Charlie Ward was four tequila shots past common sense and halfway through convincing a girl named Lila, possibly Lina, that the moon was definitely fake.

“It’s just... think about it,” he slurred, gesturing vaguely upward like the ceiling would move. “It’s always the same shape. Same size. Same creepy dead face. That’s not natural.”

Lila-or-Lina giggled and took another sip from her drink, which looked like soda but tasted like something industrial. “Okay, but tides?”

Charlie nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Exactly. Why would the government control the tides unless they were hiding something?”

A guy in a backwards cap wandered past, laughing with someone who was either his girlfriend or a very close friend he was about to cheat with. The music thumped from invisible speakers hidden in the ceiling, the bass running up through the floor and into Charlie’s ribs. Every few seconds someone screamed for no reason. The kind of party where everyone was too rich to get arrested and too drunk to care.

The house was a monster. Three stories, pool in the back, spiral staircase that no one was using because they kept tripping on it. No adults in sight. Just kids who looked like they’d wandered off the set of a perfume ad. Legs everywhere. Laughter bouncing off the walls. Half the people were barefoot. At least two were asleep on furniture that probably cost more than most cars.

He downed the rest of his drink and leaned against the kitchen island. It was marble, or something more expensive. A tray of once-fancy appetizers sat nearby, mostly reduced to crumbs and a lone shrimp that someone had dropped into a bowl of ranch dressing.

Bruce stumbled over, shirt half-buttoned, eyes wild.

“Dude,” he said. “You gotta come outside.”

Charlie blinked drunkenly. “Did someone light something on fire again?”

“No. Better. Watch this.”

Bruce grabbed a bottle of something off the counter and stormed off toward the patio like a man with a mission. Charlie shrugged and followed. Outside, the air was damp and cold, the sky smeared with a few leftover stars. The pool shimmered under the lights. There were plastic cups floating in it. And a couple who definitely thought no one could see them in the hot tub.

Bruce climbed onto the diving board in his sneakers, fully dressed, still holding the bottle.

“Someone record this!” he yelled.

Half a dozen phones went up instantly.

Bruce raised the bottle, gave a bow like he was about to perform Shakespeare, and then jumped. Not a dive, not a cannonball; just a flailing, full-body leap like he’d been thrown by a giant hand. He hit the water with a slap that echoed through the whole backyard.

There were cheers. A girl screamed. Someone dropped a vape into a flower pot.

Bruce came up laughing, flinging water everywhere.

“Jesus,” Charlie muttered, watching as Bruce dog-paddled to the edge and pulled himself out, absolutely soaked and still grinning like an idiot.

“Worth it,” Bruce said, stumbling over and dripping onto the patio tiles.

“You’re insane.”

“You’re boring,” Bruce countered.

Charlie shook his head, but he was smiling a little. “You’re going to catch hypothermia.”

Bruce shrugged. “Worth it.”

A few people clapped him on the back as he passed, someone handed him a towel, and a girl offered him another drink, which he took like it was medicine. Charlie followed him back inside, water sloshing from Bruce’s jeans with every step.

The kitchen was quieter now. Some of the crowd had thinned out. A few bodies slumped on barstools, someone curled up under the sink. Bruce handed Charlie a fresh drink and flopped onto the counter like a drowned cat.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling hard. “Let’s go home.”

Charlie blinked. “Seriously?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. That was the peak. Can’t top that. Gotta leave before I start crying in the laundry room or something.”

“You want to Uber?”

Bruce made a face. “Nah. You’re good to drive.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had, like, nine drinks.”

“Yeah, but over hours. And you’ve got a strong liver.”

“That’s not how livers work.”

Bruce waved him off. “You’re fine. You always drive better drunk anyway.”

Charlie stared at him, then laughed. “Yeah, I do.”

“Awesome. I’ll navigate.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Charlie shrugged. Somewhere behind them, someone dropped a glass and cheered about it. He glanced around, spotted a guy sitting on the stairs scrolling through Instagram, and then looked back at Bruce, who had started wringing water out of his sleeves like that would make a difference.

Someone else wandered over. Maya, maybe? Maria? He’d definitely slept with her cousin at some point. She frowned at them, glass in hand.

“You guys leaving?”

“Thinking about it,” Charlie said.

“I can drive,” she offered. “I haven’t had that much.”

Bruce shook his head. “We’re good.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Charlie waved her off. “Yeah. We’re good.”

She gave him a look. Then she shrugged and turned away.
Charlie pulled out his keys, which he’d jammed into his sock at some point because his pants didn’t have pockets. Bruce stood up, left a puddle on the floor, and followed.

The air outside felt colder now, like the night was finally catching up to them. Charlie clicked the unlock button on his key fob and the car chirped. A sleek black coupe sat waiting in the driveway, somehow still spotless despite being parked next to a lawn full of beer cans and cigarette butts.

“Shotgun,” Bruce mumbled, and nearly face-planted into the passenger seat before righting himself.

Charlie slid in behind the wheel, yawned very sleepily, and started the engine.

Charlie turned onto the main road and yawned, one hand lazily on the wheel. His foot pressed down a little too hard, but the car responded smooth as ever, gliding forward like it weighed nothing. Trees passed in blurs. Everything outside the car looked sort of smeared.

Bruce leaned over and fiddled with the radio until he found something bass-heavy and loud. “Oh hell yeah,” he said, cranking the volume. “Let’s have some fun, huh?”

Charlie blinked slowly. “Didn’t you just say we were going home?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce said. “But like. Home eventually. Let’s take the long way.”

Charlie squinted. “There’s a long way?”

“Always a long way,” Bruce said vaguely. He hiccuped a little. “There’s this one road, it’s completely empty. Goes for miles. It’s like, no traffic. Zero. You can go as fast as you want. I used to take it when I stole my dad’s Tesla.”

Charlie giggled. “You stole your dad’s Tesla?”

“Borrowed. Borrowed it emotionally. Let’s take that road. C’mon.”

Charlie didn’t even pretend to hesitate. “Yeah okay,” he said. “Let’s go fast.”

Bruce whooped and slapped the dashboard. “Yes! That’s the spirit. It’s off to the right in a bit, I think. You remember that gas station with the weird bird sign?”

“I remember… a bird.”

“Perfect. Turn past that.”

They drove in silence for a minute. The houses got fewer. Then the streetlights. The road narrowed. There was a bit of a swerve, nothing serious, just a little over-correction when Charlie blinked too long. Bruce didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

Charlie drummed his fingers against the wheel. The music pulsed. His head felt light.

“There it is!” Bruce pointed out the window at a faded old gas station with a sign shaped like a cartoon parrot. “Right there, that’s the turn!”

Charlie slowed down a little too late and jerked the wheel right. The car swung around onto a two-lane road that curved downward and opened into nothing but black.

No other cars, no sidewalks, no houses. Just trees and fences and darkness on both sides. The lines on the road looked fresh and unbothered.

Charlie started to grin.

Bruce leaned forward, already hyping it up. “This is it, man. This is the good stuff. Straightaway up ahead. No curves, no speed bumps, nothing. Just floor it.”

Charlie stretched his fingers on the wheel. “You ready?”

Bruce threw his hands up. “Born ready!”

Charlie pressed his foot down. The car responded instantly. The engine growled, and they started to pick up speed.

50. 51. 52. Charlie started laughing. Bruce whooped again.

80. 81. The wind pushed harder against the windows. The music was blasting now, some electro remix of something neither of them could name.

Charlie leaned back into his seat, relaxed, casual, like he wasn’t flying down the road like a missile. His foot kept pressing. The car hummed with energy.

100. 101. Bruce stuck his hand out the window like a kid on a roller coaster. “Woooooo!”

The road stayed smooth. The trees flew past like strobe lights. The car didn’t shake, didn’t jolt. It just flew. Charlie couldn’t stop laughing.

“This is stupid,” he said between giggles.

“It’s so stupid,” Bruce yelled, “do it more!”

Charlie pressed harder. Just a bit.

120. The whole world was noise now. Wind, bass, tire hum. Bruce was yelling something, but Charlie couldn’t hear it, and didn’t care. He was grinning so wide it hurt.

Then, finally, Bruce smacked his arm. “Okay! Okay! Chill!”

Charlie eased up. The engine softened. The car slowed, gradually, reluctantly, like it didn’t want to stop.

Bruce slumped back into his seat, chest heaving. “Dude.”

Charlie nodded, still giggling. “That was so dumb.”

“We could’ve died.”

“Totally.”

They both burst out laughing.

The car rolled along at a more reasonable speed now, back to normal highway cruising levels. Charlie let out a big breath, like he’d just run a marathon.

“Man,” Bruce said. “You’ve got a good car.”

“I know.”

They hit the end of the stretch and made a lazy turn back toward the main roads. Charlie didn’t really check the map. He just guessed and hoped. His brain was fuzzy and the road all kind of looked the same anyway.

Still, they were moving. That was the important part.

Bruce opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it, looking for snacks.

“You got anything in here?” he asked.

“Just paperwork. Maybe gum.”

Bruce found half a protein bar and a melted piece of chocolate. “This is a war crime.”

“Don’t eat that.”

“I wasn’t going to. I value my organs.”

Charlie yawned again, blinking slow. He wasn’t even that tired, not really, just soft around the edges. Everything felt floaty.

“You good?” Bruce asked.

“I’m so good,” Charlie said.

“You’re not gonna fall asleep on me?”

Charlie laughed. “Nah. Never. I’m wide awake.”

He definitely wasn’t. His foot wobbled a little on the pedal, and the car swerved slightly left before he corrected. Bruce didn’t notice. He was busy peeling the label off the protein bar wrapper like it was a puzzle.

“I think that was a new record,” Bruce said. “We hit, like, what? A hundred and twenty?”

“Something like that.”

“I felt it in my spine.”

“I felt it in my hair,” Charlie said.

“Your hair?”

“Yeah. It was like—” He made a noise that sounded vaguely like wind rushing over a convertible and then started laughing again.

They kept driving, still buzzing from the rush. Charlie took a turn too fast and barely noticed. The tires bumped against the lane divider and bounced back. He corrected without thinking about it. It was all just part of the ride.

The houses started coming back. Streetlights returned. A 7-Eleven flickered past on the left.

Bruce changed the music to something funkier. “We need a theme song,” he said. “Like, a life theme.”

“I think ours is just the sound of money,” Charlie said, yawning again. “Like that little cash register ding.”

“Or the noise my dad makes when he tries not to yell in public.”

Charlie snorted. “Or the champagne bottle pop.”

Bruce snapped his fingers. “There it is.”

They hit a red light and Charlie braked a little too late, tires squealing faintly before stopping just barely over the line. Bruce gave him a look.

“Relax,” Charlie said. “It’s red. I stopped.”

“Barely.”

“But I stopped!”

Bruce rolled his eyes and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.

“You know what we need?” he said.

“What?”

“Food. Like greasy, horrible food. Like, disgraceful food. Tacos or something.”

“I could do tacos,” Charlie said.

“Let’s get tacos.”

“You find a place.”

Bruce pulled out his phone and squinted at it. “My signal sucks.”

Charlie shrugged. “Let’s just drive until we see something.”

“Vibes navigation,” Bruce said. “I respect it.”

They kept rolling forward. The city lights were starting to thin again. Not quite as empty as the joyride road, but definitely less crowded. A sleepy part of town. They passed a couple of parked cars, a gas station, a bus stop with a guy half-asleep on the bench.

Charlie rubbed his eyes and took another lazy turn.

“I feel like a noodle,” he said.

“You’re driving a noodle,” Bruce agreed.

“Do you think cars get tired?”

“What?”

“Like, we push them too hard, and they get sleepy.”

Bruce pointed at the dashboard. “Pretty sure that light just means low gas.”

Charlie burst into another round of giggles.

Charlie took one hand off the wheel and stretched. The car swerved slightly again, then corrected. Nothing major. Just a little wobble.

Bruce didn’t even blink. “So… what were we doing again? Food? Home? Dammit, I forgot already.”

“Home, man. Definitely home.”

“Alright. Lead the way, maestro.

Charlie made a left turn, then a right, then another right, and then another left that felt like it shouldn’t have been a left. He didn’t really know anymore. The streets all looked kind of the same.

Bruce had his feet on the dashboard and was playing something weirdly aggressive on the aux, bobbing his head like it was gospel. Charlie was still giggling under his breath and occasionally going, “Wait, was that our turn?” and then just continuing straight anyway.

“We’ve passed that gas station like three times,” Bruce said, holding up a finger like it meant something.

“That’s a different gas station,” Charlie replied.

“It had the same billboard.”

“Maybe they’re a chain.”

Bruce squinted out the window. “I think we’re going in circles.”

Charlie shrugged. “We’re doing figure eights. It’s different.”

The car bumped a little over a pothole, and Bruce let out a sound like he’d just been shot. “Dude! My spine!”

Charlie burst out laughing. “That’s karma for saying I drive better drunk.”

“I never said better. I said, like, weirdly smooth considering.”

Charlie turned again, this time more confidently, even though he had no actual sense of where they were.

Bruce leaned back and started scrolling through his phone. “Signal still sucks,” he muttered. “We’re in some kind of Bermuda Triangle of rich-people suburbs.”

“Maybe we’re in a cul-de-sac dimension,” Charlie said.

“Like, metaphorically?”

“Like, literally. We keep turning and turning and the houses just copy-paste themselves.”

Bruce looked out the window. “That one definitely has the same bush. That bush looks like a duck.”

“That bush is my duck,” Charlie said, and they both cracked up again.

The laughter came easily now, bubbling up for no reason. Charlie’s cheeks hurt, and his arms felt floppy. His hands on the wheel were more like gentle suggestions than controls. He made another lazy turn and squinted at a road sign he didn’t bother reading.

Bruce leaned forward suddenly. “Wait, wait, wait. That road. That one! On the right.”

Charlie slowed down. “This one?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t that look kind of familiar?”

Charlie tilted his head. “It’s straight.”

“And long.”

“And empty.”

They looked at each other. Then Charlie veered right with zero hesitation.

The tires squealed a little as they hit the pavement. The road ahead was dark and wide and smooth-looking. A soft downward slope gave it this weird sense of promise, like it was daring them.

“Okay,” Bruce said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

Charlie blinked hard and adjusted his grip on the wheel. “You want the music louder?”

“Obviously.”

Charlie cranked the volume. The beat dropped. The bass rattled the glove box.

They hit the straight and picked up speed. Not as fast as earlier, but enough that the wind pushed back against the car again, and the outside world started to blur.

Charlie whooped. Bruce laughed and banged the side of the door like a drum.

The car swerved just a little when Charlie took one hand off the wheel to reach for his water bottle, then swerved again when Bruce leaned over to shout something pointless in his ear.

Neither of them noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

“Faster!” Bruce yelled.

Charlie obliged.

The car sped up. Trees whipped by on either side. There weren’t many lights around, and they’d somehow forgotten to flip on the headlights.

Didn’t matter.

It was just more dark road. Another joyride. More laughing.

They hit a bump.

A big one.

The car jolted hard, like it had just run over a curb, but worse. The undercarriage thudded. The tires bounced.

Charlie swore. Bruce screamed in a high-pitched cartoon voice.

The car skidded a little, but Charlie managed to keep it straight. They rolled forward a few more seconds before he slowed to a crawl.

Then they both sat there, stunned silent for a beat.

Bruce blinked. “What the hell was that?”

Charlie’s voice was hoarse from laughing. “I don’t—was that a speed bump?”

“There’s no speed bumps out here.”

“A trash can?”

“A boulder?”

“A possum?”

Bruce snorted. “That’d be the fattest possum of all time.”

Charlie started giggling again. “We nailed it, whatever it was.”

“Think we popped a tire?”

“Felt like it. Wanna check?”

Bruce nodded, eyes still wide but grinning. “Let’s check.”

Charlie threw the car in park. Both doors opened at once.

The cold air hit immediately, but they didn’t notice. They were still laughing.

Charlie stumbled around the front of the car. Bruce followed, doing a weird kind of lurch-walk that might’ve been an attempt at a dance.

The road was dark, still no headlights on, but there was just enough ambient glow from a far-off streetlamp for Charlie to make out the shape.

At first, it looked like a crumpled bag.

Then like a trash pile.

Then he got a little closer.

It wasn’t a trash pile.

It was a body.