Once I’m in position, smoke fills up the rearview mirror before I take off. I don’t know the track, but I take the turns anyway. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth as the rumble of the engine starts to run through my blood.
I’m almost at the end of the track when I see headlights shine in my mirror. I pull the parking brake and crank the steering wheel until I’m facing the headlights coming my way.
It’s Dash; I know it’s him without looking. So I don’t. I simply release the brake and shift back into gear barreling toward the gates we came through.
I may have a head start, but Dash is every bit the professional racer I am. Once I’ve made it past the gates we entered through, I really let loose and pray I don’t pass any cops on my way back into town.
This is the only thing I know is mine. Driving…racing. Engines. This belongs to me. These memories and feelings are all mine. And there’s absolutely no way London could’ve ever felt like this.
My vision starts to blur as my eyes water with tears upon realizing I’m right. This is why when my mother first called me London in the hospital when I woke up, it all felt wrong. So wrong.
I’m Lennon Tyler. I’m a damn good race car driver. But why did those things cost me my sister?
I swipe under my eyes as the lights from our quaint North Carolina town start to twinkle in the distance. About the same time, headlights flash in the rearview.
The closer they get, I can see the outline of Dash’s Mustang. He’s bearing down on me, so I give the Camaro more gas.He starts to shift lanes to drive beside me, but the movement overlaps something in my mind.
It’s like the past and present are merging again like they did earlier in the garage. I feel a sharp pain behind my left eye and in my head. My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. I glance at my left hand on the wheel and see my white knuckles wrapped tight around it trying to find an anchor to the here and now.
When I finally glance up in the rearview again, my memory unlocks. I downshift before the past repeats itself. I know the outline of those headlights and the shape of that car. It’s the same one that tailed us that night.
It was Dash. I scream in agony as I recall seeing it in the passenger side mirror after getting a text from the same unknown number. I made London climb over the console so I could drive. I was the better driver obviously. I remember the text now.
Unknown number: I followed you. I know what you’ve been doing. Tonight’s the night I take everything that belongs to me…including you.
A horn blasts from beside me as I roll through the first intersection. The light was red, but I didn’t see it. I can only see the memory in my mind as I drive absently toward Tyler Motorsports.
The Mustang’s headlights still reflect in my eyes from the rearview. Just as they did that night.
“Buckle up and stay calm. I’ll get us out of this.”
“Call the cops, Lennon. You should’ve already done it.”
“I don’t know who it is, London! I’ve tried to figure it out. I have nothing to give them,” I say before glancing in my mirrors.
“I think I lost them.”
“Lennon, watch out!” A shrill scream falls from her lips before I’m blindsided and T-boned. The Hellcat clips a light pole before rolling down an embankment.
The world turns end on end as I try to hold on, but my arm and my head hurt so bad. I’m going to pass out.
Once the car stops moving, I reach for London. She’s still and blood drips from her lips, nose, and temple.
No. No, London. I’ve got to stay awake and help her. I try to unbuckle but I can’t move my left arm.
“Hold my hand,” I plead with her.
That’s when I hear footsteps outside the car. I can’t see anyone, but I know they’re there.
A hand reaches inside and rips the necklace from around my neck before doing the same to my sister.
Then, there’s nothing but darkness.
Until I blink a few times to clear the blurry lines between past and present. It’s then that the road looks too eerily familiar. I realize I’m in the exact place the world as I knew it ended. I’m at the crash site. The damning piece of the world which bore witness to soul-shredding despair and lives being stolen.
I pull toward the shoulder and press the clutch and brake pedal to the floorboard, skidding to a stop as the tires protest the change in momentum.
My chest heaves and I taste blood in my mouth. I’m not sure if it’s just the memory of the accident itself or if I physically bit my cheek as the curtains were pulled back on what happened that night. Tears, both angry and broken rain down my face as I push the door open and fall to the ground on my hands and knees when I get out of the Camaro.
