STANLEY

The pump clicked, but Echo didn’t notice right away. Her arm sagged as though her hand had forgotten its purpose, and the nozzle dribbled one last drop of fuel onto the pavement. The smell of gasoline lingered in the misty evening air, sharp enough to sting her already sensitive nose.

She blinked then sluggishly stared at her reflection in the backseat window of her car. The twist-out she’d left the house with had collapsed into a messy shapeless afro looking far less than the put together self she preferred.

In her other hand her phone hummed faintly with the automated voice prompt for the thirteenth time, 'the caller is unreachable' . Frustrated, she ends the call swearing under her breath before hitting dial again.

Maybe this time he would pick-up.

Maybe his phone was off the first time.

If he only gets to see her missed call he'll call and they will iron things out. She thought.

Static rang once. Then silence. Then that familiar, flat operator voice.

Her throat tightened. “What the hell, Zach,” she muttered, but the phone had already hung up.

The gas station around her was silent, only the faint hum of overhead lights competing with the distant hiss of cars on the highway. At 8 p.m. the place should have felt alive, teenagers stopping for sodas, tired parents corralling kids, someone fiddling with a lottery ticket, but the mist had settled in thick and the lot was nearly empty. The night was padded, muffled, as if the world had dropped cotton into its own ears.

She yanked the nozzle free, shoved it back into the pump, and slid into her car. She started the engine, the headlights spearing into the fog ahead. Her thumb stabbed Zach’s name again. This time, mercifully, it rang.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Her chest fluttered, then the call clicked into voicemail.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Her voice broke as she cursed, louder this time. The steering wheel absorbed the force of her palm.“Pick up the damn phone, Zach. Just once. Just once today.”

She didn’t leave a message. It wasn't her style and her desperation wasnt going to make her do any different tonight. She’d probably look back it it nights from now and die of cringe in her bed. And what a pathetic way to die it would be.

Her tires rolled out of the gas station and onto the main road. She kept muttering as she drove, phone tossed onto the passenger seat but screen still glowing, as if mocking her. Mist clung to the windshield in uneven patches, and the wipers squealed when she flicked them on.

The day had already been long, but now it felt warped, stretched at the edges. The music on the radio was a low drone she couldn’t process. Her attention drifted back to her phone that now was glowing with Zach’s name on the screen and a wave of relief and excitement washed over her and she reached for her phone. When her lane narrowed, she didn’t see it until the last second.Her tires veered onto the divider line, then across it.

By the time her brain caught up, she jerked the steering wheel too hard. The car fishtailed, bounced over the curb, and crashed straight into a row of stacked crates. The sound was catastrophic, a shattering chorus of ceramic colliding with concrete, splinters of clay bursting in all directions.

The car jolted to a stop. Echo’s body lunged forward and snapped back against the seatbelt. Her phone clattered to the floor.

For a moment there was nothing but her own heartbeat, hammering against her ribs. Then came a scream outside the car, high and sharp, cutting through the fog.

Her headlights had casted a storefront in their beams. A ceramic shop with wide glass windows and cheerful clay pots lined outside. Except now, half of those displays were rubble, shards glittering across the pavement. At the doorway stood a girl, maybe early twenties, her pale skin glowing in the harsh light, hair tied into two pigtails that bobbed as she clutched the door frame, pearing at the disaster infront of her. She wore clothes that were too bright for the dimness of the night, yellows and oranges that looked like someone had torn the pieces of the sun and sewn them onto a fabric.

The girl stared, horrified, unmoving behind the glass door.

Echo shoved open the car door and staggered out. Her legs wobbled, not entirely steady, but the adrenaline carried her forward. She patted herself down: no blood, no broken bones. Relief washed through her but was quickly crashed by an edge of guilt.

“I...oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, words tumbling out before she could organize them. She gestured helplessly at the wreckage. “I didn’t...this wasn’t...damn it.”

The girl was already walking toward her, fast, her eyes locked on Echo with more worry than anger. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine, I think. Just...shaken.” Echo rubbed her forehead, trying to will the fuzziness from her vision. Her nose still burned hot, her head too light.

The girl’s expression softened, until her gaze dropped to Echo’s other hand. The phone was still clutched there, glowing faintly. The girl’s face sharpened.

“Were you on the phone?” she asked almost accusatory.

“What?”

“You were on the phone while driving?” Her voice rose, incredulous.

Echo opened her mouth, closed it. “I—maybe, but I wasn’t—”

The girl spun on her heel, marching back into the shop. “Stan! Stan, come out here, now!” she shouted.

The name reverberated through the quiet shop. A moment later, a tall man stepped out from the shadows inside. He moved slower than the girl, shoulders broad, eyes half-hooded as if he’d been in the middle of something private. His step flattered for a second as he took in the mess, eyes trailing over the broken ceramics to her car then stopping at her. His eyes were sharp, dark, and unyielding. Echo blinked at him, wondering how the crash hadn’t rattled him earlier. The sound had been deafening, loud enough to wake the dead.

“I’ll pay for it,” Echo blurted, words rushing out as though money could glue the shards back together. “All of it. Whatever the cost. I’ll write you a check right now. Please.”

His head tilted. Something in her tone must have rubbed wrong, because a muscle ticked in his jaw. He stepped closer until the headlights cut his face in half, shadow swallowing one side.

“You think this is just about money?” he asked. His voice was low, controlled.

Her lips parted,“Isn’t it?”

But then his eyes narrowed, a grim look in place as his eyes darted between heres back and forth intently.

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly.

The word landed heavy, though she flinched like she’d been caught, “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in, “You smell like it. Your eyes, the way you’re swaying. How much have you had?”

“Nothing,” she lied, too quickly. The faint buzz still swirled in her chest, the one she’d ignored at the gas station.

The man turned to girl in pigtails, “Call the cops.”

“No—wait.” Echo lurched forward, hand outstretched. “Please, don’t. I said I’ll pay, I’ll—”

The girl’s fingers were already dialing, her face taut with fear and resolve. Echo tried again, stepping closer, but the man slid into her path. He wasn’t rough, but his presence was immovable, a wall she couldn’t push through.

“Don’t make this worse,” he warned.

“I’m not making it worse, I’m trying to make it right!” Her voice cracked, chest tight.

The edges of the world seemed to blur, headlights glaring too bright against the fog, the broken ceramics sparkling like cruel stars at her feet.

But the girl was already speaking into the phone. Echo caught fragments, “accident… damage… possibly under the influence.”

Echo’s breath hitched.

“Please,” she whispered again, eyes darting between the girl and the guy infront of her. " We can settle this," she tried again. But her pleas fall on deafened ears.

Fuck!

She couldn’t afford to go to jail right now.

She had work in the morning.

Why the hell did she even drive up this route in the first place? Neither her nor Zach lived on this side of the town.

She considered making a run for her car and driving off. But the man infront of her was on guard and she probably wouldn't make it past three steps.

Minutes stretched like hours. The mist pressed heavier, the wreckage lying scattered, her car crouched at the curb like a beast ashamed of its own hunger. Echo stood there, arms wrapped around herself, the buzz in her head souring into dread.

The first flash of blue and red cut through the fog, sirens muted but close enough to make her stomach drop. Her car’s headlights still blazed ahead, illuminating the ruined shopfront like a stage.

The man didn’t move from where he stood, between her and pigtails girl, between her and the world. Echo felt her knees threaten to buckle, but she stayed upright, eyes locked on the approaching lights.

Well, jail it was.