The Girl In The Road
Cartwright-Fawls always hated this stretch of the journey.
Well, perhaps “hate” is too strong a word, he thought. But it certainly makes me itch. “Dislike” is probably a better word.
It was bad enough at the best of times because it was a country lane barely wide enough for one vehicle. And February, at night time and no street lamps did not qualify, in his opinion, as the best of times. Most definitely not. That title would go to any June morning, around eleven, with no clouds in the sky. Preferably Sunday.
Altogether, the time of year, time of night and narrowness of the lane came together to make for one horrible driving experience.
Unfortunately, it was the only way after leaving the arterial road from the city where he worked as a realtor to get to the village he lived in.
Nothing he could do about that, really.
They kept talking about widening it, but it would never happen, he knew that. Heritage site, ancient woodland, natural habitat of some stupid newt or other, area of outstanding beauty and all that guff.
Besides, he loved it most of the time. Those things, after all, at least contributed why he chose to live there, rather than in the actual city.
Benefits offered by the location, as one of his property descriptions might say,
He could easily afford a luxury penthouse in one of the exclusive city centre high rises, but the stone converted watermill he called home, he’d never trade. Ever. He’d got it at a knock down price by convincing a naive client that it was too quirky and would therefore never sell quickly.
That was a phrase he’d invented: if something was too quirky to sell quickly, the client would be better off selling to him for a quick turnaround, albeit at a price well below market values.
Then he’d mostly convert them into holiday lets as Properties With Character.
Character which he himself would sometimes add to make them even quirkier. Features such as twisted ceiling beams, and doorframes so low just about everyone would bang their head on them.
He was a multi-millionaire just taking into account the value of his property portfolio and the rentals it brought in. Along with the other pies he had fingers in, they added up to make him a man of means.
And his watermill was especially quirky: the stream running at the side made a pleasant enough noise, but he’d had a wheel built and installed. It didn’t turn any millstones, because it wasn’t as if he were in the flour producing business.
No. He’d had it built on a whim, and part of his brief to the builder was that it should produce a pleasant soothing noise as it turned.
He didn’t watch television or subscribe to any of the film on demand services. His evenings were spent on his business, and he paused occasionally while attending to paperwork to let the sounds of the stream and the steady creak of the wheel flow around him.
So he could hardly complain about is wealth or the life it brought him. But that didn’t make his daily journey to and from his office, and this road in particular, any less inconvenient, any less irritating.
After all, what was the point of having such a powerful car if he couldn’t ram it down the road? Especially when there were no cameras watching.
His mouth set in a tight line and he snorted through his nose.
Super frustrating, he thought. Perhaps you should consider one of those flying cars the South Koreans have developed.
He jolted out of his musings, suddenly alert.
Up ahead and to the right, headlights flashed. He knew there lay a bend at that point, barely visible through the trees at the best of times, and totally invisible at night.
He dipped his beams and slowed down, commending himself on his forbearance, his driving skills, his ability to read the road. He looked for a gap to pull into so he could allow the other person to pass.
There’s a space up there, about 50 metres, he thought, then noticed the other set of lights didn’t seem to be advancing.
He grinned. They must have found somewhere and pulled over. All righty!
He accelerated slightly, the way some people walk a little faster to get to an entrance when a door is being held open for them.
As a way of showing appreciation that the other person is putting themselves out. Returning consideration to those being considerate.
His grin subsided into a smile that he felt beaming all through him, from the kind of warmth that radiates from small acts of selflessness.
Driving like this is a privilege, he thought. It shows how nice people can really be when shove comes to push.
Maybe this lane isn’t such a bad thing after all. Not if it brings that out in people.
He was still smiling and feeling warm when he reached the ninety degree bend in the road, decelerated just enough to still have sufficient speed to show his appreciation to the other driver for yielding, and turned right.
What he saw there erased the smile from his face immediately, and caused his heart and stomach to clench. The other vehicle was not positioned in a lay-by at all.
On the contrary, it was waiting in the middle of the road, almost like an animal waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey.
He stamped on his brake and clutch pedals, but it was too late: he heard a shrieking from his tyres on the road surface, but his car’s momentum carried it forward. His stomach and throat clenched, and he willed it to come to a halt.
It didn’t. The front of his vehicle hardly seemed to slow down and slammed into the other car. Steel under stress squealed as the front end of both cars crumpled on impact.
Oh God, my beautiful car!
His seatbelt dug into his ribs, pumping the air out of his chest.
The airbag exploded outward, up into his face.
Momentum flipped him back against his seat, which her felt give a couple of centimetres, then right itself; the rear of his skull smacked into his head rest.
Physics bounced him forward again into the airbag.
Momentarily, all went blank.
***
And suddenly, he was back. Back and, strangely, on his feet, in the middle of the road.
No hint of a headache, or bruising. Bewildered, he looked around.
His own car was nowhere to be seen.
At his feet lay the body of a young woman. Her eyes were open and lifeless, dull in the glare of the headlights of a vehicle beyond her.
A vehicle that was, by chance, the same model as his own.
Her hair fanned out around her head, and was soaked in blood. To one side lay a mangled bicycle, LED lamps flashing futilely.
He patted his pockets to locate his phone, got it out. No signal. Still, he had to try. The door window on the driver’s side of the car beyond him whirred and slithered down.
A voice, called ‘Are you all right?’ His own voice, it sounded like,but scared
A few seconds of silence, just the dazzle of the headlights.
Then the vehicle’s engine throttled and the car sped away, backwards.
What the hell?
He had no recollection of this. And he would never act that way, leave another human to die without finding out if he could help. He must have misheard that voice.
Maybe, if it was himself, he’d tried to make a call, found the signal problem and sped away to find a spot with a connection?
But why hadn’t he got out?
It must be a hallucination. Had to be. Brought on by the accident he’d just been in. He must have banged his head. When he slammed back against the headrest.
Yes, that must be it. Concussion. Something like that.
After all, where was his own car?
Or perhaps… could it be a warning? A premonition?
‘Are you all right?’ It was his own voice again, but he was not speaking. But no one else seemed to be there.
From the woman came a faint gasp. He jumped in surprise.
‘Oh my God, hold on, hold on.’ He activated the flashlight on his phone and shone it on her, but away from her eyes.
‘If you can hear me, I can’t move you. I need to go find a signal so we can get you to hospital. You’re going to be all right,’
She lifted a hand and pointed at the wall at the side of the road. A sheet was draped over it. Wreaths and floral tributes lay propped against the sheet. He raised his phone to illuminate the sheet better.
On the sheet in red paint was written To the Hit and Run BASTARD who took my Angel from me, and every Other Driver who Speeds Recklessly down this road – I hope you skid, crash, and burn alive in your car. Slowly.
At the bottom, slightly to the right, a small framed photo leaned back against the sheet. The road being only wide enough for one car, he was close enough to see who was the subject of the photo from where he was.
‘I’m sorry this happened to you. I still need to get you an ambulance,’ he said, sweeping the flowers with his flashlight.
He looked down. Woman, bicycle, blood–all had vanished.
He felt a sensation in his lower back as if he were being sucked into some huge pipe whose diameter was not quite wide enough to accommodate him.
And in an instant, he was back in his vehicle, trying to inhale through plastic. His chest stung where it had whipped into his seatbelt, and the back of his head throbbed. The horn was blaring.
He lifted his face out of the airbag.
He pushed against the steering wheel, straightened up in his seat. Broken glass creaked and crunched.
Through the space which had held his windscreen, he saw the wall reflecting the red glow from his taillights. It was now devoid of sheet or flowers.
What the hell just happened?
He patted his pocket, found his phone, took it out. Despite his expectation, there was a healthy signal.
‘Which emergency service should I connect you to?’ said a neutral voice when his call went through.
He explained he had been in an accident, and it was possible someone had been injured.
‘I may have concussion, so I can’t be more specific than that. I think I saw a severely injured woman.’
‘Very well, sir, stay right where you are. Someone’s on their way.’
Around the bend, down the lane from the direction he’d just come, light flashed through the trees.
Growing in intensity came the noise of a car being driven way too fast, wheels squealing with acceleration, getting nearer and nearer.
He clicked his seatbelt, helped it slide back into place, and pushed open the door, intending to get out, try to warn the oncoming driver of the need to slow down.
He lowered a foot in the direction of the road.
His shoe and ankle found themselves entangled in something. He shone the light from his phone screen downwards.
His foot was trapped.
In the spokes of a bicycle wheel.
