“Maybe he just wants to make sure everyone sees it,” Brian reflected. “It gives everyone a fair shot.” Brian was seldom critical.
“Good point,” I acknowledged.
After waving the towel at least six or seven times, he let it fall.
I learned to appreciate watching a race, and even after all the races I had witnessed and participated in, it still amazed me. The front end of the car lifted a little when the driver floored the gas pedal. Almost all cars built in the 1970s and older were rear-wheel drive, not like later models where so many are front-wheel drive. Because of that simple wheel distribution, the lift a car got in the front end when the power was being directed to the back filled me with excitement. Watching two cars coming off the line had always been impressive to me.
Stephen had quick reactions. He caught the towel dropping before Kurt. His gain was apparent. We heard both cars shift and knew that they must have been approaching the sixty-mile-per-hour mark as they shifted to second gear. It looked like it was going to be a good race.
I let my eyes flicker over to Grant for a fraction of an instant, but that was too long, for when I looked back, a horrific scene filled my eyes.
Stephen’s car was veering severely to the right. At first it looked like a purposeful maneuver to get closer to Kurt’s car, but then we realized with a shock that something was not right.
Runaway grabbed my arm—her grip was piercing and intense. It felt as though she was going to puncture my skin with her fingernails through my jacket.
I inhaled and held my breath for the next moment, as I saw what caused Stephen to veer—his right front tire had come off and was now heading toward Kurt’s car.
Nothing could have ever prepared me for this. It was worse than Runaway’s car catching fire. We all screamed.
We could see what was going to happen next. The loose tire hit Kurt’s car, causing him to overcorrect and turn sharply to his left. Veering right would have moved him away from Stephen’s out-of-control car, but reactions, poor judgment, and panic affected him otherwise. Kurt was headed into Stephen’s path, and ultimately a collision with him.
Without the tire, Stephen’s car fell forward onto its brake disk, and now sparks were flying in every direction—he held the car as straight as he could with only a small amount of steering capability. We could tell he was trying to slow down and probably would have come to a complete stop if it hadn’t been for Kurt’s panic.
I could smell the heated metal of Stephen’s disk brake as it ground itself against the asphalt… but before I could detect much more, I heard Runaway—first in a whisper, then ending in a blood curdling scream.
“No, no, no, NO!”
Kurt’s car clipped Stephen’s right front bumper. Stephen’s car, because of the angle, momentum and weight, suddenly flew into the air.
We all looked on, stunned, as Stephen’s car was momentarily suspended in time and space, held by that infinitesimal moment of non-being. The car hung for a fraction of an instant before it came slamming down onto the asphalt on the front end. Sparks, shards of glass, and pieces from his car flew in every direction. The car then continued to flip end-over-end, hitting the rear end of the car, the front end again, and then finally rolling.
I heard a deafening cry all around me—it was like being at a football game, where the sound is so intense that you can’t even hear your own thoughts. I realized that I was screaming, as well Runaway and everyone else around us.
Stephen’s car rolled twice before finally coming to a stop as it landed on its roof. It came to rest on the side of the road. I looked over and saw that Kurt’s car had finally stopped, after spinning out of control.
Chapter Fifteen
At first, I was frozen in place.
Runaway left my side and went running toward Stephen’s car.
I began screaming, “Call 911! Call 911! Someone call 911!”
“Hey!” I heard someone yell in the crowd of people now running with me, “Kurt’s all right.”
I don’t give a damn about Kurt,
I thought.
Grant reached Stephen’s car before the rest of us did. He tried to reach him, but his car seemed to be twisted around him like a coffin.
“Tessler made the call—help is on the way!” Brian yelled, as he ran up to Grant and me. By now, everyone was gathering around.
I searched for Runaway’s face in the crowd. I finally saw her, standing toward the back of Stephen’s car, breathing hard with a tear-streaked face. She reached out and put her hands on the car’s bumper. Her hands were shaking—in fact, her whole body was shaking. She tried to steady herself as she knelt down to see if she could see Stephen through the rear window.
Because of the impact, the A-pillars that held the roof in the front of the car were partially bent, and the roof itself looked as if it had collapsed down onto the windshield.
The wait for the paramedics and fire department felt like it lasted ages, because I was so helpless and weak. None of us could do anything but stare and wait.
Grant, Brian, and I tried to get an angle where we could see Stephen but it was dark, his car was black, and we couldn’t know exactly where he was lying. We knew his car had both a lap belt and a shoulder restraint, but we just couldn’t find an angle to see him. In the dark, it seemed hopeless.
“Stephen! Stephen!” I screamed.
Both Grant and Brian called out his name, but to no avail.
Grant looked as if he was going to lift the car and turn it over, but that would have made matters worse.
Help finally arrived in the form of two fire engines, one ambulance, and about eighty cop cars.
They didn’t have to tell us to move out of the way as they approached. Runaway had now joined us. We all remained silent as we watched them trying to reach our friend.
The firemen immediately began searching the car with flashlights to find Stephen’s position. We stood waiting for any piece of information. One fireman went through what was left of the windshield, and the other went through the passenger window. The fireman who had gone through the passenger window suddenly yelled to his partners, “I got him! He’s breathing, but he’s wedged between the dashboard and the floorboard.”
“Oh, God no,” I said, far too loudly.
Runaway, who was standing right up next to me, tensed her entire body.
It took them a considerable amount of time to extract Stephen from his car. Dislodging his leg was apparently the most difficult part, as it was trapped between the caved-in driver’s-side door and the steering wheel. It seemed that in the accident, the back of his driver’s seat broke and so he essentially was lying down inside of the car instead of sitting up. The violent nature of the crash thrashed his legs about more than his body, so extracting him didn’t require more violent damage to the car.
The firemen removed the steering wheel and part of the dashboard, which was simple enough due to the fact it was already broken.
The medics moved slowly as they maneuvered him through the passenger window. Stephen wore a neck brace and they placed him on a backboard. He was already hooked up to an IV—they put an oxygen mask on his face and an enormous brace on his left leg that went from his ankle to his hip.
What scared me was when I looked at his face and saw nothing but blood everywhere. I couldn’t exactly tell where he was cut, but it was obviously pretty bad. At one point, I had to look away.
After they put Stephen into the ambulance, the only thing left to do was to tell the story of the accident as we had seen it. This was repeated many times to bystanders, each other, and eventually, the police.
At one point, Officer Tessler confronted us. “I thought Stephen was impeccably organized and almost anally retentive about that car?” He was angry, we could tell—but it was like he was blaming the accident on Stephen.
“He was,” Grant said flatly, but his defenses were up immediately.
“Then how could this have happened?” Officer Tessler looked at all of us. “He’s supposed to check and recheck that car!”
“He did!” Runaway fired back. She was incensed at the notion that Stephen had been careless.
“Look, Officer Tessler,” I said. “Stephen was in love with that car, just as much as we all are with our own, but he was over-cautious in every capacity. And I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is no way he would not have checked his tires.”
Why was he hitting this with us now? All we wanted to do was follow Stephen to the hospital, be with him, be with his parents… the last thing we needed was to be grilled about an accident that we knew nothing about. It was as if Tessler was just as upset as we were, only he didn’t know who to take it out on. Instead of looking for clues, he chose to pepper us with questions.
“Well, something happened, man,” Officer Tessler said in a condescending way. “One’s tire does not just come flying off.”
True, but it wasn’t like we knew how it happened.
We were silent and probably all thinking the same thing… that there was no way Stephen would have overlooked something so routine.
“Well, we’ll see,” Tessler said now. “It just may be that your racing days are over.”
Runaway looked at him hard. “But it was an accident,” she protested angrily. “How can you hold all of us accountable? You know there have been at least eight races every week for at least the last six or seven months, and there has not been so much as a bruise in that time.” She was breathing hard. “Now, you’re going to cancel everything? Is that really fair? We saw the accident from the best position possible, and if Kurt had either slowed down or drifted to his right, none of this would have happened.”
She wasn’t finished when she took a step toward him. “So now your rash decision is being based on Kurt, although you are making it sound like it was Stephen’s fault.” She pointed toward the wreckage.
Tessler didn’t say anything, other than clearing his throat and standing stock still. I could tell he was mulling over what Runaway had said—perhaps he was taking his anger and fear out on the wrong people.
“I’ll let you all know,” he said firmly.
The crowd was beginning to disperse, yet the five of us stood staring at each other, lost in our own thoughts. Suddenly Runaway’s eyes flew open to a point where they were as wide as saucers.
“Where is Brandon?” She breathed hard .
“I don’t know,” I said looking around. “Why?”
“Where is Brandon?” She now said it louder, while frantically looking through the crowd that was milling around. Suddenly she threw herself forward into the crowd, knocking into people as she went. She was frantic.
“What the hell?” I looked at Grant, but he simply shrugged at me.
She suddenly started running—she pushed people out of her way, knocked a few down, and pissed off a few. We followed behind, as close as we could.
I could see Brandon standing in the distance, off to the side of the diner, between his house and the restaurant. He was alone—he had his hands stuffed in his pockets and was looking around him anxiously.
Runaway continued to hurl herself forward. People just would not clear a path, so we did the best we could to follow her. Finally, hitting the rear parking lot near the Thompson house, she got a clear path directly to where Brandon was standing.
We heard her yelling before we could understand what she was saying. Grant, who was very fast, caught up to her first.
“You!
”
she screamed at the top of her lungs. If Grant hadn’t caught up to her, Runaway would have leapt onto Brandon for sure.
“Grab her, man!” I yelled, from not more than five feet behind them.
Grant reached his arms around her waist from behind and attempted to hold her.
“You!” she screamed at Brandon again.
“What the hell, Runaway?” I said, as I now stood next to her and Grant, completely breathless. Brian, too, was standing next to me, trying to catch his breath.
At that moment she pushed off of Grant’s chest and was free.
“You S.O.B—I’ll
kill you for this!” she snarled.
She flew at Brandon and grabbed his throat with her fingers and nails. Both Grant and I lurched forward to contain her as Brandon’s eyes filled with fear.
“I… I… I…” Brandon choked. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know…” he stammered.
Runaway got hold of his throat even better, just as Grant wrapped his arms around her waist again and I grabbed her arms. She was like a feral animal, showing no signs of restraint.
The crowd gathered round and watched. We finally wrenched her fingers free and were able to contain her.
“What the hell is going on?” Grant yelled and also demanded.
“He did it!” Runaway screamed. She was trying to point, but I was holding her arms. “He loosened the lug nuts on Stephen’s tire!”
I let go of her arms and she immediately pointed at Brandon.
“What?” Grant and I said in disbelief. We were stunned.
She looked directly at us now—her eyes were wide and full of tears—the anger that seethed through her body was surreal.
“He did it!” she screamed again at us.
Then, rounding on Brandon, she went on. “Didn’t think I’d notice, did you? Didn’t think I’d figure it out? You worthless piece of crap!” She took a breath. “All those times you were gone… your moodiness, your piss-poor attitude… you didn’t think I’d notice. Well,” she glared at him, “I noticed everything.” She said it through clenched teeth. “The only problem is—you’re too stupid to have done this on your own.”
Brandon inhaled quickly.
Runaway glared at him and took in a quick breath. “Who put…”
She didn’t even finish her sentence before she turned her head sharply to the front of the diner, searching for something.
She found it.
Bret was sitting in his car carefully watching her through the windshield.
“Let me go—let me go!” She ripped at Grant’s fingers. He released his grip and she sprinted to Bret’s car. Running to the front of his car, she stopped in front of it and slammed her fists down onto the hood.