by Susan Anne Santo. Rating: R.
This story is a little different. It is about the character The Driver from Ryan Gosling’s movie “Drive.”
It was quiet in the alley. Too quiet. Danger could return at any moment. Driver sat there in his car. He was bleeding heavily from where he had been stabbed in the stomach. At least he had killed the gangster who had tried to kill him. He sat there trying to figure out what to do. He felt safe in his car. As long as he sat in his car no one could get to him. But if he stayed here, he would bleed to death. And he was in a lot of pain. He finally decided he had to go to the hospital. He left the money where it lay in the alley. That had been the start of it all. Irene’s husband had gone into the pawn shop to rob it and had ended up taking thousands in Mafia money. For that he had been killed. Driver, who served as the getaway driver, had gotten away but the money was in his car. Driver had offered the money back to the Mafia boss, but the man had tried to kill him anyway. He loved Irene, his neighbor. That was all the Driver could be sure of. He kept her image in his head and his heart, started the car, and began to drive.
He parked at the hospital and went into the emergency room. The place was crowded. Driver went to the front of the line. “I’m bleeding to death,” he said. “I’ve been stabbed in the stomach.”
She asked to see his insurance card which he pulled out of his wallet in his pocket and then summoned a nurse. The nurse took hold of his arm. “Come with me.” She led him to a small room with a table which she told him to lie on. They knocked him out with an anesthetic needle put into his hand.
When he woke, he was in an unfamiliar hospital room in a bed. Light coming in through the window showed it was early morning. He had slept for hours, partly from the anesthetic and partly from exhaustion. He felt the bandage on his stomach. They had stitched him up. He was still in pain, but the pain had subsided. They must have given him pain medication. He was wearing hospital pajama bottoms, and his chest was bare. He got up, found his clothes, took off the pajamas, and got dressed. He left the hospital without anyone noticing he was leaving.
Back at his apartment he packed a suitcase. He took it and knocked at Irene’s door. After a while she opened it, seeming astonished to see him. “Driver! Where have you been? What happened to you?”
“A man from the Mafia tried to kill me,” he said. “He stabbed me, but I got stitched up at the hospital. I have to leave. I’m not safe here. I may never see you again, but I wanted to say goodbye.” And I love you, he added silently, gazing deeply into her eyes with adoration.
“I’m coming with you,” Irene said fiercely.
“You can’t! It’s not safe. And what about your little boy?”
“He’s coming too. I’ll pack a suitcase. I won’t leave you all alone.” And I love you, she added silently. And I never want to be without you again.
“I’ll protect you,” Driver said. “I won’t let anything happen to you or Benicio.” He added, “I didn’t take the Mafia money. I’m sorry they killed your husband.”
“Thank you.” She woke the boy and dressed him, and they went with Driver to his car. He put the suitcases into the trunk. She strapped the boy into the back seat and got into the passenger seat.
“We have to get out of the city,” Driver said. “They’re looking for me. They said you would be safe, but I’m expendable.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Irene said.
He drove for hours. They stopped at a roadside burger stand for lunch, and then he drove again. Down the winding highway past the sea then onto a country road. For the next few weeks during the day, he drove. He found a doctor who was discreet to remove the stitches. Gradually his stomach healed leaving a thin white scar. At night they stayed at a cheap motel. Irene and Benicio slept in one bed, and Driver slept in the other. He lay there, pleasuring himself with his hand, fantasizing about Irene, managing to keep himself quiet and not to allow any pleasurable moans. He slept very little as he was constantly afraid they would be surprised by a member of the Mafia. He made sure that the door was locked and bolted.
Finally in a quiet small town, miles from where they had started up, the Driver took a cheap two-bedroom apartment for the three of them. He found a job working as a mechanic in an automobile repair shop. He bought some furniture at a thrift shop. It included a queen size bed for him and Irene. He was determined that they would sleep together. He said nothing, but that night quietly took her by the hand and led her to his bedroom after they had put the boy to bed. They took off their shoes. He began to undress her, removing her blouse, then her pants, then her underwear and bra. He kissed her gently all over with growing excitement, her lips, her forehead, her breasts, her stomach. She put her hands on his chest and unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled it off. She trailed kisses down his chest and then kissed his lips passionately. She stroked the scar on his stomach and kissed it lovingly. She leaned back looking into his eyes and stroked his hair. “You are so handsome.”
“You are beautiful.” He gasped as she removed his pants and underwear and began to stroke his penis with hard methodical strokes. “That feels good.” He pushed her down onto the bed and entered her, thrusting again and again. At last, his dream was realized. He was moaning with pleasure, and she was making soft little sounds. They climaxed at the same moment. Her nails dug into his back. He stiffened and felt the spasms of pleasure gradually drifting away replaced by a deep feeling of relaxation. They lay back, Irene lying in Driver’s arms. He felt safe for the first time in days.
“I know nothing about you, Driver,” Irene said. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I’m not Driver.”
“What? That’s what you told me to call you.”
He leaned forward and whispered into her ear.
“That’s your name?”
He nodded.
“It’s beautiful,” she said reverently.
“Just don’t ever use it in public. My name is private for you alone.”
“Tell me about yourself,” she repeated.
“I had a hard childhood. Both my parents were abusive. My father used to whip me with his belt and my mother would hit me whenever she was in a bad mood which was frequently. I didn’t get along with the other kids at school. I was always bullied. I quit school at 16 and took a series of low paying jobs. I learned to do auto mechanics when I worked for a car dealership. The owner took a liking to me. He’s the one who taught me how to stunt drive. And I was always getting into fights with the men who worked with me or with my neighbors. They were always beating me up because I said the wrong thing without meaning to. I learned to be silent.”
“That’s why you’re so quiet,” Irene said.
He blinked. “I was always hungry. Then I found a job as a stunt driver. The owner asked me if I wanted to make more money being the getaway driver for robberies. I was desperate so I said yes. But I said I would never carry a gun and would only help the person during the five-minute car chase away from the site of the robbery, away from police. I drive. That’s all I do. The rest is up to them.”
“I want to make you happy,” Irene said. She kissed him gently on the mouth and hungrily he kissed her back. “Thank you for telling me about yourself. I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispered. They slept in each other’s arms.
During the night he heard the lock being picked. Driver got up. In the living room he found a gangster with a gun. Driver threw a chair at the man, and the gun dropped on the floor out of his hands. Driver hit the man with a karate chop. He beat the man senseless and then killed him with a blow on the head. Irene came into the room horrified and witnessed the final blow.
“I have to kill to protect you,” Driver said. He added, reluctantly, “I’ve killed before. I killed a man who beat me so badly I was black and blue for days. I learned how to kill. That’s why I’m so good at it.”
She was trembling.
“It’s a hard thing to be good at. You’ve seen me kill twice, one of the times in the elevator after I kissed you for the first time. Do you still love me?” He waited for her to tell him she no longer loved him.
“Yes,” she said. “I love you.” She touched his face. “I don’t approve of what you did but I accept it.”
“We must leave here. Get your things. Wake the boy.”
Again, he drove. This time he drove further. They kept going for three weeks on the road. Half the time they slept in their car, Driver and Irene holding hands. When he finally stopped and took another apartment, he thought surely they were safe now. But it happened three more times that he was attacked and had to kill. Once another car was following him on the highway going faster and faster each time he accelerated. He did some trick driving, and the driver got confused and drove his car into a tree and was killed. Driver was becoming a very efficient killer.
“If the police ever catch me, they’ll give me the death penalty,” he said. “Are you sure you want to stay with me?”
“I’m sure.” Irene no longer felt that she and her son were safe without him, despite the promise of the Mafia not to harm them. “They won’t catch you. You’re too smart to get caught.”
He found a cabin in the woods where he thought they would be safe. It was a beautiful place in a green forest. Driver enjoyed the trees. They were tall and sturdy and centuries old. He felt old too though he was young. This year’s running and hiding in constant fear had taken its toll on him. The cabin had two bedrooms. At night Driver and Irene made love and slept in each other’s arms. In the mornings he went to work at a job as an auto mechanic. Irene took the boy with her grocery shopping. He was not attending school. All three of them were in hiding. She feared they would be questioned but the store clerks ignored her and rang her up without comments.
Driver was at his auto shop when a man he didn’t recognize approached him. “I need to talk to you in private,” the man said. Driver was suspicious but went with him to a small office. In his hand he clutched a hammer that he could use as a weapon if needed. “I’m with the Mafia.” Driver’s hand tightened on the hammer. He waited. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. You’ve been making a fool of us killing everyone who pursued you. We’ve grown to admire you for that.”
“You admire me?” Driver said, astonished.
“Yes.” The man smiled. “We want to make you an offer. Work for us, and you will be safe for the rest of your life. We will take care of you and your girlfriend and the boy. We will be your family. The Mafia takes good care of its own.”
“Or?” Driver said. He waited.
“Or continue the way you have been and one day one of us will get you. It won’t be me. I promised not to hurt you so you can put down that hammer. I am merely here to make you this offer. Well? What will it be?”
“I have to think about it,” Driver said.
“You have until tomorrow at sunrise. We know where you live. If you leave, we will find you. You are being followed wherever you go. One of us will contact you tomorrow.”
Driver went home early. He found Irene in the kitchen making a pie for dessert. The boy was in his room playing with his stuffed animals that Driver had bought him. “I have a decision to make.” He told her what the Mafia man had said. “What should I do?”
“If you work for the Mafia, you will never respect yourself and I will never respect you again,” Irene said. “But we would be safe.” She hugged him. “I’ll be with you no matter what you decide.”
What should Driver do? What do you think he did?
The End
