Frank turned and left the room. As he walked through the door to go to his car the evidence van pulled up and two men and a woman got out all carrying cases that held the tools of their trade. A thought passed through Frank’s mind that he would hate to have that job. It is bad enough dealing with death everyday but to delve into it like they have to would be too much for him to take. As he climbed into his unmarked sedan his thoughts drifted back to his wife but he quickly pushed them away, started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled away. He felt a hot tear streak his face and quickly wiped it away, if only I had gotten there sooner, he thought as he turned onto Fletcher Street heading back to the station. As he drove, fragments of last night’s dream came back to his mind; the darkened corridors, the smell of iron in the air, and the sight of blood on the walls and floor. The suddenness of the memories made his head feel light and spots began to appear in front of his eyes. He struggled to stay focused on the road but his vision had blurred and his car had begun to swerve into the oncoming lane of traffic. He squinted but it was no use all he could see were green and red spots. He turned the wheel right and left but had no idea how close the correct lane was or how much traffic was ahead of him. He heard the angry horns of other drivers blaring at him from all sides but was helpless to right the vehicle in which he now rode. The images from last night flashed through his mind with more force than before; so much force that it threw him back in his seat. His car swerved more erratically than before and the horns blew. Once more the images slammed through his mind, this time with enough force to make tears run down his face. He worked the wheel feverishly but to no avail.

He never saw the car coming towards him and the driver didn’t have time to stop. The sound of crunching metal was deafening as the two cars slammed head on into each other; the fenders buckled, glass shattered, gears popped, and fluids sprayed. Hargrove’s car was pushed backwards by the heavy Cadillac that had collided with it. The engine was shoved backwards and hot antifreeze sprayed Frank from the heater core as it busted. People gasped at the sight they had just beheld in the street. Suddenly the air was alive with the sounds of police and rescue sirens racing to the aid of the two people in the cars that now sat in the street smoking and bleeding out their synthetic fluids. Frank’s body had been thrown backwards as the seat broke and the front of his car had crumpled. He now lay halfway in the back seat unconscious with blood flowing from a wound on his head.

The driver of the other car lay pitched forward on his steering wheel; his brains seeped from a wound to his head. His face was covered in blood as was his windshield. Cars began to pull to the side of the road and people began to get out and run over to the scene of the accident. The witnesses to the atrocity began to chat among themselves about the wild car driving in the wrong lane. The emergency vehicles topped the hill on Fletcher St. and the crowd that had started to gather began to make room for the ambulance and the police cars. The rescue workers jumped out of their cars and frantically began to work to get the two people out of the cars. Gil Howard reached his hand into the window of the first car that looked like a detective’s cruiser. He found the victims arm and felt for a pulse. Gil lifted his head and shouted “I’ve got a live one here. His pulse is weak but he’s alive.”