scattered. Daddy paid for the whole thing. It was the least he could do."
"That's right, son," Patrick O'Brien harumphed. "The police cleared you of vehicular manslaughter due to the weather conditions and the markings on the road. Get dressed. We are taking you home."
What the hell was going on? Why are they calling me Leo? The flash of drowning returned, and I felt my body shake. The old man had pulled me from the lake when I was thirteen. I could almost feel the water in my lung once more. A coughing fit took hold as I tried to expel the nonexistent fluid from my lungs—the vision of Leo and me under the water. I had kicked him down and away. Only one of us could reach the surface and survive. Had my soul taken over Leo's body? No! Things like that don't happen, or do they? Mora grabbed my arm and clung tight. I had few personal belongings to take except for my watch, cellphone, and granddad's signet ring that he had given me on my eighteenth birthday. No, not my birthday, Leo's.
"I am so confused," I said, and I was released, wheeled down to the car, and soon we were on our way home, Leo's home.
Leo's memories were there as clear as my own. Did his brain cells retain those patterns, and now my mind imprinted over that? I felt ill, and I hadn't seen my reflection yet. Though I had brushed my teeth and done the necessities, I had not used a mirror. A part of me knew something impossible had happened and protected me the only way it could. I stared out the window at the cloudless sky and the traffic moving around us. Whenever I tried to remember the accident, my head throbbed, and I gave up.
"Patience, it will all come back in time," I muttered softly.
The town car entered the gated community, and soon dad, Mr. O'Brien, pulled into the four-car garage. I recognized two vehicles as belonging to mom and my younger sister. The last vehicle had a tarp over it.
"I need to check my student status. I have a bar exam to pass," I said, and my dad's head, I mean Mr. O'Brien's head, whipped around in surprise. "I have every confidence I will pass it on the first attempt."
"Well, god damn, you are full of surprises, son," he said.
"He is your child," mom said with a brilliant smile. June winked at me, and I felt a sudden physical attraction that a son should not feel for their mother. Was it Stan's crush or Leo's libido?
"That he is," dad replied.
We entered the house, and a sudden bout of dizziness struck, and dad caught me and helped me to my bedroom. While I was in the hospital, they converted the guest bedroom on the first floor for my use.
"Doc warned us you might be a little wonky for a while," dad said. "You take your time, and when you are ready, come out fighting. I am so glad you weren't drinking the night of the accident," he paused, and his tone softened. "I am proud of you, and this new attitude gives this old man some hope."
"Just needed a good whack on the noggin to shake the cobwebs loose. I am exhausted."
"Mora, help your brother to bed," dad said.
"Of course," she replied and joined me. "Let me get you your silk pajamas. You always liked wearing those. Red or black?"
"Black," I said. "I am sorry if I worried you. I'd never do anything to hurt you."
"Water under the bridge," Mora said, and the flashback hit like a ton of bricks.
