Our eyes lock, and neither of us moves.
“I just—I killed a man,” I stammer out.
“We don’t know that.”
“No one could’ve survived that,” I sniffle.
“I’m going to get out and check him out, okay? Stay here.”
I nod frantically.
My hands feel as if they’re locked on the steering wheel as I watch her in the dim glow of my brake lights through the rearview, looking past the bloodshot, waterlogged way I look in its reflection.
My phone.
I need to find my phone.
I need to alert the authorities.
At the very best, he needs help.
Allison is in law school but not yet a lawyer. We were out celebrating her acceptance into Yale. This is going to ruin her.
I just applied for the master’s program.
This is going to ruin me.
I finally find my phone and shove selfish thoughts to the back of my mind as I shakily try to unlock it.
I finally get it open as Allison slides into the car and closes her door.
“Drive.”
“What?! Allison, I can’t just drive home. He needs help. Someone needs to know where he is!”
Her eyes remain forward. “No one can help him now, G. We’re just starting out. This would ruin us both. Drive.”
I know she’s right, but am I the kind of cold-hearted woman who’d drive away from a man I just murdered with my car?
“We’re both drunk. You might not feel it, but we’re above the legal limit. He was trying to flag down a ride or help. God only knows now, but we’re in our early 20s, driving drunk, coming back from a bar that’s known for trouble. They’ll throw the book at us to make an example out of us.”
Turning forward, I grip the wheel hard enough that the leather groans in disapproval. “I can’t…”
“Then give me the keys. Because we’re not throwing our lives away for a man that we don’t even know.”
“A dead man,” I remind her.
“G…”
“Drive,” I repeat, and I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My fingers tingle as I reach down and grip the shifter, tugging it back into drive.
I glance over at my side mirror, seeing the man lying on his back, his head cocked awkwardly. The moon and his flashing hazards illuminate his face enough that I can see his eyes are open. If he were alive, they’d be looking right at me. I swallow as my body quakes.
“Take us home, and this will be nothing but a distant memory,” she says as if that would comfort me.
I watch the rearview, spying the lump of the man I killed as I do as I’m told. I’m too weak and afraid to do otherwise.
This isn’t going to be a distant dream.
