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“BLISTER, BLISTER, ABORT!” Cornel yelled into his ear.
It took less than five seconds for Franco to move from hero to zero in the qualifying race. The sudden increase in speed to cap off the race had washed off the remainder of traction from his back tires, and the friction triggered them to burst into flame. All Franco saw in his rearview mirror were two big balls of peachy-shaded fire as he tried to come to a safe and controlled stop.
What was left of the wheels skidded over the track, making loud shrilling cries. The car jostled back and forth like an aggressively slithering serpent until it came to an abrupt halt, slamming the front end first into the side wall.
Franco braced himself for impact, the scent of gasoline and burnt rubber welcoming his demise. He held his body stiff as the crackle of fire beyond him increased, staring at the seeping fog of smoke that crawled out of the engine.
“MAYDAY! MAYDAY!”
Franco’s team, as well as an emergency unit, sprinted onto the tracks, hauling Franco from the race car’s seat and away from the dangerous potential explosion. He heard the sound of fire extinguishers suffocating the flames of the tires, as well as the painful blast of air as his opponent flew by.
It was pitiful and insulting. His heart sank as he was dragged away from the track, his body in a state of shock. His lion roared in anguish.
Franco was taken back to his garage, placed on a gurney, and frantically assessed by medical personnel. They asked him questions, but he could only hear faint babble. His mind was elsewhere. The disappointment raging through his heart and soul was palpable.
“FRANCO!”
Violet had pushed past the paramedics, all of whom continued to scan his body for any potential injuries. He knew he was fine. It wasn’t the physical threat that he had been so gutted about. It was the significant blow that his pride had taken.
She held his head between her hands. She stared into his eyes with poignant worry. He noticed the small flecks of yellow and burning red within her irises as she tried to bring him back into reality.
“Franco, are you all right?” she implored. “What happened out there?”
Franco felt that tar-like heaving sensation in his stomach. He was close to vomiting, but it wasn’t out of fear.
“The tires,” he said blankly. “They caught fire … combusted.”
Cornel pushed through the medical personnel, who had given up at that point, but still lingered nearby. He placed a hand on Franco’s wrist, his own look of anxiety making bold imprints on his face.
“They’re dragging it off the course. I will assess immediately,” Cornel said, his expression showing confusion. “What the fuck happened, man?”
The same question in a matter of a few seconds. Franco had an idea of what had happened. It was why he had felt a strange tick earlier in the day. It had returned to him then, thick, dark, and wretched, and he wanted to trust it.
“Sabotage.”
Cornel held onto his wrist as he and Violet exchanged a look. Violet’s heartbeat picked up.
“Sabotage?” Cornel asked, snorting with laughter. “What are you talking about?”
Franco waved them both off, knowing he was going to have to face the vultures of the media as soon as the race was over. They would suck up to his failure like vampires, hungry for the emotions of rage and disappointment scraping across his soul like nails on a chalkboard.
“I have to shower. Let me know when you get the assessment.”
Cornel nodded and retreated to where the car was being hauled off.
Violet trailed behind Franco, touching the small of his back as he moved into the locker room.
“Franco.”
He stripped off his fire suit and clothing, noting her wide eyes as he did so. But he wasn’t thinking about that at the moment. His mind was an ugly, gothic carnival of considerations.
“What?” he asked, whipping off his boxers and casting them aside.
“Are you talking about the shifters? The ones from yesterday?”
She had lowered her voice, staring up at him starkly. He waved her off again, went into the shower, and tried to prepare himself for a lashing of a lifetime.
Violet moved to the press conference with him as he tried to force away his sullen body language. He was going to have a shit spot in the oncoming big race that actually held meaning to him. He also wanted to know what on earth had happened with those damn tires.
