“You stinking, rotten freak-a-zoid!” Christine screamed at the air before her as she sped down the street.
Tears of anger spilled from her eyes and saliva drooled from the corner of her lips. She bared clenched teeth. “I ain’t done with ya, yet! You, too, Viv! Ya make me so sick! I hate ya, I hate ya, I hate ya both! You had better be there, ya old-fangled hussy! I ain’t done with ya!”
She cackled maniacally, then abruptly ceased when she saw the cab ahead. She sped up some more when she saw the cab make a left turn onto Ventura Boulevard. She didn’t care when she whizzed by a cop. The strobe lights and the siren came on, and the cruiser pulled away from the curb.
“Noooo!” Christine yelled in anger. She glanced at the rearview mirror and whipped her head around to look out the rear windshield. “Forget yyyyooooouuuuu, man!” she said with a laugh as she flipped the middle finger and vigorously shook it. She returned her gaze to the road before her. She sped faster and changed lanes. “Outta my way, road hog, unless you wanna be roadkill!” she said to the car in front of her. She blasted the horn. “You want a piece of me? Outta my way, I said!”
Vivian barreled down the street and turned left onto Ventura Boulevard.
She swerved in time to avoid another car, which approached from her left. She groaned and winced in pain while alternately accelerating and braking. She looked ahead to see if she could locate Christine’s car. Red-and-blue strobes from a police cruiser up ahead caught her attention. Vivian glanced in the rearview mirror and did a double-take. She saw Hope’s car two vehicles behind her.
The cab made a sharp right from the busy boulevard onto a winding, residential street. It went up the hill and headed south.
“Where are you going?” Rose asked with a moan.
“We’re being chased from behind by that crazy woman, ma’am,” the cabbie replied. “I’m taking the safer streets with shortcuts and less traffic to get you to a hospital quicker while trying to lose her at the same time.”
Christine cut in front of a car as she made a sharp right turn onto a residential street from Ventura Boulevard. The other car came to a halt and blared its horn. That car was then rear-ended by another car behind it which was rear-ended by yet another car.
“Oh, shut up,” Christine said in response to the sounds of metal against metal behind her.
Hope slammed on the brakes as the cars before her rear-ended other cars. The hood of Hope’s car stopped inches away from the car in front of her. She struck the steering wheel with the palms of her hands in frustration. It irked her that she could not continue to chase after Vivian.
Vivian continued to follow the police car. Christine continued her pursuit of those in the cab before her with fierce determination. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and at the ridges of her upper lip.
The police cruiser closed in on the convertible from behind with its siren wailing.
Christine brought the convertible closer to the rear of the cab and honked the horn as she laughed.
“Outta my way, you stoopid Loser!”
She laughed once again, then rammed the front end of her car into the rear of the cab.
“Whoopsie!” she said. “My bad! Though, you ain’t getting an apology from me!”
She rear-ended the cab again. The cab swerved from the impact and Christine roared with laughter.
“Ungh-ungh-ungh-ungh!” she grunted with comic delight. “Here, have another!”
Christine hit the cab once more, then immediately steered left and crossed the solid double-yellow line. She then wheeled right and sideswiped the driver’s side of the cab. She rammed the cab’s side again and it, in turn, slammed its side against the convertible.
“Oh, yeah?” Christine said.
This infuriated her all the more. She tore away from the cab as she pulled left, then made a hard right, ninety-degree turn. She gave her all and slammed on the gas pedal. The convertible’s nose plunged head-on into the driver’s side of the cab and thrust it beyond the shoulder of the road. The cab dangled perilously close to the edge of the drop-off which led to the hillside below.
She gassed the car again and the convertible shoved the cab over the edge. It keeled over and began its descent. It rolled as it tumbled down the hillside.
The police officer stopped several feet from the convertible. Vivian reacted reflexively and immediately steered left to avoid rear-ending the cruiser before her. She crossed the solid double-yellow line and saw a teal-green pick-up truck ahead. She quickly steered right to avoid a head-on collision with the truck.
Christine screamed in horror as she saw Vivian’s yellow Honda Civic rapidly approaching the convertible.
Vivian instantly braked, only a second too late, for she plowed head-on into the rear of the convertible’s passenger side. Her body lurched forward then bounced back. She gasped as she watched the convertible slip from the shoulder of the road and teeter precariously at the edge of the drop-off for a few moments, then slid from her field of vision.
“Christine!” Vivian screamed in horror. “Nooo! No!”
The convertible went down as it rolled several times before coming to a halt at the bottom of the hillside. Sand and dust plumed toward the hazy afternoon sky.
The police officer from the cruiser appeared at the driver’s side of Vivian’s car. “You all right, ma’am?” he asked as he opened the door. “Are you hurt?”
“I tried to stop my car,” Vivian said. “I couldn’t stop it sooner. I hadn’t meant for this to happen.”
“It’ll be all right, ma’am” the officer said.
“What am I going to do?”
“Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“I’ve called for assistance. They’re on their way.”
“I’m sorry.” Vivian opened the door and slowly eased herself out of the car with the officer’s help. “I hadn’t meant for this to happen. I’m so sorry.”
“Please calm down, ma’am. You’ll be okay. Everything’ll be all right.”
“Ow!” Vivian said. “Be careful. My right knee hurts.”
Vivian sat near the shoulder of the road. She gasped and heaved as tears spilled from her eyes. Guilt wracked her mind, body and spirit. Moments later, she heard the sounds of sirens from three police cruisers, an EMT truck, and two ambulances.
“Oh, Christine,” Vivian said above a whisper. She shook her head, distraught and miserable. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant for this to happen.”
Christine ended up as part of the mangled heap of metal, barely conscious and with a faint pulse. Blood oozed from her nostrils, from one corner of her mouth, and from every laceration her body sustained during the descent down the hillside.
She didn’t know if she was alive or not. She had no way of knowing, no way of telling. She couldn’t be sure. It was as if she had been in a dream. A barely perceptible voice deep in her subconscious suggested to her that she was dead.
She could barely hear the sounds of sirens. She vaguely heard ringing in her ears, as if she had tinnitus. If it had been quiet instead, then that would have meant she may be unconscious, comatose, or dead.
She felt as if she had been pumped full of painkillers. She had an imperceptibly weird notion that the fluid which coursed through her veins and arteries could be morphine instead of blood. Her physical being could not discern nor ascertain whether her heart beat or not. She barely sensed a pulse.
She had no knowledge if she had been breathing or not. There had been no way of telling if air passed through her nostrils or through her open mouth and down her windpipe and through her bronchial tubes into her lungs. Her spirit yearned to reach for the surface, to make contact with the outside world, and to inquire if she were all right and if the world still turned on its axis and orbited the sun.
Unconscious or dead?
Sleeping or comatose?
Dreaming or floating?
She cracked open one eye and viewed the tangled, gnarled mess before her, a metallic and dusty mass of debris.
Now I know I’m in The Twilight Zone, the voice in the back of her mind wanted to say, but could not. What happened?
She could hardly make out the misshapen remains of the cab beside her. She wanted to get out the last word. She had one more final thing to say to the old wretch in that cab.
A pair of white tennis shoes, a pair of black-polished dress shoes, and a pair of tan worker’s boots appeared in her line of vision. She saw a blur of blue jeans and black trousers. She heard the shuffling of feet and scraping of gravel against the dirt. Adult male voices were scarcely audible and discernible.
As she sank into darkness, her vision—and her world—went black.