If she stayed in the soft embankment too long, the heavy vehicle on the rain-soaked ground would sink. With her arm wrapped around the passenger seat, she turned in the driver’s seat as she reversed.
Lights flashed again.
She blinked and squinted, braking to study the latest approaching vehicle. A pick-up truck grew larger and larger behind her. Who was driving? Why so fast? Dread gripped her in its icy clutches.
The other vehicle’s lights flickered again as the driver flashed high beams at close range and swerved on the slick road. The truck crossed the double yellow lines and zagged back, careening along the solid white line.
She studied the nearing vehicle and did a double take.
Owen. He pointed to the side of the road with frantic, sharp gestures and mouthed stay there. He shot her an incredulous look. His expression tight. His eyes wild.
She’d known Owen Thomas nearly her entire life. When they were kids, he’d been in love with her sister. After losing her, he sought Emma for intense conversations about Liz and details about the fateful night that Emma couldn’t remember. The hot, glassy stare he flashed her from the other vehicle sent another wave of unease crashing into her.
She shivered. “Give him grace,” she reprimanded herself.
After all, he’d stayed behind to help his family run their girls’ summer camp. With his obsession for conspiracy theories, he wasn’t capable of holding a job for anyone else.
Emma shook her head and put the SUV in park. Maybe he could tow her out. Or perhaps she’d be better off letting him drive her back to camp. Mrs. Thomas would be disappointed not to have the cake, but Emma wasn’t eager to go any further on the road with so many drivers acting like they were in a video game and not real life.
The lighting and thunder had passed, but rain continued to fall. The cool droplets would help lower her rising body temperature. Unbuckling her seat belt, Emma got out of the car. She needed solid ground under her feet.
Lights approached from the other direction. She turned away from the bright light.
His vehicle crossed in front of hers.
The squealing of tires preceded another roar of a revving engine. This time the sound came from ahead and near.
She glanced up in time to witness a red car crash into Owen’s truck.
“OWEN!” she cried, frozen in place.
The other car raced off, speeding so fast the driver was a blur. Had that been the same car that ran her off earlier? Had the car purposefully turned around?
She had to help Owen. Misgivings or no. Service to others was her life’s mission, her way to atone for the regrets she carried about her sister. She rushed to the other vehicle, her worn sneakers slipping in puddles on the asphalt.
“Owen, Owen,” she shouted as she neared. With every step, her stomach clenched tighter. The accident was more serious than she’d suspected after the other car fled.
The front bumper was crushed and crumpled like an old aluminum can. Broken headlights illuminated the scene. The windshield had shattered. Behind the wheel, Owen slumped forward.
“Owen?” The name was half gasp, half cry.
He lifted his head, his eyes glassy, a cut in his forehead spilling blood down his face. He met her gaze with a startling clarity and then dropped his eyelids.
“Hey, hey, I’m calling for help.” She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and held up the screen. “You stay with me, okay? Stay awake. No going to sleep.” Her fingers fumbled with the phone. The rain didn’t help, covering her screen with a layer of water and obscuring her touch. She rubbed the cell on her pants and tried again, finally dialing 9-1-1.
“Liz? No accidents, Liz,” Owen croaked, his voice thick and rusty.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator answered.
For a second, Emma froze. Liz? Her twin sister? Was he hallucinating? Emma had returned at the urging of her therapist to heal her wounds and reclaim her lost memories. The pain remained too fresh, overwhelming her every time she tried to think back on the last moments with her sister. Emma trusted Him but struggled to forgive herself.
“Shh, shh,” Emma cooed. “I’m here, Owen. It’s me, Emma.”
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator persisted.
“Yes, hello.” She choked on the words. “I’m out on Route 14. There’s been a hit and run accident. It’s bad. Near Camp Promise. Please hurry. Bring an ambulance.”
Sheriff Daniel Goodwin preferred being the first on the scene. As soon as dispatch alerted him to the crash, he raced there. He parked the patrol SUV, lights flashing, blocking the lane. Sirens in the distance assured him the ambulance was a few minutes away. Weather had discouraged traffic so he didn’t need to worry too much about onlookers.
