by Kerri Ann
If we can go out to dinner, maybe I’ll ask her then? China is supposed to be around too. She promised to be around later for a heart to heart. Since Dad’s death, China’s become reserved and standoffish with me. It unusual for us to be this way because we talk to each other about everything. Tonight, while it’s quiet, we’re going to slip out to the track for a few passes. It’s when we talk the most, when oil is burnt and rubber is shredded on the edges. I’m going to kick her ass and she’ll bitch, but I’ll love it even more because I know she’s gaining on my ass daily. The track has always been the decider for me. It’s what fuels me and makes me breathe a little easier, and China pushing me makes me better.
“What would you like for dinner tonight, love?” I ask Circe as I absently stroke the back of her hand with mine.
She shrugs, but the movement seems tight, telling me she’s still not relaxed. “Honestly, I slammed back a few slices of veggie pizza before I hopped on the plane. I could do with something light.”
“I think we could manage that,” Mother states. “Circe, would you mind handing me my phone? It’s there, in the console. I’ll call Cassidy to make up a light snack plate for us instead of going out.” Avoiding calling James is what she’s doing, but I’ll let it slide tonight.
Pulling her hand free of mine, I lift my arm up so Circe can reach into the console.
“Shoot. Hang on.” Trying to veer around a pothole in the roadway causes Circe to drop the phone at my feet.
“Crap, hang on. I’ll grab that. Sorry, Mrs. Crown.”
So she can reach down by my driving foot, Circe loosens her belt and tilts over.
“Please, remember to call me Marca, Circe,” she reminds Circe as she bends close to me.
Trying to keep my concentration on the road and away from Circe’s mouth so close to my cock, I look up to the rearview to distract myself. My mother winks, then grins. It’s so wide, I’d say she’s related to the Cheshire cat. Looking down to the floor for just a second, I kick the phone closer to the seat.
I move my leg over a bit to give Circe access. “Is that easier now? I think I got it closer to the—”
There’s a screeching of tires. Metal scrapes and tears, and the indescribable volume of cars banging against each other is deafening. Shifting like dinky toys on a track, I watch the white rose petals fly like confetti.
I know the outcome of this; someone will die.
The last thing I see is the deep russet of blood dripping onto the crisp white petals as they crash against the dash, splitting the perfect roses into a shattered mess.
That’s when the world goes black.
To Be Continued....
The heart knows what it wants. The soul cries out for its mate, and loss is inevitable. There’s no way around death. Death sucks.
I watch the rose petals fall all around me like heavy snowflakes crashing to the ground. They’re warped, tangled, and coated in dark blood—a color that consumes you in darkness and despair. Something has happened—something epic and life-changing.
Will I survive it?
Do I want to? Has anyone else lived? Am I dead, watching from afar the carnage of the Reaper and his evil will? I’ve been a party to so much death, you’d think I could handle the outcome. The crushing pall of disaster as it leeches into the pavement taints my already broken soul.
There were three of us in the car, three of us alive. Three people who had finally had a moment where we all felt content. Our appetite for mental mayhem had come to a boiling point, and I was finally able to feel at peace for a few brief moments.
Am I hopeful that we’re all alive? That no one perished? Yes. For that I would be eternally grateful.
If we’re to live another day, I will do everything I can to correct my shortcomings, the family’s pain, and that of our lives moving forward.
I’ll find a way to fix it all.
Feeling tired and exhausted, I drift off. Dreaming, I’m hoping for a change in my future—in our futures.
WYATT
After the dust settles, and the last vestiges of beauty still hang in the air, that’s when you have the best memories of your current dream. The flashes. The whispers of greatness.
Stretched out on my monster Cali King, with thick fluffy pillows, lying comfortably in my home, I wake to her beside me, with her strawberry colored hair fanning out around her, she’s enticing and erotic. Her prone, naked, glorious body is strapped to the bed, spread out like a buffet. My Circe.
Searching, exploring, and teasing every inch of her body has been what’s kept me off the track today. She knows how to pull every stop, where to nip, full-on bite, and crush every expectation I’ve ever had. I’ve never had inhibitions that seemed untouchable. They’re unnecessary, and easily overcome.
She’s pushed them further.
This is what I want my reality to be. This is a moment I’ve always hoped for. Clarity in my own mind.
Watching the vision fall out of focus, a tightness shoots through every nerve in my body.
“Clear!”
The dream scatters like smoke. My clarity is removed, disappointing me as it dissipates. As the sounds of home dissolve, other sounds become heightened. Motions become exponentially crisp. The sound of blood rushing through my ears almost drowns it out.
With a sharp pain radiating through my body, the loud beeping of machines and shouting voices increases.
“I got him back,” someone says. The words are clouded, but the urgency in their tone is unmistakable. “Get him in. Let’s go.” The words are rushed and authoritative.
Opening my eyes, my lashes wipe away the whispering ghosts that clouded my sight. Blinking past them, looking around as best I can, a face I don’t recognize comes into view. Her russet hair is pulled into a tight ponytail. Her face is makeup free, and her bright green eyes remind me of Circe. She’s pretty, but she’s not her.
What happened to us? My thoughts feel important, but they slip away quickly.
Everything is hazy, and my memory fades into a dense fog. “Where are they?” I ask, my voice gravelly.
“Sorry?” Bending low, the woman pulls the mask gently away from my mouth. “Repeat that, please?”
Like the words will be clearer the second time. Every word is a fight. Trying my best anyway, I force them out. “Where. Are. They?”
“We’ll get you out of here soon. Let’s look after you. You’re our priority, Mr. Crown.” Her voice is like listening to music underwater. With a look of sadness, she produces a counterfeit smile before pulling a blanket across my chest, flitting with the edges. “You can find out about them after, okay?”
Why does she seem worried? What happened? And where the fuck am I?
Taking the woman’s horrible advice, I force myself to relax. I try to remember where we were, what we were doing, and I’m finding it hard to think coherently as everything is broken and splintered. Time is not my friend.
That dream. Was it real? It felt tangible. If I can’t remember what happened, then I want that back. In this condition, though, I can’t argue with her. I have no energy. My body is tired, and I can’t even lift my head. My body feels like it’s being held down by weights.
Fuck, I feel like I’ve raced for hours.
Resigning against the numbing pain, I slump back to accept her ministrations.
Looking around us, it seems we’re on a freeway. The lights are dim, the sun is gone, and the moon is just cresting the sky. Nothing is discernible. Feeling the gurney jolt as we ride across the pavement, it lifts as we enter the back of the open ambulance with a thunk. The lights inside are painfully bright against the stark white interior of the cabin, making me squint.
“We’re going to be moving shortly, sir.” Moving my head to look for the voice, I see a muscular guy, who’s about my age, pulling out tubes, wires, and plugs and such. “I have to get an IV set, and you’ll hear some beeping from the monitors. Can you concentrate on that?”
I hear his desperate urgency to keep
me awake, but it’s hard to focus.
“Squeeze my hand if you understand.”
Placing as much pressure as I can into my grip, he squeezes mine. The big guy smiles, then continues on with what he was doing. Pulling in shallow breaths, one after the other, I try to concentrate on his actions.
“Tasha, we’re good to go.”
As the ambulance moves, the male attendant shuffles around the cabinets, pulling out this and that, flicking switches, pulling cords, and adjusting the blankets that are lying across my body.
Lying still, I feel out my injuries. The cataloguing keeps me present in the here and now. First is toes. Left foot works. Right foot’s good. Next I try my hands. Right’s working. Left…nothing. I try again, but still nothing.
“My. Hand?” Croaking out the words.
“It’s in a splint. You broke your forearm and wrist when you crashed.”
Crashed?
I crashed? I never crash. On the track, my life is a series of crashes, busted bones, split lips, fractured hips and swollen fingers. But on the freeway, on side streets, and in a fucking family car, I don’t crash.
“What. Happened?” I ask slowly. I’m hoping he’ll be the one who gives me the answers I need.
“You were sideswiped by a transport on the Intercoastal. They extricated you.”
“Where. Are. They?” Forcing enough air into my lungs to speak in a single breath, he pulls the blanket higher, resting it right below my chin. Again, I see the same crestfallen look on his face that I saw on the woman.
“They’ll be coming along. You were the last one out. The car was squashed up so tight against the rail, it took them a bit to get to you.”
“Are. They. Safe?”
Reaching across to push a few buttons on the monitor, he looks me in the eyes. I don’t like what I’m seeing. “I can’t say right now, Mr. Crown. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Filling a syringe, he reaches down and says, “This should help you with the pain.”
Immediately, I feel a cool rush travel through my arm. My eyes grow heavy and my mind calms. Whatever was in that syringe has now made me pliant and serene. It’s not the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last time for me either.
~~~~~~~
As they check monitors, lines, fluid levels, and various listings on the chart, the people scrambling around the room continue on without speaking to me directly. I hear them ask someone how I am, how my pain is being managed, and if I need more or less drugs to deal with the pain, but not once do they ask me. Recognizing the voice that’s answering, I know it’s my sister Doll. Why aren’t they asking me?
How are the others? Where’s Circe? Where’s Mother?
Everything is so confusing. Everything is out of place. I remember fire trucks, ambulances, race cars, bikes in the mountain, family fights, and her.
Always her. Her brilliant green eyes and her radiant red hair. Her sarcasm, strong wit, and fire. All I want to know is how she is? How they are.
Fuck me. I’m tired in all the ways that count. Wanting to rest my eyes, that’s when the loud beeping starts its incessant squealing again. Alarms sound on the monitors and nurses run in, cussing like truckers, and immediately I feel cold.
That’s when they appear. I see them. The spectres are standing by in the shadows, awaiting me and mine. I don’t wish to give them the joy of gathering another Crown into their midst, so I fight.
I’ll fight because I have to.
CIRCE
Shattered, marbled, star-faced glass surrounds me. As each one lays around me in a thousand improper pieces, they wait to be pieced back together. It’s like the most treacherous, and trickiest jigsaw puzzle imaginable. I feel broken. I remember when everything was solid, when my life felt contained, and held promise.
“Miss? Can you hear me?” I feel as if I’m drowning in a pool of mud. It’s thick and gooey. It won’t allow me to budge. My tongue is thick, my mind is hazy, and all of it leaves me unable to form a coherent answer. Even though I feel the motions of others tugging, pulling, and shoving me as they scurry to free us from our bonds, I feel far away and disconnected.
“She’s in and out of consciousness,” someone says.
“Where’s that stretcher?” Another yells franticly into the deafness of the night.
This shouldn’t be happening to me.
This can’t be happening again.
Life isn’t that cruel to do this to me twice, is it? The end result will be just as catastrophic as it was before, and I’m scared by that.
Once, there was this shattering effect on my life, and at that time, I had the courage to set myself on the only path available. I picked my ass up, without bitching about what shouldn’t have happened, and I learned how to pass grief by. It was like watching headlights in the rearview mirror as a car slips into the night. This time, though, I don’t think I can keep it together.
“Miss, I’m going to help you out of there.” A kind and gentle voice breaks through the murkiness. Engaging my attention for a split second, they say, “I need you to stay awake for me.”
Awake? It’s too hard. Staying awake seems impossible. I want to sleep. I want to let it all fall to the Fates. I want to free myself of the repetitive pain that I know awaits me. There’d be no more cares about who I make happy, who I’ve disappointed, and no more worries about...well, just no more worries.
After promising myself I’d never be here again, I struggle with the end result. Feeling weak and unable to deal with the pain, I’m crushed that I may have no choice.
Muffled voices speak in somber tones, conversing around me. Vaguely, I make out snippets of, “Is she,” or “Is he?” And even though they’re just small questions that are denuded of inflection, they convey an awful weight. They must be accustomed to this carnage, this Death. Boy, did I notice him. Feeling the exact moment when Death crept across my soul, he was close. Close enough that laying out my hand, I’d feel him brush up against my skin. His decrepit grin was disturbing, and that sickly smile passed his features as he took someone from my life. Even though I had no idea who he’d taken, I still felt his cool lips touch my cheek.
Death had kissed me on the way by.
My body doesn’t react to the cool of the night, even as it kisses my bare and bleeding skin. I don’t feel the warmth of helping hands touching me as they work to free me from the tangled mess either. Disengaging myself, it’s like I’m a spectator in the peripheral, where everything is detached and disconnected.
As time passes in a blink, or what feels like a blink, I drift away.
I’m wishing to vanish.
~~~~~~~~~
Awaking to the rushing of doctors, nurses, various assistants and interns, it was strangely unsettling. My mind compartmentalized them into the background. They’re there, but in their own dark world. Bouncing and popping into my clouded sight, they dissipate like an unsettled dream. When opening my eyes after a restless sleep, this feels just the same. It’s disconnected, discombobulated, and rough.
Beside my head is a woman in deep pink scrubs leaning over me. She’s so close, I feel her breath on my face.
“Jackson, I need you on this side.”
The lovely lady pulls at my eyelids, flashing a light, and gently checks my head with her fingers. Pushing and poking, it feels like lightning striking my brain. Every nerve in my head screams. The tang of copper coats my tongue, and my lips feel like they’re coated in flour. My nose is scratchy, and I so badly want to ask for a Kleenex. I’m afraid, though, that my brains will spill out.
“Miss Maco? I’m Callie Ethan, your surgeon. You can call me Dr. Callie. You have a mighty large contusion on your forehead, a broken wrist, and three broken ribs. Two of them are sticking out of your shirt, love. I believe you have extensive internal bleeding.” Tugging lightly on a few cables being suctioned to my chest before talking again, she smiles down at me. “Is there anything you can tell me that will help to better assess you?”
Opening my mouth to
speak, my head screams to halt all motions. Got it, body. Point taken. No speaking.
“Do you have any allergies, or anything we should know about, honey? Blink twice if you do.” When she says ‘honey’ comes out smooth, with a southern drawl, like ‘hawnnie.’
I blink once.
“Okay, Circe. Can I call you Circe?” She smiles, knowing that I won’t answer her question. “We’ll be taking you to surgery in a few minutes. Don’t you worry none, sweetie. You’re in good hands.” Her soft smile makes me feel comfortable, even though my instincts scream to run like hell.
“You’ll wake feeling refreshed, and happier than a bug in June.”
Seeing her inject a liquid into the IV that rests in my hand, I feel a cool rush.
In less than to the count of three, I’m out.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep.
Coming to, the machines constant chatter in the background is a soft, consistent hum. It’s almost melodic. I slowly open my scratchy eyes and take in the space. There’s a set of stark white curtains, a clock on the wall that says three-fifteen, and other than my prone body, there’s not much else. Everything aches, though, so I bet that’s a good sign.
As the door to the room opens, allowing the sounds from the outside in, I joyously anticipate the visitor I want to see. I only need to know that they’re alive. As my heart rate increases with giddy joy, the curtains are thrown open wide. In her bright outfit, the lovely southern surgeon walks in. Leaning over the edge of my bed and smiles.
“Well, sugar. Glad you’re back.”
Holding the petite flashlight in her hand, she sweeps it back and forth across my eyes, then flicks her fingers. She’s smiling and humming to her own musical tune as she removes her stethoscope from around her shoulders and begins to count beats. When she’s done, she asks, “How you feelin?” as she absently goes over my damages.