by Mike Pace
“You’re not dead, Tom,” said the girl.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
They both responded with a wide grin.
“C’mon, we have to get the girls out of the van now.” Doing his best to ignore the pain, he shuffled as fast as he could toward the minivan, expecting them to follow.
When he’d gone about thirty feet, he turned back. They hadn’t moved.
Then in a sliver of a second, they were standing immediately in front of him.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Chad, and this is Britney. Pleasure to meet you, Tom.” They each offered their hands.
Tom assumed there was a logical explanation for the bizarre behavior of these two preppy jerks, but he didn’t have time to focus on it. He had to get Janie out of the Dodge. He ignored their extended hands, and ran the best he could to the minivan.
When he arrived, nothing had changed. The vehicle remained teetering on two wheels, and Janie’s expression was still frozen. She hadn’t moved a muscle.
He heard the girl—Britney?—directly behind him. “It’s kind’ve weird, don’t you think?”
He looked back. They both stood there, still with their hands extended. “I mean, the frozen-in-time thing. Spooky.”
“I agree,” said Chad, never losing his smile. “Way spooky.”
Who the hell were these people? “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you can do anything, please help me get her out of there.”
“As a matter of fact, Tom, we can help,” said Chad.
“Absolutely,” added Britney.
Chad wrapped a comforting arm around Tom’s shoulder, and gently turned him so they were both facing the minivan. “I’m sure you’d agree that life’s about making decisions. Trivial decisions—what am I going to wear today? What am I having for breakfast? And consequential decisions—the choice of a career, the selection of a spouse. Sometimes we’re forced to make life or death decisions. Can you think of an example of a life or death decision, Tom?”
“Please, just help—”
“Try, Tom.”
“I don’t know, pulling the plug on a loved one.”
“Excellent,” said Britney. “You get an A-plus.”
Chad waved his arm in front of the wreckage. “See, Tom, you have a life or death decision to make right now.”
“Actually, it’s a life or deaths decision,” said Britney.
“You’re right,” said Chad, chuckling. “I stand corrected. A life or deaths decision.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He looked over at the Lexus, half expecting to see his own body still in the cab. Or, despite what they’d said, maybe he really was dead. But if he was dead, where was he? And why would stabbing pain be shooting from the small of his back down his leg?”
There can be two different outcomes here,” said Chad, gesturing to the wreckage. “Here’s choice A.”
He heard a whirring sound, like an old-time tape recorder rewinding. Suddenly, everything moved. Backward. Rewinding to seconds before the collision.
Tom couldn’t believe his eyes. He saw the green minivan with Rosie driving eastbound on the bridge, behind the red pickup. He could make out the driver now—good-looking kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen—talking on his cell phone. He saw his Lexus approaching the other two vehicles, and he was driving. But that was impossible, because he was standing on the sidewalk.
He looked closer. He was driving.
“Kind’ve cool,” said Britney.
Tom couldn’t pull his eyes away. He saw himself look down to check Gayle’s text.
“You shouldn’t text and drive,” said Chad.
“Driving distractions kill,” said Britney.
He heard the honking horns and screeching tires. He smelled the burnt rubber. He watched, transfixed, as the Lexus spun out of control toward the minivan and the red truck.
Except there was no collision.
Rosie braked hard, the minivan screeched to a stop, allowing Tom’s Lexus to spin out in front of her. The Lexus careened up over the curb, missing the light post by a whisker, then returned to the road. The red truck continued on its way. Tom could see Rosie through the window giving the Lexus driver—him—the finger. Obviously, she didn’t get a good look at him and didn’t recognize the car. She slowly pulled out again and headed east toward DC.
As the minivan passed, Tom could see Janie and the other girls giggling at Rosie’s obscene gesture.
He waved both of his arms frantically. “Janie!”
He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he was so excited to see her alive and safe he didn’t care. He turned back to Chad.
“If this is a dream, I want to wake up now.”
Chad ignored him.
Again, he heard the whirring sound, and the scene returned to where it had been moments earlier—frozen in time with an overturned pickup, a Lexus wrapped around a light post, and his daughter caught in mid-scream inside a green minivan hovering over the edge of a bridge on two wheels.
“And this is option B,” said Chad. He swept his arm over the wreckage. This time the scene rewound just a few seconds.
Immediately the now familiar jumble of sights, sounds, and smells confronted Tom: a piercing scream from the woman with the poodle; the screech of brakes and blaring horns from other cars as they swerved to avoid crashing into the pickup; the acrid smell of smoke and burnt rubber.
He whipped his head back to the minivan. The flames from the engine were moving now. They’d caught on the gas dribbling from the fuel tank, singeing the green paint below the filler cap.
God, no!
The flames moved up the side of the van toward the filler pipe.
And the van slowly tipped toward the river.
CHAPTER 4
“Janie!”
As Tom ran toward the van, he saw her face and hands still pressed tight against the glass, a look of stark terror on her face. He got close enough to see her mouth, “Daddy!”
Then, as if in slow motion, the van flipped over the railing and dropped upside down, crashing into the Potomac.
The jarring slap of the van hitting the water lasted only a split second before being supplanted by the huge boom of the minivan exploding into flames. The blast shot back a fireball rising above the level of the bridge, causing Tom to involuntarily jump back.
“NOOO!”
Tom ignored the sparks and bits of debris raining down on the bridge, and rushed to the railing. Below, he saw the vehicle totally consumed by flames. He thought he heard a faint cry for help rising from the fire. Janie’s voice? Did he imagine it? Was he imagining the whole nightmare scene?
He heard shrieks, shouts, and the faint wail of an approaching siren. He had to get down there. Now.
He turned to see Chad and Britney standing calmly in the middle of the road as the chaos swirled around them.
“Help me!”
In a split second, they both stood in front of him. “Sorry, Tom, she’s gone,” said Chad.
“Afraid she’s burnt to a crisp,” said Britney, an expression of deep sympathy on her face. “And, sadly, it was painful.”
“Very painful,” added Chad in a comforting tone.
Tom balled his fist and swung as hard as he could at Chad’s jaw. His fist passed through Chad’s smiling face as if it weren’t there, and the force of his swing knocked him to the pavement.
When he looked up, he heard the whirring sound, and the scene snapped back a few seconds. The minivan was back on the bridge, teetering on two wheels, frozen in time.
Chad offered a hand. Tom ignored it and struggled to his feet. He couldn’t keep his voice from quivering. “Who are you?”
“We’re the folks who are going to give you a chance to save your daughter,” Chad responded.
“We love Janie,” said Britney. “Cute as a button.”
“No one wants to see her turned to charcoal,” said Chad.
Britney laughed. “Well, maybe someone
would.”
Chad said, “You need to make a choice. Option A or—”
“Option A!” Tom shouted. “Option A!”
“Excellent choice,” said Britney. “But, as I’m sure you can appreciate, there will need to be compensation.”
“We think of it more as a kindness,” said Chad. “We extend to you the kindness of saving Janie from a fiery death brought on by your own self-absorbed negligence—rules are for others, not for Tom Booker. In return, you will need to extend us a reciprocal kindness.”
“So, you’re saying you’re some kind of—what? Angels?” He knew the sarcasm in his voice sounded forced.
Both chuckled. “You might say, ‘right field, wrong team,’ ” replied Chad.
Tom stared at Chad with a perplexed look on his face, his mind swirling. What the preppy jerk suggested was impossible. He’d long ago dismissed the concept of an afterlife as a fairy tale perpetuated by human beings since they emerged from the goo. From Thor to Zeus to Jesus, God, and Allah, belief in a higher being offered a glimmer of hope that no matter how miserable one’s life, it would conclude with a happy ending.
Looking at their faces, Tom sensed the couple could read his thoughts.
Chad and Britney each giggled as they held their hands out in front of their chests, forming a cross with their index fingers like a pathetic victim trying to ward off Dracula.
Tom turned his eyes away. His mind flashed back to his youth. As a boy he’d been raised in the Methodist church by very religious parents. When he was in high school, his dad had been killed by a drunk driver, and after that he’d refused to attend church services depite his mother’s pleas. He couldn’t buy her explanation that his father’s death had been “God’s will.”
And then four years later his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. When the chemo and radiation and herbs and potions failed, he’d resorted to prayer, begging God to spare her. But He didn’t, confirming to Tom that even if God did exist, He was a sadistic sonofabitch.
Still, given what he’d just witnessed, either he was hallucinating from injuries caused by the crash or—
He turned back to them. “Am I in”—the word caught in his throat—“hell?”
“A lot of people would say Washington’s a living hell,” responded Britney.
Chad laughed. “Very good, Brit.” To Tom, “No, you’re standing right here in the middle of Memorial Bridge.”
“So here’s the deal,” said Brit. “There are five innocents in the minivan.”
“You’re calling Rosie an innocent?” asked Chad. “What about the muff dives with her Pilates instructor?”
“But she always came home to Gino with a smile on her face,” responded Brit.
“Good point,” said Chad.
“Will somebody just tell me what the hell’s going on?”
“ ‘What the hell,’ very clever,” said Brit.
“In return for Option A, once every two weeks, one of the occupants in the minivan will die,” said Chad. “See, they were going to die anyway—you killed them, sorry to keep bringing that up. But you’ve got to pay attention to the road ahead. And watch the hooch, Tom. Drinking’s bad juju.”
“Definitely bad juju,” said Brit. “And while all of them would be heading north so to speak—”
“Even Rosie,” said Chad.
Brit continued. “The boss saw an opportunity for a win-win transaction. Your daughter and her friends will be allowed to live, but in exchange, you must provide him another life.”
“By provide, you mean…?”
“Snuff, exterminate, bump off—you get the point.”
“That’s crazy! I’m not a murderer.”
“Of course you are,” said Chad. “You just murdered five innocent people.”
“Wouldn’t you do anything to save your own daughter?” asked Brit.
Tom dropped his head in his hands. This can’t be real, this can’t be—
“We’ve made it easy for you,” said Chad. “The substitute can be a scumbag or as pure as the driven snow. But everyone you snuff goes south, whether they would otherwise deserve it or not.”
“Life for a life,” said Brit. “What could be more fair than that?”
Finally, Tom got it. He breathed a sigh of relief. Chad’s words were so outlandish, he now knew he had to be dreaming. Wait till he tells his buddy, Zig. Preppies from hell; Zig’ll get a big laugh out of that one.
“Oh, we’re real,” said Brit.
Tom smiled. The only way they could read his mind is if he were having a crazy nightmare. Feeling cocky, he decided to call their bluff. “Prove it.”
Chad shook his head. “What, you want us to spin our heads and spew green vomit? Sorry, Tom, but you’re just going to have to trust us. Or not.”
The expression on Brit’s face could best be described as apologetic. “So, by Saturday midnight at the end of every second week, either you deliver us a soul, or I’m afraid we’ll be compelled to take one from the van.”
“Remember, Tom,” said Chad, “you’re the one who put yourself in this pickle.”
“Gotta dash,” said Brit. They both waved, then continued jogging west along the bridge.
CHAPTER 5
In a split second, Tom was in the Lexus driving west on the bridge. No pain. Anywhere. Not even a scratch on his safety-glass windshield. He quickly checked his rearview mirror. He could see the minivan heading east, trailing the red pickup.
Everything looked perfectly normal. He reached the western bridge entrance, circled the turnabout and headed back east across the Memorial.
What the hell happened? He must’ve caught himself drifting into the opposite lane, slammed on the brakes, and momentarily bumped his head on the steering wheel. Crazy. He still had goose-bumps running the length of both arms. Again, his eyes found the dashboard glove compartment.
“Watch the hooch, Tom. Drinking’s bad juju.”
He needed to calm down or he really was going to cause an accident. He opened the glove compartment.
Twenty minutes later he emerged from the Colonial Parking garage on C Street, and popped a few more mints into his mouth as he jogged north to the museum.
When he crossed Independence, he noticed at least a dozen school groups gathered at the entrance. He smiled briefly, remembering fondly his days as a schoolteacher. Life had been a lot less complicated then.
Janie and her classmates, wearing their green Fairfield Elementary Frog shirts, stood at the end of the line. It looked like Janie had obtained a Frog shirt for her visiting cousin and made Angie an honorary Frog. A few mothers patrolled outside the herd to make sure there were no stragglers. Rosie, arms folded, fuming, gave Tom the evil eye as soon as he crossed the street.
He ignored his former sister-in-law and waved to his daughter. When he reached her, she jumped into his arms. Nothing short of heaven could match the feeling of his child’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
Heaven.
His mind flashed back to his daydream—vision, hallucination, whatever the hell it was. While seemingly extending for fifteen or twenty minutes, the blackout must’ve only lasted a split second, since he hadn’t lost control of the wheel.
“Mommy was mad at you ’cause you were late.”
“I know, honey. Sorry. But I’m here now.”
Rosie approached. She didn’t look happy. Come to think of it, she never looked happy.
“Thanks,” said Tom. “Know it was an inconvenience.”
“You make a commitment, you keep it, Tom.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
She was in full scowl mode. “No smart-ass comeback? You sick or something? You should know by now that family commitment comes first.”
Tom thought, maybe you should tell that to your sister who made a commitment not to cheat on her husband. And as far as the smart-ass comment reference, he probably deserved that. He forced himself to hold his tongue. One Mississippi—
“Right. Traffic. I should�
��ve left earlier.” No use telling her his boss expected a complete buy-sell memo for the firm’s second largest client by 9:30 a.m., and if he screwed up and lost his job, his family commitment to provide alimony and child support payments would be significantly jeopardized.
“Aunt Rosie gave a man the finger,” said Janie.
Rosie scolded, “Janie—”
“What happened?” asked Tom.
“Some idiot in a silver car cut me off on the bridge. Almost made me run into the redneck driving a pickup truck in front of me. Might’ve caused me to spin off the bridge, the jerk. Didn’t he see I had children on board?”
“What’s a redneck?” asked Janie.
Rosie exchanged glances with Tom. “His truck was red, honey. So we call someone who drives a red truck a redneck.”
“So you’re a greenneck, Aunt Rosie?”
“Exactly,” said Tom.
Angie called from the gathering of Frogs. “Hurry up, they’re letting us in!”
“I got it from here, Rosie. And thanks again.”
“I swear, Tom, I don’t know how you can call yourself a responsible father.”
The response jumped from his brain to his mouth before he could implement One Mississippi. “Thanks for that. By the way, how’s your Pilates instructor?”
She froze, then turned back to him with a look of panic, no longer the tough broad who felt it necessary to convey how put-upon she felt as a result of his screwup. Her eyes pleaded with him, then teared up. She quickly disappeared into the crowd. Tom had never seen her that way.
The woman was scared shitless.
CHAPTER 6
Napoleon’s was packed, but Argus, the bartender, had reserved their usual seats at the end of the bar, the prime location for scoping out single women entering the establishment. Argus tapped them each another Stella—Zig’s second, Tom’s third. A small voice in the back of his head whispered, slow down.
A very small voice.
“So, she might be having a lesbo affair with her Pilates instructor, so what?” asked Zig.
“That’s not the point. How would I know that? The only way I could’ve known is if my bridge vision—”
