It was weird. His shoulder hurt from where his knee – previously in its customary position on the dashboard – had struck him. Dazed, he glanced around, aware that he wasn't moving, but hearing the loud whirring of wheels turning at speed. He saw Bodie lift himself from the steering wheel, turn the ignition, and the noise stopped.
Crashed. They had crashed.
"What the hell...?" he started.
"Don't." Bodie's voice was soft, almost calm. But Doyle knew him well; well enough to know that this wasn't anything he'd seen from Bodie before. Like nothing he'd heard. Then the dark head turned to him, navy eyes meeting his fleetingly, before settling over his shoulder, behind his ear. Navy eyes that widened with – fear?
Bodie, afraid?
"Can you pray, Doyle?" The soft voice cracked.
He tried to laugh, but a prickling behind his head stopped the sound sharply.
"You'd better learn fast, Ray."
Something flashed in his memory, something from just before the crash. But he'd been dreaming, surely? He hadn't seen two disembodied hands, rough with thick, coarse hair, just come through the windscreen and take the wheel from Bodie's hands?
Had he?
Soft tapping against the window behind his head. And every hair on his body stood on end.
Wide green eyes stared at Bodie, finding the terror contagious.
"Don't turn around, Ray." Begging. Pleading. Lips muttering long forgotten words – Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
Tapping, tapping, tapping...
Doyle turned...
