Hit The Road Jack
Regulus sat slouched in the wooden chair, his head hanging low, a damp ice bag pressed against his bruised eye. The coolness felt like a blessing, even if it didn’t do much to numb the pain. His split lip throbbed, and the taste of blood still lingered on his tongue, a reminder of the chaos he’d just been through.
The two policemen stood across from him, one typing away at a typewriter with a rhythm that grated against Regulus's nerves, the clacking of the keys louder than it had any right to be in the small, dimly lit room. The other man, a big, broad officer with a thick neck and a perpetual scowl, glared down at him from behind his desk.
"Alright, boy," the officer barked, his voice low. "We’ve been at this for hours now, an’ you still ain't told us a damn thing we believe. Who organized that protest?" His eyes were narrowed, flicking over Regulus like he was nothing more than a specimen to be poked and prodded.
Regulus didn’t flinch. Instead, he lifted his head just slightly, meeting the officer’s gaze with a smirk that only made his bruised face hurt more.
"I already told you, sheriff," he kept his voice steady despite the pain. "I was the one who did it. Ain’t nobody else behind it but me."
The officer at the typewriter paused, his fingers hovering over the keys for a split second, before he clicked his tongue in frustration. "Cut the damn crap," he muttered, not looking up from his work. "We know it was some nigger behind it, prob’ly got one o' them troublemakers like James Lawson or Robert Church spinnin’ their webs. Ain’t no way a white boy’s gonna be on their side. Not like you."
Regulus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. He’d heard worse.
"Already told y’all, I don’t know what else you want from me," Regulus said, his words crisp, the smirk never leaving his face. "I did it, I organized it. Ain’t no black man’s name behind this mess, so quit usin’ ‘em to cover up your own damn ignorance."
The officer slammed his fist on the desk, causing the typewriter to jump with the impact. "You think we’re dumb, boy? You think we believe a white man’d stand with those damn niggers, protestin' like them animals? Ain’t no way in hell. You tellin' me it was you, huh? He leaned in, spit barely missing Regulus’s face as he hissed, "We ain't stupid."
Regulus felt his anger rise, but he swallowed it down. He had to keep his cool. He couldn’t let them see the fire inside him. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t.
"I told ya already, I ain’t playin’ no games," he replied coolly. "I did it. No one else but me. I ain't lyin'. What, you expect me to start namin' names like Randolph or Bunche? They ain't got nothin' to do with this. I’m the one who set it all up."
The first officer, growing angrier by the second, leaned forward. "You better stop playin' with us. You think we don’t know what’s goin’ on? You think we don’t know you’re part of that mess over there? You all, with your ideas 'bout equal rights, you’re gonna tear this place apart. Hell, I reckon if you want to keep on with your little act, we'll make sure you don't see the light o' day for a long time, boy."
Regulus stared them both down. He knew they weren’t going to believe him. They couldn't fathom the idea of a white man fighting for the same rights as a black man. Not in 1950s Memphis. Not here.
"Can we wrap this up, Sheriff?" Regulus said after a long pause, his voice steady but carrying an edge of finality. "I’m tired of talkin’. Y’all ain’t gonna believe me anyway, so what’s the point?"
The officer at the desk let out a low growl of frustration, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk as if he wanted to hit Regulus again. Then the door swung open, and in stepped a woman whose presence seemed to fill the room immediately. She was dressed immaculately, as if she’d stepped out of one of those high-society magazines that graced the better parts of Memphis. Her fur stole draped over her shoulders, and her heels clicked against the floor with each step, echoing sharply in the small room.
"Regulus!" Walburga Black snapped, her voice sharp, even cutting. But she didn’t speak to him. No, her attention was squarely on the two officers who now looked like they wished the floor would open up and swallow them whole.
The officers exchanged nervous glances. The big one with the thick neck was the first to stammer something out, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Ma'am, what... uh... what are ya doin' here?"
Walburga’s eyes narrowed. "You’ve got my son, and you’ve got the guts to ask me what I’m doing here?" she demanded, her voice rising with righteous fury. "Release him. Immediately. Now."
Regulus couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the officers shrink back at the sheer force of his mother’s presence. He grin widened, watching the two officers suddenly grow pale, their demeanor shifting from cocky to apologetic in an instant.
"Well, well, well," Walburga said with a smug, satisfied air, clearly relishing the moment. "It’s good to see you finally put two and two together."
The officer stammered again, looking as if he'd been caught with his pants down. "I’m... I’m real sorry, Mrs. Black. Didn’t know... didn’t know he was your son. We... we didn’t mean no harm. We, uh..." He cleared his throat, stepping forward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to rectify the situation. "We didn’t mean any offense, ma’am. Don’t worry, we won’t arrest him or nothin' like that."
Regulus couldn't hide the smirk anymore. He watched the policemen’s faces twist in panic and realization. These were men who’d likely never had to answer to someone like Walburga Black, someone whose wealth and influence stretched far beyond Memphis.
She stood tall, arms crossed now, her eyes narrowed in that predatory way of hers as she took in the two men cowering before her. "That's better. And don’t let me catch you trying this nonsense again."
Regulus let out a small, almost inaudible laugh, one that only Walburga heard, though she didn’t acknowledge it.
"Well then," Regulus said loudly, breaking the tension in the room, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It’s been real, gentlemen. Had a good time hangin' out with y’all, but I guess I’m free to go now." He lifted himself slowly from the chair, ice pack still pressed to his face, his every movement exaggeratedly slow, as if to prove just how little he cared about the situation.
The officers stood frozen, unsure of what to do next, and for a moment, the atmosphere in the room stood still. Regulus gave them one last look, his eyes flashing with an irreverence that matched his mother’s own sharp wit.
"Guess I’ll be on my way," he said, giving a mock salute to the men before stepping toward the door. "See y’all around."
...
The ride home was steeped in silence, thick and suffocating. The only sound was the steady hum of the car’s engine, the rhythmic crunch of tires against the road. Regulus sat beside his mother in the back seat, pressing the now-melting ice pack to his bruised eye. He didn’t look at her, and she sure as hell didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. The storm was already brewing beneath her immaculate composure.
The moment they stepped into the grand Black family estate, Walburga spun on him, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
"Care to explain," she said, her voice deceptively even, "why I had to fetch my son from the goddamn police station? Why my son, a Black, was arrested at a manifestation?"
Regulus exhaled sharply, tossing the ice pack onto a side table. He met her glare without flinching.
"Cause I organized it," he said.
For a second, just a second, her face went blank, like she couldn’t even process the words. Then, fury descended like a thunderclap.
"You what?"
"I organized it," Regulus repeated, sharper now. "I planned it. I spoke to people. I made sure they knew where t'go, when t'go..."
Walburga’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist so tight it hurt. "You did this? You stood in the streets, side by side with 'em, like you ain't got an ounce of sense in your damn head?"
Regulus yanked his arm free. "I know exactly what I did."
Her voice rose, laced with disgust. "We are Blacks! We have a reputation, a name that means something in this town! And you... You... What the hell do you think people'll say when they find out my son was out there." She stopped herself, exhaling sharply, nostrils flaring. "I let you go too far. I let you sing their songs, let you slum around those little bars, but this, this is somethin’ else."
Regulus scoffed. "Let me?"
"Yes, let you." Her hands curled into fists. "And look where that got us! I gave you a hand, and you took the whole goddamn arm! You’ve been running ‘round town with those people, making a damn fool out of yourelf and this family."
"Those people," Regulus echoed mockingly.
"Yes, those people," Walburga snapped. "Negroes. And don’t you get smart with me, boy. You’re my son, and you will not disgrace this family. From now on, you are forbidden to talk to them. You are forbidden to step foot in those filthy places, sing those songs, or so much as think about their kind;"
Regulus let out a bitter laugh. "Forbidden? I’m seventeen, you can’t forbid me..."
"I can and I will!" she shouted. "You live under my roof, you eat my food, you are my son, and you will do as I say!"
Something in Regulus snapped. His jaw clenched, hands curling at his sides. "No. I won’t."
Walburga’s eyes darkened. "What did you just say to me?"
Regulus stepped forward, voice steady, but seething. "I said I won’t. I will keep goin’ where I want, talkin’ to who I want, singin’ whatever the hell I want. I will stand next to them. Fight for them. I don’t give a damn what you say—"
Walburga’s lip curled. "Oh, I knew it. I knew you’d been infected, runnin’ round with them, mixin’ yourself in things that ain’t got nothin’ to do with you. You’re a Black, Regulus, not one of them! No matter how much you play at it, you will never be one of them!"
Regulus’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, rage boiling over, drowning every rational thought.
“You out there in the streets, standin’ with them like you one of ‘em, gettin’ yourself locked up like some no-account criminal! You got no shame, no sense, no respect for the name you carry!” She let out a bitter, shaking laugh, her lip curling. “I shoulda known. Shoulda known where this was all leadin’. Ain’t just their songs you love, is it?”
Regulus felt his whole body go taut.
Walburga stepped closer, her voice dripping with venom. “You a Negro lover, ain't you?”
Silence rang between them, thick and suffocating.
Regulus lifted his chin, eyes blazing. “You’re right,” he said, voice shaking but steady. “I sure as hell am a Negro lover. I don’t just sing their songs. I don’t just stand beside ‘em. I don’t just fight for ‘em." His breath came hard and fast, but he pushed the words out anyway, shoving them in her face like a live grenade. "I’ve slept with a black man."
The slap cracked through the air, ringing in his ears before the pain even registered. His head snapped to the side, his already bruised lip splitting further.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Regulus could feel his own breath, feel the sting blooming across his cheek.
Walburga’s hand trembled, still raised.
"You filthy, disgusting." she whispered, breathless with rage.
Regulus looked at her, then, slowly, turned on his heel. Without another word, he climbed the stairs.
Regulus stormed up the stairs two at a time, his breath sharp, his ribs aching from where the police had gotten their hands on him. His eye still throbbed, and his hands shook with fury, but none of it compared to the fire burning in his chest. Behind him, Walburga’s voice rang through the house like a gunshot.
“How dare you!” she shrieked, her heels pounding against the steps as she followed. “How dare you lay with a Negro man under my roof!”
Regulus shoved his bedroom door open, his fingers tight around the doorknob. He wanted to slam it in her face, shut her out like she deserved, but before he could, she shoved her way inside, her eyes wild with fury.
“That boy,” she spat, voice dripping with venom. “It’s him, ain’t it? The one that brought you home the other night? The one with the glasses?”
Regulus turned to her, fists clenching at his sides. “His name’s James,” he snapped.
Walburga let out a sharp, hollow laugh, shaking her head in disgust. “Tell me, Regulus, you gonna be man enough to own up to your mistakes?”
Regulus’s jaw tightened so hard it ached. “He ain’t a mistake.”
“Oh, but you are,” she hissed. “I shoulda known you’d turn out like this. I let you run wild too long, let you fill your head with all that nonsense. But this? This?” Her hands curled into fists. “This is where it ends.”
Regulus shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Yeah? And what exactly is this to you?”
“You know damn well what I mean,” she snapped. “Messin’ where you don’t belong. Takin’ up with them. And now this? You lyin’ down with some jigaboo like a common whore?”
Regulus saw red. His whole body burned with rage, with something bigger than fury, something deep and aching and hateful. He stepped closer, defiance curling his lips. “Yeah?” His voice dropped to something sharp and taunting. “That what you wanna hear, Mama? That I been in his bed? That I love him?”
Walburga’s face twisted in revulsion. “You best shut your mouth, boy.”
“I love him,” Regulus said again, spitting the words like a challenge. "And he loves me as well."
The second slap came faster than the first, so sharp it sent his head snapping to the side. His skin stung, his lip reopened, the taste of blood flooding his mouth.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Walburga exhaled, long and slow, like she was regaining control. Her voice was low, lethal. “You will not see that man again.”
Regulus scoffed, stepping away from her. He yanked open his wardrobe, shoving clothes into the old duffel bag at the bottom.
“Regulus,” Walburga warned, voice tight.
He ignored her, tossing shirts, pants, anything he could grab into the bag.
“You hear me, boy?” Her voice rose. “You see that man again, you best hit the road and don’t you come back no more.”
Regulus froze, his breath coming hard and fast. Then, he turned, staring her dead in the eye, a slow, bitter smile curling his lips.
"You’re the meanest old woman I ever seen," he said, voice thick with something between rage and heartbreak. "But I guess if you said so… I’ll have to pack my things and go."
And he did.
He ripped more clothes from the wardrobe, his movements rough, reckless. His hands shook, but not from fear. He wasn’t afraid of her. Not anymore.
Walburga stood stiff in the doorway, her face pale with fury. "You just ain't my son no more.” she spat, voice shaking.
Regulus let out a low, hollow chuckle as he zipped the bag shut. “Yeah?” He slung it over his shoulder, turning to face her one last time. "Then I guess I better get outta this house, then."
And without another word, he shoved past her, stepping out of his bedroom and then out of that house for the last damn time.
And he didn’t look back.
...
Regulus slammed the car door shut, his hands still shaking as he tossed his bag into the backseat. The engine roared to life, and for a moment, the sound was all he could focus on. It was as if it might drown out the storm inside his chest. His grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles were white, and he pushed the pedal down, taking off down the road with no destination in mind.
He wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. All he knew was that he had to get out of that house, away from her, away from her cruel words.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and for a second, he could barely see through the blur. He bit the inside of his cheek, desperate to push back the emotions threatening to spill over. But it was no use.
He wasn’t the kind of person to cry, not in front of anyone, not ever. But right now, there was no fighting it. There was a tight, raw ache in his chest that made it hard to breathe, hard to think, and all he wanted was for it to stop.
He slammed his fist against the wheel once, twice. But that only made it worse. He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t know if he even should go anywhere. He thought about turning to Evan or Barty. They might take him in, offer him some kind of refuge. But then the weight of that thought hit him. He’d have to explain. He’d have to explain what happened. He couldn’t do that, not yet. Not with his mind all over the place, not when he was still so angry, so... broken.
Regulus swerved to the side of the road, the tires kicking up gravel as the car jerked to a stop. His hands dropped to the steering wheel, and he buried his face in them. His breath came in short, erratic gasps, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out everything, his mother’s voice, the sting of her words, the suffocating weight of the life that had always been expected of him.
But then, through the tears, something caught his eye.
His ring.
The little silver band on his finger glinted and a sharp, painful rush of longing washed over him. He remembered the way James had looked at him when he gave Regulus that ring, the way his fingers had brushed against his skin like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. Regulus’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he thought of James’s lips, the heat of his touch, the way James made him feel. The way James had always been there when Regulus needed him, even when he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
God, he needed him.
He knew the risks. He knew how dangerous it was to go into the parts of town where James lived. It wasn’t just about the police, it was about his family, about what the Klan would think if they ever found out. But none of that mattered. Not when it came to James.
The tears blurred his vision again, but this time, it wasn’t just anger or pain. It was longing. A need that was deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. He needed James’s arms around him. He needed to feel his warmth, his comfort, his love.
With a deep breath, Regulus wiped his face with the back of his hand, then threw the car into gear. The engine roared again, and he drove, faster this time, not caring about the risk, not caring about anything but the pull toward the only place that felt like home.
I’ll be with him he thought fiercely, his grip tightening on the wheel. I’ll be with him, no matter what.
And as the road ahead stretched out in front of him, Regulus only had one thought left: I need James.
Regulus didn’t know what happened. One minute, he was gripping the wheel, his mind racing, and the next, everything blurred, the world around him spinning faster than he could make sense of.
And then, the horn.
The shrill, deafening sound sliced through his foggy mind. He jerked his head up, eyes wide, instinctively slamming on the brakes. The blinding lights from an oncoming car shot through the darkness. There was a shout, somebody yelling at him, but the words didn’t make it through. Everything felt muffled, distant, like he was underwater.
"Oh God" Regulus thought in a panic, his heart thudding painfully against his chest.
In the chaos, it felt like everything was happening all at once. His body was rigid, every nerve on edge, his pulse pounding as the car swerved across the road, and just as quickly, everything went dark.
His last thought before everything went black was of James, of his face, the way his lips felt against his, the way his body felt like it could be home in a world that had never made sense. It was like time had just slipped away from him, and all he could do was lie there, dazed, disoriented, in a silence that felt suffocating. He wanted to reach out for something, anything, but his body didn’t respond, his limbs too heavy, his mind too foggy.
The last thing he thought was James.