All the love in the world to the amazing Nattiebroskette - without the plot checks, grammar checks, and 2AM reality checks, so much of this story wouldn't exist. If you haven't checked out her opus, "Shielded", please do - it's an amazing work in its own right, and well worth the read.
A small bridge chapter here; we shall have another wall of text immediately following. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and generally committed to Randy, Joe, and Meg along with me. Finally, a warm story-welcome to jamie. .9 - please feel free to drop me a message if there's anything you'd like to see, want to ask, or just feel like chatting about!
Randy's instinct was right, the email was from Remy. He didn't get a chance to look at his phone until Meg was well and thoroughly buried in the shower later that night, and was shocked to see the volume of material that had landed in his inbox. 'That either means it's going to help me understand, or it's going to make it that much worse.' He opened the first message and began to read.
'Bonjour, Randy. This first file is the police report. This is technical data entirely, but will help you understand the facts of the car crash itself. -Remy.'
With one ear to the shower, Randy attempted opening the file on his phone. He could practically hear the circuits straining, but a file eventually did open. Squinting at the small text, he began to read:
'...single-vehicle accident on I-90 southbound, with the vehicle crossing into the median near Toledano St...The driver of the vehicle, having a BAC of .24, appeared to lose control of the vehicle at speeds at/over 85MPH...the vehicle began to fishtail, struck the center concrete median going southbound, approaching Toledano. The impact caused full frame collapse of the vehicle, partially ejecting the driver through the driver's side front window. Steering column was found lodged in the sternum of the driver. The vehicle, following impact with the concrete median, began to roll down the interstate, passing further concrete median segments and coming to rest on its roof over 800 ft. from the initial impact. Full airbag deployment occurred, with failures. The passenger appeared to have partial ejection from the vehicle due to a failure of the side curtain airbag – passenger front window was missing/broken, glass was embedded in passenger's head and scalp. Both driver and passenger had multiple debris impacts within vehicle...highway was closed pending accident investigation and involvement of coroner, fire department, local/state police, medical services...'
Randy was only able to read the report in pieces; it was stomach-turning. Airbag failures, the steering column, Meg hurtling down the interstate for 800 feet, helpless, being flung around the inside of the car, whatever a debris impact was supposed to be...he could feel nausea wrapping itself around his throat. Randy made it to the sink in time to heave forward, but nothing came. "Jesus...Meg..." He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "You lived." The water in the bathroom was still running; he was sure he still heard her moving under it, could smell her soap in the air, and so he reached for his phone again. Scrolling past the rest of the text, he came to a series of photos, and promptly buried his face back into the sink.
In one, Jackson's chest was caved in, completely, by the steering column. The airbag stuck out from the hole in his chest like a wilted flower. In another, what he assumed was the side of Meg's head was visible, blood pouring out of her hair and over her face. 'That explains why. The side of her head? The top? Went through the window.' Jackson's leg, with a pen sticking out of it, chunks of broken glass from the windows across his lap. Frame after frame of the outside of the car, compressed and angular, looking like a wad of foil that had been painted and stepped on. Meg's collarbone, bright white and smeared in red, against the darkness of her shirt, sticking out of her body like an odd-angled coat hook. Another, of what he assumed was Meg's leg, disappearing between – or into – the dashboard and her seat.
Randy kept coming back to the pen. 'Multiple debris impacts...okay...her head, her leg...his leg?' Something wasn't adding up for him. 'Meg kept saying I'll find out, I'll hate her once I know – what does that mean? What does that have to do with this?' The shower finally turned off, and Randy couldn't scramble for his phone fast enough. Meg was out the door, bouncing, jovial, and then suddenly terror-stricken at the look on Randy's face.
"Ran...what? What's wrong?" She nearly dropped her towel in her haste to get to him at the sink.
Randy struggled for words. On the one hand, there she was – alive – miraculously, by the two accounts he saw on his phone – 'And who knows what else is in the rest of those files?' - but yet, there she was, with some of the pieces of her story missing. The impulsive, forgetful, irritable behavior was making sense, at least – her head had flown through a window; thankfully without the car landing on her and crushing her in the process. It all still left Randy further confused than enlightened. 'Meggie...what aren't you telling me? What do you know that you're not telling me?' He took a steadying breath before trying to speak.
"Kiddo...Remy sent me the reports."
Meg's world turned to a high-pitched squeal; her vision tunneled out and she felt the room spin around her. Pushing back from Randy, skidding along the edge of the counter, Meg went back into the bathroom and promptly threw up in a near-mirror copy of what Randy had done only moments earlier. Randy followed her, but couldn't bring himself to touch her.
"Meg, you need to tell me what happened. I have the accident report, I have the photos, and I have questions."
Her eyes were hollow when she looked up at him, panting, from where she had dropped to the floor. "Randy, I told you...you would hate me. And now you know."
"No! Meg, no! I don't know anything. I know you almost died. I know you keep running. I know Jackson's...none of this makes sense." She could see his heart breaking in his eyes. "Meg, help me. Please, help me understand. I don't think I even have to read the rest of the reports, do I?"
Still clutching her towel to her, looking piteously up at Randy, Meg felt her world collapsing in around her. "No." Her voice came quietly, but was even and flat. "No, Ran, you don't. The accident...Jackson..."
"What, Meg? What?" Randy's voice was getting tighter and tighter. 'What...who...was I chasing around? When she left, this was what she was planning? This was her brilliant idea, and it almost got her killed?' "Meg, tell me what you did."
Meg stood, slowly, and walked to the door of her apartment. "I let him fuck me. I let him beat me. I let him put me in his car, drunk, and then I caused the accident. The pen. I killed him, Randy." She opened the door and tossed her car keys to Randy. "Take the rental; go home. And don't worry, I understand. Fuck, I expected it a long time ago."
Stunned, Randy picked up the keys from where they'd landed near his feet on the floor. "Meg...you couldn't have...I don't..."
"Randy, I did. I killed Jackson. I almost killed myself." Meg's voice teetered on the brink of breaking; she knew he had to leave, and soon, before she lost control in front of him. "Please, just go. You knew this would...I knew this would happen."
Walking in a wide circle around Meg, Randy slipped from the doorway into the hallway. She nudged his suitcases out behind him; he'd never moved them from the door when he'd come in the previous night.
"I'm sorry, Ran," Meg's whisper, ashy and dry, swirled like dusty leaves in the hallway, "I'm so sorry."
She shut the door, leaving him holding her car keys in the hall.