“When? When did this happen?”

“Wednesday.”

“That was days ago, man.” He grabbed Ricky by the arm and shook him a little. “Ain’t you been following the news? They got somebody. The dude confessed.”

Ricky shook his head again. He couldn’t let it go. He believed the truth would come out. The dreams told him. Since that night, he’d see that girl’s face in his sleep. And sometimes, at the weirdest times, he would see her when he was awake—not face-on, but somewhere just past the corner of his eye; he’d jerk around, heart hammering, and then nothing. If he could get his hands on the pictures. Burn them. Maybe then, it really would be over.

“Please, Sweed, we gotta go back.” He was clutching a fistful of Sweed’s shirt at the shoulder. Sweed shirked loose and backed away. He wasn’t really sure why he agreed, but he did.

They hustled all day to find a car they could borrow. Finally, one of Sweed’s friends came through. But he couldn’t get the guy’s ride until his shift was over at the plant. By then, it was dusk. The Chrysler’s dented passenger door couldn’t open, and the car shuddered when you drove too fast, but it seemed steady enough to make the trip.

In town now, they drove down the two lane road heading toward the lake. Without streetlights, velvety darkness crept over the trees. They made a final turn onto a gravel path.

The last leg of the journey on this dusty trail seemed long with anxious anticipation. Finally, Sweed pulled into the driveway. Their headlights caught the front door and the small dark window. Neither spoke.

Inside the cabin, Ricky cut on the light. They both saw it, right there on the little round table tucked in the L-shaped nook of the living room: the camera. One photo. Ricky took three long strident steps and scooped up both while Sweed hung by the door. And then they were gone.

On the road leading back to the highway they saw the headlights of a truck coming at them. As the pick-up truck passed, they glimpsed two white men who hooted and yelped and screamed, “Niggers!”  They were tanked with liquor and a savage hunger for retribution on their terms. The arrest of the black man had only cheated them.

Sweed saw the truck do a turn-about. It was now rolling fast behind them, the truck lights bearing down hard on them.

“Aw, man! They after us!” Ricky said, his eyes and mouth stretched open.

The car was trembling from the increased speed. Sweed hunched forward, teeth gritted as he barreled down the road. The light behind them grew brighter, filling up their car. Sweed could feel its heat. Sweat skittered down his forehead into his eyes. He tried blinking his vision clear. The car sputtered.

“Faster, man, drive faster!” Ricky shouted, tears in his voice.

“I’m trying, man, it’s—it’s this—” The steering wheel was vibrating. The tremor moved through Sweed. The wheels wobbled. The front tires caught the edge of the road where the embankment slope was steep. He jerked to right the car. His heart thumped loud in his chest, in his ears. He blinked again, the sweat sliding onto his slack mouth that was chalky-dry. He tasted the saltiness, tasted his tears. The main road heading to the highway wasn’t that far away now. Then BAM! They jerked forward. The pick-up slammed into them, riding their bumper.

“Woooo-Whooo!!! We comin’ fer ya!”

“They running us off the road!” Ricky croaked. “Do something!”

“I’m trying!”

Flooring the gas pedal, Sweed gained an inch. BAM! His face flew forward from the impact.

“Son of a—”

He gunned the gas for another two inches. The car rattled. They both could smell the smoke. The main road was in view.

BAM! He couldn’t control the steering wheel spasms. The pick-up was grinding loud against their bumper. Sweed felt his car shimmying to the right. He fought it but the pressure behind him was too great. They were sliding down into the tall weeds that slapped against the windshield. Bumping and rolling haphazardly, the car finally bucked to a stop and died a smoky death.

“Run!” Sweed said, as he slammed his shoulder against the door that’d momentarily gotten stuck. Ricky hopped out and split like a greased jack rabbit into the darkness. One more shove with his shoulder and Sweed’s driver side door flew open; he flung himself wildly up the embankment for the road. The white men had him in their headlights. He ran hard and fast, fiercely pumping his legs, his arms, but the pick-up gained on him quickly, swerving in front of him to block his way. Winded, aching, he fell on his knees in the street. They got out slowly. Easily, the two moved toward him. No need to rush. They could take their time.

Sweed pulled himself up. Hand held high. “Wait. I ain’t do nothin’!”

The first blow cracked loud against his jaw. His neck snapped left as he staggered backwards, arms flailing; the metallic taste filled his mouth, blood skipped down his shirt. Dizzied, the street seemed to leap up at him; he found himself rolling over onto his back. A pink sweaty face sneered over him. He tried to get up, lurching, stumbling. Something thwacked against his head. He collapsed again in stupefied pain. The footsteps closed in. He curled himself. A hard blow connected to his middle. The wind whistled out of his lungs. He wheezed, coughed to get air. CRACK against his knee; pain spread like liquid fire. He cried out, but swallowed the guttural noise when he heard them laugh.