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Just as I’m certain that I’m about to be crashed into by another car, I’m stopped in my tracks by a guard rail along the side of the road. I was about to cross a bridge over a huge river before I spun out of control. Had the car actually flipped, I would be dead for sure.
It’s all happening so fast that my mind is still catching up to it all.
I scream to myself from shock and fear, and the sound of the car smashing into the metal makes the most terrible sound as the glass flies out of the window frames.
It takes me a minute to regain my bearings, and at first, I’m so terrified that I’m practically vibrating. I can hardly remove my hands from the steering wheel for a full five minutes until I’ve forced myself into a deep breathing rhythm. I’ve never experienced a fear so visceral, and for a moment I’m afraid that I’ve gone into some kind of shock.
Once I’ve pried myself away from the steering wheel, I force myself to slowly creep out of the driver’s side door to assess exactly how fucked I am. I’m alive, which is an unexpected blessing, but my hopes of hanging onto this car for any length of time have evaporated.
If I knew more about cars, I could probably give a more detailed, nuanced explanation of the damages, but “fucked” will suffice just fine. Either way, it’s undrivable, and I’m stranded out on the side of the road.
I pull my phone out of my coat pocket, frantically attempting to unlock it before I remember that I had five percent battery before I left the office. I spent so much time taking video calls during the day that I never had a chance to charge it.
All the color drains from my face as I realize that I’m as good as dead out here unless I can get someone to help me. It’s so dark out here, and the snow is only getting worse. Who would want to stop on the side of the road to help a woman with her smashed up car?
I put on my hazards and wait, hoping that someone will feel compelled to help.
After about a half-hour of sitting in my car, bored and increasingly cold, I see someone pull off to the side of the road just in front of me. I’m both relieved that someone has stopped, but my instincts about strangers in the dark kick in. I’m cautious, but I need to be open to whatever help I can get.
Someone gets out of the car, and I’m intimidated by their large frame. It’s clearly a man, and under other circumstances, I would refuse his help and hide my pepper spray in my coat in case he tried to come closer.
As he comes closer, I can see that he’s wearing an expensive coat over a well-muscled body. He doesn’t strike me as a Wall-Street guy, but the coat plus the car tells me that this guy is loaded.
I’m pretty fucking desperate, so I’ll let him talk to me about his work in order to get a ride into the city. If he’s anything like the other professional guys around here, I won’t even get a word in edge wise. It’s perfect.
He comes closer, and before I’m able to see exactly what he looks like, he taps on my window. “What the hell happened here?”
2
Saint
It’s not until I get out of my car that I see the extent of the damage to her car. There’s glass all over the road, and the spiderweb effect takes up the entire windshield. Before I saw movement inside of the car, I was afraid that I was about to walk up to a dead body – alone in the dark, just lucky enough to have not rolled into the river below.
After examining the scene to make sure there’s no smoke or fluid leaking, I approach the vehicle cautiously. I have no idea what kind of person this woman is, and she might have even crashed due to intoxication. It could be a very bad look if someone found her with me and I didn’t know how to explain where I found her. A crash on the side of the road sounds a little too convenient.
To be honest, I’m a little confused as to why she’s out driving to begin with. The weather is terrible, and it’sbeenterrible. Driving in the dark during a heavy snowstorm is like going mountain biking in the dark. It’s possible, but it’s extremely stupid and dangerous. Unless she has some kind of medical emergency, she’s putting her life at risk for no reason. Typically, I try to avoid helping people who don’t have the sense to look out for themselves, but she might really just be hopelessly dumb.
Now that I know she’s okay, I’m annoyed that I felt the need to help this woman so strongly. I’ve got a meeting to attend, and it’s a meeting that could end up saving me tons of money in black market weapons if everything goes well. The person I’m negotiating with is not a beacon of empathy at all, and I doubt very much that he would understand the situation I’ve gotten myself into.
The negotiation I’ve been working on has been carefully orchestrated for weeks now. I’ve been looking for a new distributor for my product since my current guy has been showing signs of drug abuse and potential psychosis. I’ve known him for years, and he used to be the best in the game, but I can’t risk my business like that. He’s a liability at this point, and I need to cut him loose.
The woman slowly emerges from her car, and based on the damage to the rest of the body, I’m shocked that her door was able to open so easily. Had she hit the guard rail at a different angle, she’d probably be struggling to open it at all.
When she emerges from the car, she pokes her head out like a mouse in a pile of leaves. She’s shaking hard, but she’s making a concerted effort to present herself as calm and collected. I can at least give her credit for that.
She seems stressed, which is understandable, but she also has a pretty stuck-up aura about her. I’m not sure what it is, but she projects expectation and a type-A personality. I might not be a bum from off the street, but it’s been a while since I had to interact with someone outside of the organized crime world. She might think I’m being rude or hostile when I’m literally just talking to her.
Still, I can’t leave her out here. Her car didn’t just break down, it’s totally fucked. I’m not sure of what happened, but I can figure it out from the way the car is spun in the wrong direction.
“Hey, are you okay?” I call out as she starts to approach me. “What happened? Did you hit a deer or something?”
“No, I think it was black ice. I had no idea what else to do besides wait for someone, so thank you for stopping,” she replies, her voice trembling as the cold chills her bones.
“Alright, well at least come over here so we can figure something out, alright?” I say, wondering if I’m being too direct. I’d hate for her to call the cops on me because I said the wrong thing.
She hesitates, but eventually she nods and continues towards me.
She’s shaking as she follows me to my car, and I can’t blame her. I’m a strange, imposing man who has convinced her to come sit in my car with me.
