Page 84 of Her Sloth

“I’m sorry,” she says as we shoot with 138mp/h down Columbus. An entire party of red-blue flashing lights behind us.

I ignore her. I’m not in any mood to talk about what happened, and a damn sorry won’t change it. Right now, we have to get out of here.

Every single traffic light is green, as if God is leading the way to justice, freeing the way for us.

We reach the spot we first raced, leading up to the perfect getaway of Lincoln Square.

“Let’s get lost,” I tell her. “We’re taking the Jersey escape; Red Hook is too hot right now.”

“You lead,” she says.

I lead.

We reach the crossing of Lincoln Square with Broadway. The lights are red.

A strange sensation flushes through my chest.

Cars crossing.

It is such a close call.

I manage to squeeze through two cabs with a touch-and-go.

I check the rear mirror, and it is happening in slow motion.

A truck crossing⁠—

It is too close.

No.

She can’t do anything about it.

I hear the horrifying sound of crushed metal through the speaker of the phone as the truck hits her side.

The car spins.

Rolls over and flips many times.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” I scream as I realize where we are and what happened.

The Eleanor stays put on its roof, completely destroyed.

I jump out of the car and run to her.

The cage, please the cage⁠—

Chunks of metal and motor parts lie around as I reach her. Gasoline is leaking; I can smell it as the scent bites my nose and eyes.

I’m at her window.

“ADDY!” I shout as I lean into the broken window. I kick it out.

The world around me has completely disappeared.

There is blood everywhere.

Her eyes are closed as she dangles lifeless in the racing belts, he hands on the roof.