A bloody coincidence..Preview
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BLOODY COINCIDENCE.
By


Susan Hern


*

The windscreen wipers were fighting a losing battle against the force of the rain. Visibility was almost zero, and it was still only late afternoon, Darren knew he would have to find a motel, or B&B, to stop over at, for the night. Damn, he slammed the dashboard with his free hand, it was turning out to be 'one of those days'. It had begun with his mobile vibrating, between rings, on his bedside table. He had opened one eye, grudgingly, to take in the clock, five fifteen, damn, damn, he felt the buzz of last nights wine on his temple, DAMN.

"Hi.."
He whispered into the receiver, hoping he had picked up, to late, but no, a cool, wide awake, voice answered,
"You, got the job Darren, get into your car, and get on down here, right now, and, by the way, congrats old boy you really deserve it"
Darren had tried very hard, to focus on the good news, but before he could even thank the caller the phone had gone dead in his hands.


He had pulled the covers over himself, trying to make the world disappear, but the only thing he could see, under the duvet, was the face of his ex-wife, and that, naturally got him up quicker than a bucket of cold water over the head.

He shook his head at the total irony of the situation. Throughout his marriage, Gina, had, had the luxury of being able to bitch on his failure as a journalist, human being and man, and now, now, when he'd finally made it, she was so gone, that he could hardly remember the color of her eyes, damn, DAMN.

He had searched, unsuccessfully, through his entire house for a pair of matching socks, only to realize that somewhere, way out THERE, was a sock graveyard, chock-a-block full of the other half of the fabled sock pair. He had settled for a miss-match.

By the time he pulled his car out of the garage, he knew that it would have almost no gas in it, he understood, the kind of day he had woken into, and he hoped he would be able to get into tomorrow in one piece.

Coffee at the service station, with a toasted cheese on the side, improved his mood marginally. He grabbed the days headlines, from the news stand, found a bench next to an instant car wash bay, and munched, while, they washed and he read. Now, that was better, perhaps the day was not going to be an absolute loss, after all, but then he saw the gray clouds, blow in, directly over the highway he was bound to take, damn, DAMN.


It had started raining, only lightly at first, almost immediately, and now, when the road seemed to be stretching endlessly ahead, it was pelting. It wasn't even supposed to rain at this time of year. Thunder threatened to drown out the sounds of Pearl Jam belting out from his speakers, and that in itself, was a calamity. Just before he could swear again the real disaster of the day, swerved out, off a scrap of country road, in front of him, the silver gray car was moving at a cracking pace, the taillights diminishing in size as he watched.


When next he saw the BMW it was wrapped around a tree, doors hanging open on one side, smoke billowing against the rain from the steaming mangled engine. For a beat of a second, he very nearly drove on by, but then, morality caught him by his shirt tails. He slowed to a stop, a few paces ahead of the wrecked car, damn, DAMN.


Close up, the car looked as if it might blow at any second. He grabbed hold of the half open front door and yanked hard, allowing smoke from the interior to escape gratefully into the downpour. Darren could see a young woman, sprawled over the steering wheel, with a whip of blood, lashing down the side of her face, from a wicked gash on her brow, she did not seem to be conscious.

Exserpt read more in the published version
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