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“It’s Detective Sanderson. I've been reviewing your case and wanted to touch base with you. Heard you were released and are at home, so that's good news.”
I let out a relieved breath. After I was awake, the detective asked me to explain my side of the story. The meds have put me in a brain fog, and it slipped my mind that he’d call. “Yeah, thanks. Happy to be home and resting. Did you find out anything new?”
“Not exactly. I did some digging on the F-350 that hit you and contacted the registered owner. Apparently, he sold the truck a week ago to a guy who paid cash. The title hadn’t been transferred yet. While the guy fully cooperated and gave me a copy of the bill of sale, the name and address the buyer listed was fake.”
“Damn.” I huff, remembering what I heard Brittany and that guy say. I knew it was going to be a dead end.
“This happens a lot, actually. You'll see people buy vehicles, then not file the paperwork to transfer because they can’t afford it, forget, or have warrants. I can't tell you how many accidents I've seen like this where the driver fled because of an invalid license on top of drinking and driving. They'll do anything to avoid a DWI or being arrested,” he explains. “Considering the speed at which you were hit, the guy would almost have to be drunk to walk away from a crash like that. I contacted all the surrounding hospitals in a one-hundred-mile radius, and no one checked in with injuries that could’ve resulted from that crash. Unfortunately, the truck wasn't insured either.”
Unless the person driving was a professional who has experience crashing vehicles. But I keep that to myself until I have substantial evidence. The last thing I want is for Detective Sanderson to think I’m paranoid. “So where do we go from here?” I ask.
“We're keeping watch for anything out of the ordinary with this case, but since there weren't any witnesses, it's unlikely we'll find out who's responsible unless they come forward. Wouldn't hold my breath on that one, though. If someone thinks they can get away with something like this, people will typically stay silent and pretend it didn't happen. I'm finalizing the report so you can turn it into your insurance company and start the claims process. Sorry I didn't call you with better news,” he tells me.
“It's fine. I appreciate your time, Detective.”
“No problem. You hear anything at all, let me know,” he says right before we end the call.
I set my phone on the couch and lean my head against the cushion. It's not comfortable, but no position in my current state is. I’m pissed off and frustrated that I'm so banged up and bruised. I reposition myself and lie on my side until my dad comes back from eating breakfast with Belinda.
A few hours later, Gemma and Tyler come over for lunch and bring pizza. I take the opportunity to tell them what Detective Sanderson said.
Disappointment covers Gemma's face.
“It's okay, Noah. I had full coverage on the truck,” Dad says. “We can get it replaced.”
“Thanks, Dad, but it’s not about that,” I tell him.
“Karma needs to work her magic,” Gemma says matter-of-factly.
Tyler quietly listens as we continue. When there's finally a break in the convo, he speaks up. “What do you think about this?”
I glance at him. “I think it was done with intention.”
All eyes are on me.
“Think about it. The gym. The bomb. Murderer being painted on my truck. This accident. After all of that, I don't think any of it's coincidental.”
Tyler nods as though he understands. It's not an assumption, though. It's my reality, even if it's a harsh one.
Silence lingers, then Dad speaks up and changes the subject. “Can't believe the grand opening is in six weeks. It'll be here before we know it.”
“I know, I'm so excited,” Gemma exclaims. “There's just so much to do still.”
With a grin, Tyler grabs her hand. “We'll get it done.”
Immediately, my old friend guilt returns, and Gemma notices.
“What's wrong?” she asks, studying me.
I let out a breath. “I'm upset I won't be able to help you guys, knowing the opening is soon. Every day I'm not there puts you further behind. It's frustrating as hell that things keep happening to me that are affecting everyone in my life,” I admit.
“Noah, it's fine. You taking two weeks off won't hinder us that much. When you're better, we'll have the rest of the back-ordered equipment in, so there will be plenty to do.”
“Two weeks?” I scoff. “I won't need that long. Probably just a week to recover.”
“You gotta stop doing that,” Gemma snaps. “You have to listen to the doctors. If they said two weeks, it's for a reason.”
I roll my eyes, but I know her concern comes from a place of love. “We'll see. Once my muscles no longer ache and I can walk better, I'll be there. Don't want to put anyone in a bind.”
