Michael is the sort of person who stays up late working with whatever he can find. It’s what he does to fulfill his days now, and keep himself busy, ever since the accident. He takes apart pieces of anything he can find—cars, desks, whatever he can get his hands on. One would be surprised with the things he found in those dirty, dark corners. He misses how his wife would go to bed much earlier than he did, and how he would meet her upstairs around eleven, or whenever he was finished working. It was the same thing every night, a boring routine. Now, it is a boring routine in a worse place. It’s lonely here.
Michael is fifty-six years old. He’s your typical Italian man—big, round belly, thick grey head of hair slightly balding at the top, and slouched posture. Michael is married to a beautiful Irish woman. He loves his wife, and his family, which now only consists of two people—his wife, and himself. It’s a small family, and every night, Michael would think about the way that third chair sat empty during dinner. Michael thinks back, even twenty something years later, to the days where the chair was filled with laughter from his enchanting daughter. Even though it was empty, it was better than the lonely grey chair he sat in now. Just himself, that grey chair, and a dark, damp cell. Family is the number one thing Michael cherishes, even to this day. Number two is being able to fix anything, solve anything, or be right, hence his longing to find that truck driver who killed his baby girl those twenty years ago.
Michael never gives up on anything; his personality is young, and persistent, and he is never wrong. But he was wrong this time, hence where he ended up. Michael used to beat up a lot of the boys in his neighborhood when he was a young boy. The physical side of him was tough, and  almost as strong as his mind. He was physically and emotionally always correct. Physical and emotional. Two polar opposites, just like Michael’s appearance and his personality. Michael was always that kind of guy, the one who fought for what he believed in, but his feelings were never this strong. His emotions really fell into place after the accident that took his daughter away. Especially after she was gone, Michael would always try to warn people not to let his old, decrepit appearance fool them, for looks can be very deceiving, and the people who let Michael’s looks deceive them, were the people no longer around to tell their story.
It all started one afternoon, twenty years ago. Michael was thirty-six years old. He and his five year old daughter Bianca were getting into his truck. Moments before they were playing outside on the bright green, often tended to, lawn. Michael chased his daughter around the yard, playing tag. Her brown curls fell over her big brown eyes, watering from the windy fall day. Her eyes sparkled like the moon did at night when it was accompanied by the brightest stars, and when she laughed, his world lit up. You could hear her laugh from miles away. This went on for hours and hours; Michael loved nothing more than playing with his little girl. Once he got tired, he would grab her by her round, little stomach, and begin to tickle her. Laughter poured out of her dimpled smile. He picked her up and carried her to the car on his shoulders. “Daddy, I love you.” The air was fresh and crisp, like all autumn days in his small town. He turned to say goodbye to his wife, holding Bianca in his arms, and putting her in her carseat. Michael had no idea this would be the last time he would buckle the little blue clip from her Fisher Price car seat around his daughter’s slim waist. They began to drive off to the grocery store to get milk and bread, and other necessities for his wife’s Sunday dinner. Michael came to a gas station on the side of the road, and realizing he was almost on empty, pulled over. Bianca was kicking and screaming, and wanted to get out of her car seat to see what her daddy was doing. When Michael undid the clasp on her little seat, and let her out, he made sure she was standing close to him. He turned for a split second to put his credit card in the machine, but Bianca had ran out, and a truck was pulling in fast and started to approach her tiny body. Michael's eyes went from his daughter’s running feet, to the driver’s seat window. He saw the face of a young man. A grey baseball cap, beady, black eyes, under eye circles from tiredness. This face would be stuck in his nightmares forever.  Michael dropped the pump, and ran after her. His heart was racing so fast. His world stopped. He froze for a second, mesmerized. Was he dreaming? His life flashed in front of his eyes as he chased his little girl to the other side of the gas station. She ran towards the convenience shop quickly, across the lanes for getting gas. The station was empty, but a parked car blocked the entrance, and where Bianca was heading. A large truck pulled in, and inched closer and closer to her. Michael sprinted. But it was too late. And she was too small. And the truck driver hadn’t seen her. And now, Michael’s life would be changed forever.
The next few weeks were hospital beds, toys, and many tears. These weeks were hell for Michael and Judy, and on a cool November morning, their family lost an angel. The tombstone, small and petite like Bianca, stood in the graveyard on School Street, reading "Bianca Maria Giuliano. Mommy and Daddy love you always."  Conversation about having more children did indeed come up between the couple, especially after the mailbox stopped filling up with “sorry for your loss” cards and the lawn was clean of toys. Michael simply wasn’t interested. There was a missing place in his heart, and he felt it would never be closed, until the cause of Bianca’s death was dead too.
When other couples had told the two of them that a child might be the best bet to fix the wounds their relationship had endured, Michael wouldn’t budge. “I think it’s a good idea, honey,” Judy always said. “Maybe it can bring the two of us closer, because we’ve been having a rough time lately. Please?” “No.” “Michael, please?” She practically begged him.
“No. Not yet,” Michael always said. “I’m not ready.” Their relationship became dull. Dinners were quiet and boring. Conversation topics ranged from the weather to dinner ideas. There was no longer a spark between Michael and Judy.
People knew something was up with the couple, aside from the obvious change. Not many people, including Judy, didn’t know the truth about Michael. Judy still loved him, and she always would. The fact that he wouldn’t bear her the child she wanted killed her inside, but she understood the reason why, or so she thought. She never once thought of leaving him, because she thought she knew him so well, and assumed he was having a difficult time with such a loss. Little did she know...
In the twenty years following this day, Michael did many unspeakable things. Every time he saw a man in a truck relatively similar to the Stop & Shop one that took his daughter's life, he would feel a sudden rush of anger. One day, about two months after he lost his daughter, Michael began hearing voices. He grabbed his handgun from the bottom of closet. He had this only for emergencies, but he didn't know what was getting into him. Gun in hand, Michael hopped in his green pickup truck. He immediately put the gun in the passenger’s seat glove compartment, the place that would become its home over the years. Looking behind him to see the driveway to pull out, he saw the Fisher Price car seat, but blinked, and it was gone. Hallucinations, but just the beginning of them. On the highway, Michael began to cry. His eyes filled up, and he couldn't see the road clearly. He pulled into a rest stop to compose himself, and he tucked the gun under his seat. What Michael saw next changed everything. A Stop & Shop truck pulled into the truck spot, right next to him. The man driving looked over at Michael, and that's when it happened. Michael stepped out of his car, gun in his right hand, behind his back, and walked over to the man. The window was rolled down now. The truck was taller than Michael was, but leaning forward on his tip toes, body against the cool surface of the truck, he faced the driver. "Excuse me, I need directions to the nearest...." Michael stopped, and pulled the gun out from behind his back, pressed it to the neck of the man in the driver's seat, and pulled the trigger. Blood, tears, and speeding away from the rest stop filled the next few minutes. When Michael arrived home to his wife, he had put the gun in his glove compartment, wiped his tears, and walked into the kitchen like nothing had happened. But it did happen, and this was only the beginning.
Michael took many lives away, over this twenty year period. Way too many lives. He would go out on a drive late at night while Judy was sleeping. This was the prime time for truckers to be parked in rest stops, catching up on sleep. Cruising down the highway each night, Michael felt rushes of adrenaline inside of his body. He got good with that handgun, boy, did he get good. After killing so many, it was a casual act for Michael to take the life of a man who could've been the one who killed Bianca. Michael wondered every night if he would recognize the killer of his daughter, and he was sure he would. Every man he shot, he saw the eyes and face of the one who killed his daughter, but he still didn't feel like his mission was complete. Those beady black eyes, tired, with dark under eye circles. A shaggy beard. A grey baseball cap. Michael saw this man in his nightmares. Even though the man hit his daughter, and sped away fast, Michael got that half-a-second glance, and that was all he needed for all those years of killing.
Of course Michael always had the fear of getting caught and arrested, and risking his wife finding everything out, but that wasn’t enough to stop him. He spent a lot of time in the garage working on various projects for the reason of enjoyment, but also to hide out from police. He was sure if he stayed hidden most of the time, aside from his killing sprees, he wouldn’t be caught.
Michael had killed his last man when he was forty seven, ten years ago from today. He became too tired, his body too frail to go on these late drives and be aggressive like he used to. The face of the man still flashed in his head right before he dozed off to sleep every night, and each morning when he woke up. Michael would know that face anywhere. It was a Sunday morning, and Judy wanted to prepare a gravy with meatballs, and her homemade spaghetti—Michael's favorite meal. That meant, Michael had to go to the store to pick up the necessities, which he was fine with, anything for her spaghetti and meatballs.
He drove to the grocery store, and started to feel such an adrenaline rush, like those from the past years, in that same green truck he was driving now. Why? Why was he feeling this way, all those years later? It didn't make sense, but he drove to Stop & Shop and went in. The clerk waved hello. She was a skinny, middle-aged, tall blonde woman. This lady looked familiar to Michael. He didn’t know where he’d seen her before. Michael found the bread aisle with ease, and picked up the Italian scali bread that his wife loved. This used to be Bianca’s favorite. He managed to get his entire list checked off, and proceeded to the checkout counter to meet again with the blonde clerk. Her nametag read “Pamela, Third Year.” Michael’s eyes went from the name tag, to the woman’s face briskly. Michael had a flashback. It was Bianca’s first day of kindergarten, the only grade she ever got to start. There were pictures before she left. Judy was making Bianca and her friends pose in front of the mailbox, for the dreaded first day of school pictures. “Pam! Pam! Come here,” Michael heard his daughter’s voice in his head. That’s where he recognized this young woman from. She was friends with Bianca oh, so many years ago. Michael didn’t say anything, because she probably wouldn’t recognize him. He was wrong.
“Mr. Giuiliano? Is that you? It’s been a while.” She laughed, and a piece of blonde hair fell into her face. Michael watched as she pushed it behind her ear. She began to ring up the items Michael had purchased: scali bread, pasta, and some napkins. Michael was shocked that she even remembered him. Michael nodded, “Yes, nice to see you.” He didn’t say this because he truly felt it was nice to see her, in fact he barely knew her. He said it because it was the right thing to do, and being right always suited Michael. Michael didn’t like talking to anyone that brought back negative memories, which is why staying home was one of his favorite things to do. He felt like every time he went out, someone would always remind him that he failed to capture the truck driver.
“How has everything been? I haven’t talked with Judy in like...years,” she almost giggled. She seemed nervous. “You know, we used to talk a lot about what happened. She would always tell me how she ached for another baby.” She looked at Michael, almost as if she expected a response. Michael was getting annoyed and frustrated. This is why he liked staying in his basement hiding from the police; no one bothered him and he didn’t have to interact with people or answer any invading personal questions. Michael didn’t answer.
There was an awkward silence now, as an elderly woman got in line at Pamela’s register. She pushed her shopping cart up behind Michael and started thumbing through the magazines on the wall. “Well, if you don’t mind me asking, did you guys have any more kids?” Pamela looked up at Michael. She began to increase her speed ringing up the bread when she noticed the elderly woman looking impatient. She was very talkative, and that did not go over well with Michael. “No.” Michael wanted no part in this. He did not want to talk about such a topic, and he did not want to drown in these memories at a time like this.
Michael was thankful he only bought a few items, because soon enough he was carrying two bags away from the register. “Goodbye Michael. Have a great day!” It was Pamela’s voice. Michael wanted nothing to do with her. Nothing at all. He looked back and smiled a very fake smile. He didn’t speak. The automatic doors opened into the parking lot, where a new adventure was coming; Michael had no idea. If he didn’t like the interaction with Pamela, this next one would make up for it.
It was strange seeing a face from so long ago. It’s not every day where that happens. Let alone, two faces in one day. And that's what happened next. And it happened quick. Michael glanced into his rearview mirror, to pull out of his parking spot, and a large truck caught his eye. He made quick eye contact with the driver, and something inside of him lit up. Michael knew this man from somewhere. Michael knew where. This was the face. Those beady black eyes, even more aged than the years before. The same nose, mouth, and that same, worn out grey baseball cap. The face that he’d been searching for for twenty years. The face that caused Michael to have nightmares, bad thoughts, and hallucinations. The face that took over two dozen lives. The face that took over Michael’s own life, and the face that took Bianca’s completely.
Seconds passed. Michael immediately put the car in park. He didn’t even think to take the keys out. His first thought was to kill this man. Instantly. The gun. Where was the gun? Michael remembered the last time he had held that handgun in the palm of his hand. He knew it must be resting where it had been all these years: the glove compartment. Michael opened the passenger’s seat glove compartment, and there it was. The shiny handgun, cold from remaining idle and unused all these years. It glowed and captured all of Michael’s attention. He grabbed it, and it slid into place in his right hand. Where it had been many times before. He hopped out of the car, and tucked the gun into his back pocket, under his thick, brown jacket. He knocked on the driver's seat window of the truck, making eye contact with the driver for the first time in what seemed like forever. The driver rolled his window down. Easy access now, Michael thought.
Michael made small talk, too afraid to pull the gun out from his back pocket. Michael asked the guy about the weather, and some Stop and Shop food, considering the truck he was in. The conversation was dull and short, just like the way his conversations with his wife had become. He was very hesitant. He thought he heard a girl's laughter, but there was nothing but a big, blue blanket in the passenger's seat. Michael looked around; his hand was touching the gun in his pocket. He let go, as something caught his eye. His biggest fear. He glanced over to the other side of the parking lot to see a cop cruiser and three middle-aged men in police uniforms staring at a photo. They kept peering over the picture, looking at Michael, nodding their heads. Michael knew. He just knew the picture was of him. When he let go of the gun, his hand dangled there, until someone grabbed it.
Michael turned to see the face of a police officer. “Michael Guiliano?”
“Yes, sir,” Michael wondered if they saw the outline of the gun in his back pocket.
“You’re under arrest for fourteen, possibly more, murders. We have your photo, and we have you caught on many parking lot cameras murdering many truck drivers. Not sure why you have such a fetish with killing truck drivers man,” he turned to one of the other officers. “These guys today, always something new, you know? Some weird motivation for taking so many lives..”
The cops chuckled, although this was not a funny matter. The tallest cop, the one who was talking earlier, finished his statement. “Anything you say can and will be held against you. You have the right to an attorney…” The cop’s voice trailed on.
Lights went on. Sirens screeched. Handcuffs closed around both of Michael’s wrists. Thoughts flashed through his head. Judy, what about Judy? How would she handle this? I’ve lied to her all these years. Would Bianca be ashamed of me now? It was too late; Michael had been caught for his actions. His head fell into his hands, and he felt like he did the day he lost his daughter, guilty and horrible. The cop dragged Michael to the cop cruiser, and when he walked by the truck, the blue blanket was not just a blanket anymore. The scared face of a little girl was now visible, all wrapped in the blanket. A little girl.
Seeing that girl changed something in Michael. He felt like this was a wake up call, a sign from God. Maybe this was his way of seeing Bianca again. This girl could be a sign. When Michael wasn’t drowning in his guilt, he thought all about his daughter, and his chance of ever meeting with her again. Heaven was real, and it was where Michael was going to see Bianca again.
The girl in the blue blanket changed him. He thought of her young, beautiful face some nights, when he wasn’t thinking of his dead daughter. He felt at fault, and his guilt continued to eat him away. He sat in that grey chair to think. He would think and think and think, for hours on end. After all, Michael doesn’t have much to do to keep his mind off of things, now that he’s in jail. He stays up late working with whatever he can find. It’s what he does to fulfill his days now, and keep himself busy, ever since the accident.