Leave it in Beaver – Final


Geoffrey and George stopped for gas at a small store in Texas.  George tried to get the clerk to give him some beer and she agreed to.  Just as she was bringing it out the back door, a local deputy pulled up and recognized the car as being wanted.  As we begin this last segment, the Buick LeSabre has left the girl and the convenience store behind, speeding off into the dark.  The girl isn’t sure if both boys were in the car, one might have gotten out.  Deputy Sheriff Paul Deacon heads off in pursuit. 


Meanwhile, as he drove the LeSabre at eighty mph down country roads, Geoffrey was scared. He was in trouble and he knew it. Looking in the rear view mirror he could see the flashing blue lights of the deputy’s car getting closer.
“What do I do George? Where do I go?” He asked, but George was silent. “Georgggge!” He screamed. He looked at the mirror again and George’s angry eyes stared back at him.
“This is it Geoff-ie,” George taunted. “They’re coming to take you away!”
“Me! Me?” Geoffrey screamed back. “I didn’t even do it. You did it didn’t you!” George only smiled. Geoffrey’s driving became more and more erratic as his panic level rose. “Ohmygosh You killed her! You killed Mama!”
“They’ll never believe you Geoff-ie boy. They don’t even know that I was ever born!” George yelled back, laughing like a maniac. “Geoffrey’s going to jail! See what the doctor makes of that!”

As the cream-colored Buick went around a bend in the road there was a sign on the left that read “County Rock Quarry.” Geoffrey swung the wheel a hard left and tore down the dirt road, kicking up a rooster tail of dust behind him. A smaller sign a hundred yards down the road said “Dead-End.” George sat up and took notice.

“Geoffrey where are you going? This is a dead-end.” But Geoffrey didn’t answer. Behind them now were two cruisers, engines and sirens screaming. Half a mile ahead was a big machine with lights and conveyor belts. A dump truck had backed up to it and was ready to load sand and rock into a large hopper in the morning.

Geoffrey blew past the dump truck and drove up the first side road he came to. They went uphill around a giant mound of gravel and came out to a clearing, maybe a quarter-mile wide and half a mile long. It was surrounded on two sides by the woods, one side by the gravel mound and then a lake – at the bottom of a thousand foot drop off!

The sheriff’s cars hadn’t come up here yet. They probably knew that the only way out was the way they had come in. Geoffrey pulled up in the middle of the clearing with the hood pointed toward the road and turned off the car. They sat in the dark. He looked at himself in the mirror, his hair was no longer combed neatly and parted in the middle. His eyes were red and puffy and wild looking like George’s. Two hectic red spots rode high on his cheeks, and he could feel his heart pounding in his throat. George realized that he was gasping for breath. He was horrified at what his brother had done, at the situation they were in, at the loss of his mother, but most of all at himself.

“Now look what you’ve done!” George said angrily. “How are we supposed to get out of here? They are so going to come and take…you…away!”

“Well George,” Geoffrey said calmly, as realization hit. “If they get me at least they’ll get you too.”

“What do you mean, get me? They can’t prove I did anything. I can sneak away now and no one will ever know I existed. Mama never let me leave the house, you know that.”

“I know it George, that’s why I have to drive everywhere. You never learned how.”

“That’s right so you just better be careful of what you’re doing before…”

“Before what George? Before you do to me what you did to Mama?” George scoffed at that, but Geoffrey saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “If you hurt me, you only hurt yourself. You’re nothing but a murderer George, and that’s bad.” Geoffrey said, suddenly tired. “I will never get away from you. If I got to jail you’re going too aren’t you?”

“That’s right buddy boy, I’ll be sitting on the cot right next to you.” George replied with a nasty sneer. Geoffrey nodded, his mind made up. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw that flicker of uncertainty in George’s eyes again. He was going to get the upper hand for once. One time in his life (the one that mattered apparently) he was going to be the one making the decisions.

The deputy’s cars slowly came up the road. They had silenced their alarms, and now cautiously but relentlessly rolled forward. When they saw Geoffrey sitting in the middle of the clearing they came to a stop. Deputy Paul Deacon was in the lead. He opened his cruiser door and stepped out, bringing a bullhorn with him. Another deputy and a passenger got out of the second car. As the deputy lifted the bullhorn to speak, Geoffrey checked the mirror to make sure George hadn’t run off on him again, but his brother was still there.

“Do it. Do it Geoffrey!” George goaded. “Run him down!”

Outside the deputy stepped forward and spoke into the bullhorn. He craned his neck this way and that, trying to see into the LeSabre.

“Boys, come on out of the car now. Open the door slowly and step out of there.” The loudspeaker crackled.

“He can’t see you.” Geoffrey said to George, no longer surprised. The only response was more laughter.

Meanwhile the deputy continued talking, but Geoffrey had heard enough. He turned the key in the ignition. George reached over and pushed Geoffrey’s knee one more time, making the engine roar. The deputy dropped his bullhorn and scrambled back to his car, nearly tripping into the dust as he went. George bellowed his glee.

“Ready George?” Geoffrey asked calmly.
“Ready? I was born ready! Do it. Do iiiit!” George was practically salivating.

George put the car in gear, keeping his left foot on the brake. He put his right foot on the gas pedal, slowly increasing the pressure until the car was leaping against the brake like a crazed animal. He looked into the rear view mirror one last time, and as he met George’s eyes his crazy brother finally understood what he intended to do.

“No! Not that! If you kill yourself you’ll kill me too! No way you little pissant baby stupid!” It was the worst thing George could think of to call him.

Geoffrey didn’t respond. When the pedal had reached the floor Geoffrey released the brake and the car shot backward. George screamed, raging against the prison he now found himself in. Unable to escape he screamed and cried and clawed against the iron hold that Geoffrey had on him. The car picked up speed as it approached the halfway mark to the edge of the cliff.

The passenger from the second cruiser ran forward. Dressed in chino’s and a white lab coat, his tie flapping in his face, the man ran toward Geoffrey yelling.

“No don’t do it! Come back! Nooo…aaahhh!” The car went over the cliff with a roar and then it was gone. The man fell to his knees in the dust. The deputy came and yanked him up by the arm.

“I didn’t see the second guy doc.” Paul Deacon looked past him to the cliff.

“There was no second guy deputy,” the doctor replied, pulling his arm away. “Geoffrey George Addison was a classic case of Dissociative identity disorder.”

“In English doc, if you don’t mind.”

“Split personality. Geoffrey and his “brother” George lived inside his head.”

“I guess they died inside there too.” The deputy said. The doctor looked back angrily as the deputy walked away, talking into his radio.


Geoffrey sailed backward, looking at the stars as he gently floated down. It was…blissfully quiet. George had finally been silenced, once and for all. Geoffrey smiled and looked to heaven as everything went dark.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The End ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


12 responses »

  1. Oh my gosh, you’re such a writer! This is great. Thanks for the entertainment.

    You say give you three words & you’ll write a short on it. Are you still up for that or are you on holidays? I’m just curious. If you were in the mood and had the time how about:

    Bus stop

    Only if you feel like it! I like short stories – you should try out Anne Schilde, she’s always writing short stories (she often visits my pages, can’t remember her address in all). My blog’s a true story and NOT a SHORT story!! But if you fancy to do that, let me know.

    Either way, happy new year.

    Thank you so much, for reading and for the nice words! I will check out Anne’s page if I get a chance, and your blog as well. I’ll add your words to the lottery!


  2. Finished! Am thinking its not finished. But am numb skull. Regardless if finished or just the beginning: I enjoyed the ride (I know your suppose to ride with strangers, but it’s risk worth taking in this case).

    Hope the Holidays are going well.

    The holidays are going, I just had a birthday on the 28th, so a little extra merry in there for me! I hope yours are blessed too!


    • Please accept my apologies for the mistakes in my typing in the above comment. I think am suffering a chocolate overdose. Or, from the triple espresso I just down’d. Or, a combo of both.

      Hudson, I don’t care what you look like when you show up, I am just thankful that you do. ❤


    • Bonne fête et ‘shtufffs’. Joyeux anniversaire Neeks!……don’t know if what I just said is accurate, but am sure its good. It’s all french to me.

      LOL, well according to Google translate it’s right on! Thank you, it means much to be remembered, with everything else that goes on this time of year.
      How is Miss Elvira settling in? (Chester wants to know)


  3. Monique, I had no idea this was coming. Your storytelling is absolute genius! Thank you for letting your imagination treat us the entire story. 🙂

    Love and hugs, my friend!

    Virginia, I’m so glad you take the time to come and read my blog, I need to get back to yours again! You keep me busy with your recipes, so good!


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