Kevin's head throbbed violently, less like a headache and more like a blunt instrument striking the inside of his skull. The pain was rhythmic, a dull, wet thudding in time with his heartbeat. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, terrified that even a single photon of morning light would shatter his fragile consciousness. He lay perfectly still, pinned beneath the suffocating weight of heavy blankets.
D. K. Wall:New Year's morning, at least he assumed so. The date floated in the ether of his mind, blurring and focusing as he fought to come awake. His mouth tasted like a chemical fire, and he desperately needed water. His tongue felt swollen, stuck to the roof of his mouth.
D. K. Wall:God, what had he been drinking? He tried to catalog the night. Beer, definitely. Those terrible lemon drop shots Laura kept ordering. The champagne at midnight tasted like carbonated pennies.
D. K. Wall:Worth it though. Totally worth it. The thought came with a ghost of a smile. It had been a perfect night. The kind you remember at 60 laughing with your grandkids about how you used to party.
D. K. Wall:The timeline blurred right around the stroke of midnight, New Year's Eve. The blowing of toy horns, the exploding confetti, the sticky floor of the nightclub, the strobe lights cutting through the haze of dry ice. That one song he had never heard of - I Don't Blame You by Tom A. Smith - had the whole place jumping, the bass line so loud it became a physical thing in his chest.
D. K. Wall:And Rachel, of course, Rachel. The memory of her was the clearest one he possessed. The smell of her vanilla perfume mixed with the club's fog machine, the way the purple lights caught the sequins on her dress, making her look like she was covered in stars, The softness of her lips when the countdown hit zero, and the way she tasted like champagne and cherry lip gloss.
D. K. Wall:Her whisper against his ear. Best New Years ever. She said it was such certainty, her breath warm on his neck.
D. K. Wall:A desperate hope seized him. Was she here? Had she come home with him? He tried to reach out to sweep his arm across the mattress and feel the curve of her hip or the tangle of her dark hair across his pillow.
D. K. Wall:But his arm refused the command and felt leaden, pinned down by layers of winter bedding that seemed impossibly heavy crushing his chest. Panic flared, then subsided. Sleep paralysis, he reasoned. The hangover from hell.
D. K. Wall:Maybe he had had a panic attack or something. He had had one once in college during finals week and this felt similar. The chest pressure, the inability to move, that sense of doom. He forced himself to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth, the way his mom had taught him when he was a kid, afraid of thunderstorms.
D. K. Wall:Had he been an idiot last night? Their relationship was so new, barely three months old, a precious thing he was terrified of breaking. She had forgiven his terrible karaoke attempt at Jack's birthday party, but everyone has limits. What if he had said something stupid? Done something embarrassing?
D. K. Wall:The relationship felt like destiny arranged by the people he loved most Jack and Laura. Jack his brother in everything but blood. Inseparable since the days of skinned knees, backyard touch football, and forts built with blankets and pillows.
D. K. Wall:They had a Sunday morning ritual started in high school basketball at the park, no matter the weather, followed by the greasiest breakfast burritos in the city. Jack always ordered his with extra jalapenos and spent the next hour complaining about heartburn. Every single Sunday for eleven years.
D. K. Wall:When Jack had asked Kevin to be his best man, he had done it at that same park With the basketball in his hands suddenly unable to meet Kevin's eyes, he had mumbled, I mean, obviously. Right? Who else would it be? They had both gotten choked up like idiots and had to pretend they weren't crying while they shot free throws.
D. K. Wall:The wedding was set for June, the event of the summer, a sun drenched celebration of a love that made everyone around them jealous. Kevin had already started writing his speech, though he kept getting stuck on how to explain what Jack meant to him without sounding like a greeting card.
D. K. Wall:And then Laura had introduced her maid of honor, Rachel. A sorority sister. A trusted confidant. The moment Kevin laid eyes on her, he found it hard to breathe. She had made a joke about a ridiculous centerpiece option. Do we really need swan shaped napkin holders? Her laugh had been bright and genuine. Not the polite titter most people give at unfunny jokes.
D. K. Wall:To his amazement, she agreed to a date, then a second, and then a third. The four of them had been inseparable in the weeks since. Double dates every weekend, game nights, planning the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Rachel fit into his life like a puzzle piece he hadn't known he was missing.
D. K. Wall:She teased him about his obsessive coffee routine. She brought him soup when he had flu the week before Christmas. She fell asleep during movies with her head on his shoulder, and he'd stay frozen in uncomfortable positions rather than wake her.
D. K. Wall:Kevin dared to dream of a future with her as bright as the one promised to Jack and Laura. Maybe in a year or two, he'd be asking Jack to be his best man. Yes, it had been a good year and things were looking even brighter in the new.
D. K. Wall:So, they had celebrated hard. And now Kevin was paying the toll, a monumental hangover to ring in the New Year. He'd survive. Pop some ibuprofen, drink a gallon of water, eat something greasy. By tonight, he'd be fine. They'd probably all gather at the apartment, nurse their collective headaches, and laugh about how old they were getting.
D. K. Wall:The silence of the room was broken by voices, muffled and indistinct as if coming through a wall or from down the hall. Jack and Laura, he thought, probably making coffee and nursing their own headaches. Maybe Rachel was with them laughing about Kevin's dance moves after a few drinks. He'd even done that stupid robot thing. At least it had made her laugh.
D. K. Wall:He needed to get up, join them, apologize for sleeping in, apologize for whatever stupid things he had done. Maybe make pancakes as penance. He made decent pancakes.
D. K. Wall:Move. He commanded his legs. Get up. Nothing. Not a twitch.
D. K. Wall:A new sensation crept in cold, a biting wet chill seeped up from beneath him. Not the comfortable warmth of his bed, but something sharp and invasive and rain. Was his window open?
D. K. Wall:The sounds were wrong. Not the familiar gurgle of the coffee maker or the low murmur of morning conversation, more like the low mechanical growl of idling engines. The hiss of tires on wet pavement, much too loud, much too close. Then a siren, a long mournful wail that seemed to come from inside the room. And finally, the sense of someone looming over him.
D. K. Wall:Hey, buddy. The voice didn't come from the kitchen or the hallway. It came close to his ear, intimate and urgent.
D. K. Wall:Kevin's mind clawed frantically at the memories of the nightclub parking lot, grasping for something just out of reach. The image stuttered into focus like a corrupted video file. They were standing under the awning of the club shivering in the freezing drizzle. The temperature had dropped 20 degrees since they had gone inside. Jack was checking his phone and cursing, his breath fogging in the now January air. Two hour wait for an Uber.
D. K. Wall:Laura was wrapped around Jack's arm, her teeth chattering. Rachel stood close to Kevin pressed against him for warmth. And Kevin felt the weight of the keys in his pocket, the warm brass biting into his palm through his jeans. He had driven to the club because they were running late as usual, but the plan had always been to leave the car overnight and catch a ride home.
D. K. Wall:But two hours in that cold, they'd freeze. Besides, it was only three miles, back roads, residential streets, never a police checkpoint on that route.
D. K. Wall:Besides, he had stopped drinking. When? An hour ago? More? He had switched to water after the champagne. He felt fine. Maybe a bit buzzed, but fine. In control. Definitely in control. He had driven in worse shape in college. Everyone had.
D. K. Wall:Are you sure Laura had asked her voice tentative? She was always the cautious one.
D. K. Wall:I'm fine. Kevin assured them. The words came out steadily confidently. He even believed them. Three miles. I could drive it in my sleep.
D. K. Wall:Rachel had hesitated just for a second. Her hand on the passenger door. Something flickered across her face. Doubt? But then Jack slapped Kevin on the shoulder. You're a lifesaver, man. And Rachel smiled and slid into the passenger seat, trusting him completely. Let's go home. She said. Those were the last words he remembered. Let's go home.
D. K. Wall:The pounding in his head shifted. Pain became pressure. An unbearable crushing weight on his legs, his ribs, his chest. The blankets felt jagged and hard metal. The texture was wrong. Sharp edges, broken glass.
D. K. Wall:Hey buddy, can you hear me? The voice was calm, authoritative, but edged with a terrifying urgency. Professional. The voice of someone trained for crisis. Something was horribly, irrevocably wrong.
D. K. Wall:The safe warm darkness of his bedroom dissolved like smoke. The air didn't smell like day old champagne and laundry detergent anymore. It smelled of gasoline and burned rubber and something else, something organic and coppery and so wrong that it made his lizard brain scream.
D. K. Wall:Kevin forced his eyes open. He expected sunlight through the blinds. He expected the white ceiling of his apartment. Maybe that cobweb in the corner he kept meaning to clean. Instead, he saw a kaleidoscope of strobing violence. Red. Blue. Red. Blue.
D. K. Wall:The light sliced through the darkness illuminating a nightmare of shattered glass that glittered like diamonds scattered across wet asphalt. Red. Blue. Glass. Metal. He wasn't in bed. He was upside down. Or maybe the world was. Gravity felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
D. K. Wall:He's with us, the voice said. A face loomed into Kevin's restricted field of vision. Not Jack, a stranger, A man in heavy gear. His face streaked with soot and rain. A yellow helmet reflecting the chaos of the flashing lights. His eyes were exhausted. Ancient. The eyes of someone who had seen this before. Tonight even. Stay with me, son. Don't move.
D. K. Wall:Move? Kevin croaked.
D. K. Wall:The sound was wet and wrong, bubbling up from a throat full of something thick. He could taste copper. The champagne from midnight mixed with blood. Why can't I...?
D. K. Wall:Breathing hurt. Every word was a knife. You're pinned, the fireman said. His eyes scanning Kevin's body with a clinical detachment more frightening than panic would have been. Professional distance. The kindness of someone who couldn't afford to feel too much. We're gonna get you out. We've got the jaws working.
D. K. Wall:The shriek of metal tearing metal screamed through the air vibrating through the frame of what used to be his car. His beautiful car. The one he had bought just six months ago. The first new car he had ever owned.
D. K. Wall:Kevin tried to turn his head. Pain white hot and blinding shot down his spine, but his vision cleared enough to see. The dashboard was gone. The steering wheel was a twisted figure eight crushed against his sternum like an iron fist. That was the weight. That was what he had mistaken for blankets.
D. K. Wall:The entire front of the car had accordion folded into the cabin. Through the spider web gap where the windshield used to be, he saw a utility pole snapped like a toothpick lying across the road. A traffic light had been torn from its moorings and sprawled on the wet pavement. He had never realized how big they were. Massive. The size of a refrigerator. I did that, he thought.
D. K. Wall:Then the memory came racing back from the depths where his mind had buried it. The slick curve on Riverside Drive, the one with the yellow warning sign he had passed a thousand times.
D. K. Wall:The moment the tires lost traction on the rain slicked asphalt, the steering wheel spinning uselessly in his hands, the weightless sensation of hydroplaning, Laura screaming from the back seat, Jack yelling his name. Kevin. Rachel's hand gripping his knee. Her nails digging in.
D. K. Wall:The world rotating. The sick carnival ride sensation of the car leaving the ground. The utility pole rushing toward them like a falling tree. And then the sound. That horrible, sickening sound. Metal and glass and physics conspiring to destroy in a single second. Then darkness.
D. K. Wall:Panic, cold and absolute flooded his veins overriding the pain. Rachel, Kevin wheezed. The fireman didn't answer. He turned his head away shouting instructions to someone operating the hydraulic cutter.
D. K. Wall:Rachel, Kevin screamed. The name tearing at his throat like broken glass. He turned his head to the right. Agony shot through his neck, but he forced it.
D. K. Wall:Oh God, Kevin whispered. No.
D. K. Wall:The passenger seat was crushed inward. The door concave. The entire side of the car intruding into the space where a person should be. The sequined dress torn and dark with blood.
D. K. Wall:Her arm impossibly white against the dark interior. Her hand, the hand that he had held just moments ago was completely still. Silver nail polish. The color she had chosen to match her dress. The promise ring he had given her for Christmas, the small sapphire catching the emergency lights.
D. K. Wall:A trickle of bright red coursed down the perfect stillness of her fingers, dripping onto the shattered glass below. No movement. No rise and fall of breathing. Just sequence and stillness and blood.
D. K. Wall:Hey, look at me. The fireman demanded his gloved hand forcing Kevin's face forward. Focus on me.
D. K. Wall:But my friends, Kevin gasped, tears mixing with the blood running into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. Are they Jack, Laura? Please tell me they're okay. Tell me.
D. K. Wall:He tried to hear them, tried to listen for Jack's voice for Laura's crying for anything, but there was nothing from the back seat. No groaning. No crying for help. Just a tick tick tick of a cooling engine. The silence was deafening. The silence told him everything.
D. K. Wall:The fireman looked at Kevin, really looked at him. For just a moment, his professional mask slipped and Kevin saw exhaustion, sorrow, weariness so deep it was carved into every line of his face, and then disgust. A flash of barely controlled contempt that Kevin recognized instantly because it was deserved.
D. K. Wall:The man had scraped too many bodies out of cars like this one. Too many kids who thought they were fine. Too many friends who trusted the wrong person.
D. K. Wall:The fireman glanced quickly toward the passenger seat, toward Rachel's still form, then toward the back seat, the crumpled space where Jack and Laura had been laughing just how long ago? Twenty minutes? Thirty?
D. K. Wall:When he looked back at Kevin, his jaw was clenched. He shook his head just once. A tiny economical movement that carried the weight of three lives. Let's just worry about you right now, son.
D. K. Wall:A scream built in Kevin's chest, a sound of pure agony that had nothing to do with his broken bones, but he had no breath to release it. He closed his eyes against the strobing lights, wishing for the darkness of the dream to take him back. But he knew. Oh, God he knew. Only the nightmare waited for him.