I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in the car, motionless, but now I’m cold. I try the engine. It starts, so I roll up the window. My purse is on the floor of the passenger’s side, the contents spilled across the mat. Where’s my phone? I grope around in the dark until my hand touches its case.
When I swipe it open, I see the old thread of messages from Sarah. A breathy whimper echoes in the silent car. I push the green button—I want Sarah to help me.
“Hello, Cory?” she answers. Her voice causes a tear to run down my face. I wipe it away, listening to the sound of a horse whinny and buckets banging in the background. She’s still up. She’s in the barn. “What’s the matter? Did you get home all right?” The sound of her voice slows my breathing.
“There was an accident.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I think I’m okay. But the truck driver went over the guardrail. He might be dead.” The words sob out of my chest.
“Are the police there? Did they call your parents?”
“No. I haven’t called them…”
“Hang up and call the police. Now. Tell them where you are. Where are you?”
“Cliff Road, you know where the bend’s in it?”
“Call 9-1-1 and don’t move. I’ll be right there.”
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