DEATH and violence: this involves a severe car accident and the consequences of drunk driving!
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Spoiler: Yeah, seasons 1 – 4 of CSI: Miami.
Xxx
Saturday Night, December 31, 2005: Miami:
Laughter, lively chatter, and festive music mixed into a joyous cacophony as the party blurred out the sounds of the television reporter 'live from Times Square.' Colorful costumes blended as party guests moved among each other, dressed for a night of revelry ringing in the New Year with good friends and good food. No one begrudged the comings and goings of people stopping by to say 'hello' then leaving to go to another party, though mild protests accompanied those who did choose to move on. The front door was barely visible amid the revelers, but those closest finally gave up on persuading the latest guests from leaving. A laughing, friendly baritone could barely be heard as a man said, "I'll drive them home and be right back. She can come get her car tomorrow or have it towed."
"Can I come too, Daddy?" The plaintive note of a pre-adolescent boy drew little attention from the main gathering. This party had many children guests; it was a strictly alcohol-free costume party for families hosted by a beloved local doctor and her family.
The man, dressed as a rather suave Dracula, laughed and rested a dark-skinned hand on the head of the gaudily dressed clown. "Not this time, Sport. I need you to host this party while I play chauffeur. Keep an eye on your mom and sister for me."
A woman facing the door, dressed in an iconic pink belly-dancer costume complete with a small hat and half-veil, reached over and pulled the boy back against her scantily clad body. Her long black hair swished over her buttocks, even up in the traditional top-knot ponytail. She reached out a smooth, dark-skinned hand to lie on her husband's tuxedo sleeve. "Hurry back, Baby. Be safe."
With a laugh, he captured her hand and brought it to his lips, his warm chocolate eyes steady on her. Kissing her hand, he flipped it to expose her wrist and placed his lips gently on the smooth skin there. "I vill hurry as qvickly as possible," he said in an over-emphasized Bela Lagosi accent, wrecking the image by adding, "Doll."
Her musical laughter drew answering smiles from the closest guests. Her face was blocked from view as she stood with her back to the room, but no one could doubt her joy and love, especially the man who held her hand.
Slowly, the man dropped his wife's hand and called loudly, "Till we meet again, my friends! C'mon, Cap'n! Yer longboat awaits!" He winked at his wife.
A blue-eyed boy dressed as a pirate captain, complete with a grand, plumed hat and an eye patch, ran past the man towards the blue station wagon in the driveway, his pale skin limned briefly in the streetlight. He carried a plastic broadsword with a plastic knife buckled to his waist, and he swung a small gaily decorated gift bag in his eager grasp.
Following closely behind, laughing and fighting a yawn, a little girl dressed in a long sparkling pale blue dress and fairy wings followed the pirate. A twinkling tiara glittered in her long red-blonde curls, bouncing with each skipping step. The girl, too, carried a small gift bag, received at the party. She listened attentively as the boy went off into a wild story of how pirates might have celebrated the changing of the year, blue eyes avidly following his every movement.
Bringing up the rear walked a petite woman dressed in a long, slimming silver-white dress and silver heels, her long black hair gathered carefully over one arm to prevent tripping. For those in the know, she portrayed Crystal Gayle, complete with floor-length wig, which she left in place as she climbed into the front passenger seat. She turned and waved out the window. "Thanks for inviting us," she called in a light, almost girlish voice. The woman turned to make sure the children were belted properly into their seats; the little girl was still small enough to require a booster seat which the older boy helped her with.
Turning back to smile at his wife and son once more, the man murmured, "You know I love you three." He touched his wife's cheek, running his finger lightly down the soft skin and skirting the edge of her veil. Those behind her watched her hair swing over her shapely curves, the hair-extensions blending seamlessly with her natural locks, as she leaned into the caress. He continued, "I'll be back before the ball drops, Doll."
"You do that, Baby," she replied, her smile evident in her voice as she watched her husband get into the car and buckle up. As he drove away, a little girl's voice from the crowd called "hey! Where's Daddy going?"
Without turning, the woman called back on a sigh, "to drive Susie and the kids back home. Her car broke down, Baby." She reached out and shut the door on the lukewarm Miami night and added, "I'll let you both stay up for the ball drop if you promise to go to bed right after the kissing."
"Kissing?" the little boy groaned in disgust. "Who wants to waste time kissing?"
The woman laughed back. "Kissing those you love isn't a waste of time, Baby. It's a gift to enjoy."
"If you say so, Mommy."
In the back of the station wagon, one excited, tired little boy began yet another story about some foreign tradition for the New Year. He mentioned dragons, eliciting a thrilled gasp from the little girl followed by a giggle and a soft, "real dragons?"
From the front seat the woman, still in her wig and savoring the party atmosphere as long as possible, called back cheerfully, "Wow! They must take a lot of feeding. Can you imagine cleaning up after a dragon?"
The driver joined the laughter.
He pulled the car onto South Miami Avenue behind another, lighter, blue station wagon. Traffic seemed heavy that close to the year change; a purple compact car pulled in behind the station wagon.
"Jeffrey," the bewigged Susie glanced behind nervously, her little-girl voice hitching in worry. "Maybe we should pull over and let the traffic lighten? New Year's is pretty big on drunk driving."
With a small nod, Jeffrey reached up and loosened the collar of his Dracula cape. "That's why I chose this route. It's a little longer but out of the main flow. Not many people come down here at night."
A flash of light from behind signaled someone wanted to pass. The little boy glanced out the window and breathed "cool," as a motorcycle with two people passed them. The small vehicle went at a reasonable speed but was soon ahead of them, apparently looking for an opening to pass the other station wagon as well.
"When I grow up, I'm gonna get a motorcycle," the boy announced in a very sure tone.
Susie laughed. "You are, are you? Will you give me a ride on it?"
"Sure will," he called back.
"Look to the right, kids," added Jeffrey. "The Science Museum is going to pass soon. It's still got its holiday light show on."
"Whoa!" The boy turned to look, excitement radiating through his body.
Glancing back with a fond smile, Susie noted the little girl had drifted into a peaceful slumber. The happy woman grinned wider as she noticed the boy covering an inadvertent yawn. "Looks like you might miss the ball drop, kiddo," she said with a wink.
He shook his head, catching his hat as it started to slip. "Nah. Dad'll let me stay up."
Laughing, Jeffrey shook his head. "But I . . ." The loud, deep honking of a tractor-trailer cut him off.
"What the hell!" Jeffrey gripped the wheel firmly, ready to avoid the huge passing vehicle. He shouldn't have worried about that: the strike, when it came, was from the rear.
The station wagon careened off to the right, into the beautiful stone wall that lined the almost deserted street. A speeding black blur slammed its way through to the other station wagon and past then continued on, unheeding anything or anyone that got in its way. The other family car also hit the wall, its car lights shining on the festively lit sign of the Miami Science Museum a few hundred yards in front of it. The sound of ripping, grinding steel overtook the night for several minutes amid honking and screams.
Quiet settled over the scene broken immediately by a demanding woman's voice calling into the darkness. "Hello, this is On-Star. We see your car has been in a front-end collision. Do you need help?"
A second voice filled the air, as if in response from a great distance: a woman screaming, drawing breath, then screaming once more, over and over. Panic rose in her tones with each ear-piercing, wordless call.
In the lead station wagon, a small blonde girl gingerly pressed the safety release on her seatbelt then cried out in a sudden rush of pain. She called, "Mommy?" but got no answer, except for the screaming of the woman and the persistent operator. Crawling slowly over the coffee holder between the front seats, the little girl slid into the front passenger seat. She looked up at the steady bright light from the console above her head. "Help us! We hit the museum," she answered the operator's frantic questions.
Immediately, the operator replied, "we're sending help. Talk to me, honey. What's your name?"
The girl shifted, pain lacerating her middle, and she passed out, her head hitting the dashboard. As her body slumped, she inadvertently hit the radio button, the volume increasing.
As the traditional song marking endings and beginnings played out, a male's voice shook through the air. "Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine, we have a pile-up on South Miami Avenue." His voice broke as he added, "there are casualties. I swear they're dead!"
From the lofty height of the eighteen-wheeler, it became evident that a pick-up truck and a compact car had crashed with the Mack Truck. A fourth, unidentifiable vehicle had been caught in the middle of the mess, crushed under and between the others, with two station wagons crumpled against the museum ground's wall. The trucker was certain he'd run over a small car in the chaos. His hands shook as much as his voice as he continued to call for help over his CB radio and listen to the near-panicked voice of a woman from below calling for someone to answer her.
Behind the semi, someone dialed on a cell phone, the electronic beeps discordant with the waning bars of the holiday song from a lone radio: "We'll share a cup of kindness yet and drink to auld lang syne."
Cheerfully, Regis Philbin's voice rang out over the scene of the accident. "Happy New Year, everybody!"