Jerry bummed a cigarette and a lighter off of one of the prison guards on his way out. The whole way back to Iowa, he didn't try to actually smoke anything. Irrational fear had a lot to do with it. Here Jerry was in Barack's self-driving car- ever bit as much the death trap back when he first saw it as it was now. Jerry had no idea how the vehicle would deal with, say, a fire, but he was reasonably sure that the car would just find some complicated way to kill him that wouldn't involve unlocking the doors.
The main reason, though, was that Jerry just wanted to spend a few hours in Barack's car. A metaphor for Barack's whole life really. It was incomprehensible to Jerry, really, how a man could have everything he could possibly want, every need provided for, every opportunity in life- and want to do what Barack did. Just run around beating people up. It was a terrifying, humbling idea. What if Jerry had been born in Barack's place? Would he be any better? Any less morally righteous?
Jerry thought so, as he looked at the constantly unchanging landscape on the long boring road back to the border. Jerry always had the feeling that his tragic backstory was just an excuse to be shaped for his own ends. After all, he was the God of Hate. And it wasn't as negative as it sounded really. Hate was not, as people tended to think, wholly irrational. Hate arrives from complexity, from a lack of effective rationalization. People hate that which they don't understand as a survival mechanism, because anything that can't be understood is inherently dangerous.
It was unfortunate that hate was so frequently misused against the wrong targets, the ones with the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that was why Jerry had always taken so much pride in aiming his hate, his pride, his passion, in an entirely deserved direction. And now, after half a lifetime of hard work, Jerry could finally bask in the glory of his finally achieved the great goal of his life. The elimination of the United States. Well, strictly speaking Jerry wasn't quite there yet. But killing off the Rainbow Shirts was the main difficult part of the plan. The rest would be, by comparison, fairly trivial.
So it was that Jerry wanted to have a victory cigarette in that most appropriate of places- the destroyed motel where Barack obliterated his own cause without even realizing it. Jerry was relieved that Barack's car allowed him to exit upon arrival. Jerry was also, naturally, quite appreciative of how the car had logged in the exact address of the madness, as if to grant him this one moment of solemn appreciation.
Jerry wandered about the wreckage of the motel, musing about how in only a matter of weeks the whole place had the stench of ruined trash. Incredibly enough, the emergency stairwell was just barely functional. Jerry had hoped for as much. He had wanted to see the sunset from such a magnificent vantage point.
Upon arriving to the rooftop Jerry noted with some pleasure how the sun was moving to be encircled by a couple of distant trees. That was still a ways off though. In the meantime, Jerry tried to make the lighter work. Jerry quickly realized to his chagrin that he had no idea how lighters worked at all. Jerry didn't smoke. He never did pot. So while Jerry had seen the right thumb movements in the odd movie, there was some intrinsic underlying physics to the motion he just couldn't process.
From this vantage point, Jerry was surprisingly relieved to have an unexpected guest- none other than Joel Rotierre, panting as he climbed up the stairwell. Jerry wondered how Joel could be so tired from such a simple climb. Unless...
"Joel," said Jerry, with a look of wonder. "Did you ride your bike all the way here?"
"No," said Joel, furiously shaking his head. "I bummed a ride."
Jerry got up and peered to the parking lot. Sure enough, Joel's bike was there. What's more, it was very presumptuously loaded up on the car.
"Awfully presumptuous isn't it?" said Jerry, shaking his head but smiling all the while. "I got some technical help in Chicago. You'd be surprised how easy it is to remove those ridiculous identification systems. I think that strictly speaking I could drive the car myself on. I didn't much want to though. Not sure I could remember how after all these years."
"Oh, yes, that's right," said Joel, looking both horribly dirty and sweaty. Jerry was repulsed, albeit somewhat touched. What could be so important that Joel would come out all the way out to the border to meet him? How did Joel know where he would be either for that matter?
"Ah," said Jerry, putting these thoughts out of his mind. "You're just in time anyway Joel. Do you know how to make a lighter work?"
"No!" said Joel. "I would never touch any kinds of illicit drugs! Terribly frightening!"
Jerry gave a sigh as he otherwise noiselessly motioned Joel over. Joel reluctantly obliged, closing in on Jerry and nervously grabbing the lighter. He provoked the flame and brought it near to Jerry's cigarette, lighting it. Pleased with the whole situation, Jerry took in a puff, breathing in as much he could. Unsurprisingly, he started coughing.
"Ugh! Poison!" said Jerry, spitting. "But what was I expecting? This is why I don't do drugs. I value my purity. Putting that garbage in my body...ha. What's the point?"
"Why do you want a cigarette now anyway?" asked Joel, carefully avoiding Jerry's eyes.
"Well," said Jerry, waving the still smoking tobacco in front of Joel's face. "That's how city people live. And I'm curious, in spite of myself, what leads a person to willingly inject poison. There's augments for that you know. They just make you less sick from ingesting poison. They need fancy futuristic technology for that, yet they can't even keep people fed. It's all so disgusting."
"We should not judge their way of life," said Joel quietly.
"Why not?" blared Jerry. "They judged us! Or at least they did. Ah yes, that's...that's what I was looking for here today, Joel. That beauty of metaphor."
Jerry motioned to the sunset, which had finally entered the circle of trees. Jerry beamed in wonder at the beauty of the vision.
"I could just about die happy right now Joel," said Jerry. "I don't think life is going to be any better than-"
Jerry only belatedly felt the pain. At first he wasn't even sure what had happened. Jerry had not, after all, ever been stabbed for. But when he looked down at his abdomen, the truth of the situation was unavoidable. Joel had shanked Jerry with, for whatever it was worth, appeared to be a very clean knife.
"Why did you...?" asked Jerry, in a tone he found amusing in its perplexity. Jerry wasn't even particularly offended that Joel had murdered him. He just couldn't figure out why.
"It was the only way!" screamed Joel, throwing himself down in tears. "I'm so sorry! It wasn't my idea!"
"You know what?" said Jerry. "Just...just shut up Joel. Do you have any water?"
Joel hurriedly took out a water bottle from his bag and handed it to Jerry. Even as he sat there dying, Jerry marveled in the remaining clarity of his dying mind. He could see that the tumbler was almost totally full.
"Weren't you thirsty?" said Jerry. "I mean, never mind the part about killing me. You're sweating bullets. Aren't you dehydrated?"
"Of course not!" said Joel, even as he stared with longing at the water Jerry was hurriedly drinking down. "Why, I completely forgot that I even had it..."
Jerry smiled in spite of himself. He felt like he was going delusional, drifting out of consciousness. But there were still some things he had to do first, before he surrendered to the warmth of the autumn sunset and breathed his last.
"Joel," said Jerry patiently, "you understand that I consider you one of my greatest friends, right?"
"No," whispered Joel.
"And you know I'm not mad at you for killing me," said Jerry. "I'm sure you had your reasons."
"They were stupid selfish reasons," said Joel, tears in his eyes. "You'd never understand them."
"More like I don't have time to," said Jerry, coughing. "But it's OK. Really, it is. I mean, I was just saying how...ha...couldn't resist the timing huh?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Look," Jerry said, struggling to take in his last breaths. "I've met a lot of nasty, miserable people in this world Joel. Myself included. And I can honestly say that of all those people, you're probably the only genuinely decent human being I've ever met. It's an honor to die by your hand."
At this point Joel broke down completely. He fell down crying into Jerry's lap. Jerry stroked Joel's auburn hair as he strained to use what else was left at the strength to look at the sunset. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his eyes open.
"It's my own damn fault anyway," said Jerry. "Cassidy told me...that I'd already won. That all I had to do was let the rest of it play out. But I refused. I can kind of see it now, that clarity...it's no wonder that Cassidy wanted to die for so long...I can see how much she would enjoy...a moment like this..."
"What did you say?" said Joel, briefly breaking off from his emotional outburst at great difficulty. "Cassidy said that? But that's...that's impossible...there's no way she could be wrong..."
"Believe it buddy," said Jerry. "This wasn't in the dream. That much I'm quite positive of."
"But then how?!" said Joel, furiously shaking Jerry, briefly shocking him with adrenaline enough to let him last a few more precious seconds. "How did you change the future?! I need to know Jerry! If I know, I can still fix this!"
"It wasn't her, exactly," said Jerry, whispering, trailing off in his own thoughts. "But I got a warning...that I'd won, but I could still save her...I could still save her..."