Chapter Sixteen

Sendoh watched as the slim figure disappeared into the lift of the luxurious looking beachfront condominium, his hands light on the steering wheel. He stayed a few more moments before gunning the engine and driving off. He would pick Rukawa up in an hour or so, because the requested show was a long one.

Everything had changed, and yet life still remained the same.

Turning onto the highway that ran parallel to the white sands of the beach, he drove rather distractedly, and his thoughts focused inward, the corners of his mind absentmindedly noting the brilliant sunset and subconsciously slowing to take in its beauty.

Suddenly a loud jarring noise burst the calm façade of the evening. Startled, he jammed on the brakes right in the middle of the isolated intersection, and then reached over where the ringing noise was coming from. Fishing on the floor of the passenger's side, he finally groped and found a slim object. Pulling it out, he made a face as it vibrated in his hand, the tinkling song still pouring from it and listing an unknown number. Rukawa must have dropped it earlier when he alighted. He contemplated turning around to give it to his lover, but decided against it. After all, he would be performing now and there was certainly no point for him to have a phone when he was going to be wearing close to nothing. Shrugging, he flipped opened the cover, slipped the phone into the crook between his shoulder and neck, and floored the accelerator.

"Hello?"

And then there was a loud screeching noise. He turned his head just enough to catch sight of the large metallic surface, glinting red in the sunset, before it smashed into the car. The phone was sent flying through the windows, where it landed on the ground with a scratching thud.

@@@

"Hello?"

Hanamichi whipped around at the sound of the screeching brakes less than a hundred yards behind him, and his limbs froze. A large tanker, one of the many that carried petroleum to all the stations alongside the highway, had turned out from the intersection, and right in front of it was a car. A black car. A sedan.

His hand dropped the phone. And, his blood pounding furiously in his ears, he began to run.

@@@

The tanker tried to stop, but it was a huge vehicle, and it continued pushing the battered car closer and closer to the steep end of the rail that would give way to a tide of treacherous rocks. The sound was deafening, and his vision was black, and dark red, and black. He felt pain, stinging his senses, as he cried out. The rail bent, and began to twist under the weight of the tanker. He could hear the sounds of the waves, lapping lightly on the sand and uneven ridges.

I don't want to die.

And then, miraculously, the dragging stopped.

@@@

The driver of the tanker jumped down, horrified. The highway was deserted at this time; there would hardly be anyone coming along to give assistance. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter and ran to the nearest public phone, a tiny speck in the distance. Even as he raced off, another, taller man, reached the scene, panting heavily, his eyes scanning the wreckage with something akin to denial in them.

Please don't let it be Lincoln. Don't let it be Lincoln.

It was virtually impossible to reach the trapped driver just out of the passerby's reach. And then with horror, he heard the cracking, ominous and squeaking, as the rail bent further.

It's going to be too late.

Desperation seized him as he leapt between the narrow gap of the halted tanker and the slowly falling sedan. Twisting impossibly around, he saw the full extent of the wreckage. The back door on the passenger's side had been pounded in so completely it was hanging off by one hinge. The glass in the windows had completely shattered. From here, he could see the driver, a mass of dark hair that glinted dully in the fading light.