“Can you split the screen?” asked Daddy Bliss. “I don’t know that Driver will be able to follow otherwise.” He looked at me. “No offense intended.”
I said nothing. It seemed the smart thing to do.
Ciera typed in a single command, hit the return key, and the image on the screen split in two; on the left side, a schematic of a section of highway (presumably somewhere in Lexington, Kentucky); on the right was a live feed from a camera mounted atop what I assumed was a light somewhere along the same highway shown on the schematic.
“Okay,” said Ciera, turning a smaller desk-top monitor toward us. Its screen showed a middle-aged man sitting in his living room, running two HO-scale cars around a large track that was an exact replica of the schematic. Beneath this image was a series of changing numbers and the words Bloomington, Indiana.
The man onscreen stopped for a moment, looked at the clock, then carefully placed two more cars onto the track at different locations; after that, he picked up a second control handset and squeezed the triggers on both. The cars on the track began moving, and at the same time four blinking lights appeared on the schematic, each one following the same path as its counterpart on this man’s track.
“You might want to step back a little bit,” said Ciera. “The idea is to take all this in at a glance. It’ll be easier for you to see everything if you move back a foot or two.”
I did as she said, and watched as Bloomington, Indiana increased the speed of the HO-scale cars.
As he increased the speed, the blinking lights on the highway schematic began moving faster.
As the blinking lights on the schematic moved faster, two cars became visible in the distance from the live-feed camera.
Daddy Bliss wasn’t looking at the screen any longer; he was watching me. “I do believe that our Driver has figured something out.”
“Oh, God…” was all I could get out.
When it happened, it happened quickly.
Two cars approached the camera, a Ford Explorer and a Chevy Corvette. They were one lane apart, both going at roughly the same speed. As they drove closer to the camera, two cars traveling in the opposite direction on the other side of the concrete divider zoomed into view; a Pontiac Bonneville and a Saturn Ion Sedan. The Pontiac and Saturn were going well over the speed limit. The Pontiac veered into the lane directly behind the Saturn and flashed its brights. The Saturn increased its speed, as did the Pontiac. I wondered what the hell the Pontiac driver was thinking, what he (or she, I couldn’t tell) thought was going to be accomplished by this. Maybe the Saturn had done something to piss him off, and the Pontiac driver was just acting on impulsive anger. Or maybe the Pontiac was trying to get in the Exit lane and the Saturn driver was just fucking with him.
A few moments later, it didn’t much matter.
The Saturn suddenly hit its brakes (or had its brakes hit for it). The Pontiac slammed into the back of the Saturn, crumpling its own front end and upending the Saturn, which flipped over the divider just as the Explorer came up from the other side. The Saturn landed on the hood of the Explorer, crumpling it and forcing the Explorer to slant-skid right and side-swipe the Corvette, causing the driver to lose control and spin out, the rear of the car smashing into the divider and sending the thing spinning even harder, coming to a screeching halt a second before the Explorer slammed into its side and the Saturn came off its hood to smash squarely onto the Corvette’s roof. It couldn’t have taken six seconds. The man on the smaller monitor dropped his handsets and walked over to his HO tracks, examining the four smashed, piled-up cars. The schematic showed a single blinking light now, this one bigger than the others, and flashing a bright red.
The live feed showed only a mass of smoking, twisted, smashed, bloody metal and glass. The Saturn had run halfway up the divider after rear ending the Pontiac, and looked like a sick beast trying to climb over a rock.
After a moment, one of the Saturn’s doors opened and a woman who was nothing but blood from head to heel fell out onto the highway. A moment later, several bulky shadows dislodged themselves from the night and swam toward the wreckage. I couldn’t watch any more. I turned away, closing my eyes. A few moments later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay now,” said Ciera. “It’s over.” I opened my eyes and saw Daddy Bliss moving toward me. “So,” he said, “you’ve some idea now?” I could barely find my voice, but somehow managed to do so. “One question.” “Of course.” I pointed toward the screens. “Is this…do you…” “Take your time, Driver. Take a deep breath. There you are. Now, once more?”
“These accidents…they’re not accidents at all, are they?”
Daddy Bliss sighed. “I think the answer to that should be obvious, dear boy. But that’s not your real question, is it?”
I looked right into his unblinking eyes. “Is it just certain accidents like this one, or is it all of them?”
“Ah, direct and to the point this time. Splendid. Allow me to return the candor, Driver.” He moved closer to me. “It is all of them. It has always been all of them. All of them.” “…oh, God…” “So you believe?” “…yes…”
“You’ve no idea how much that pleases me. It will make the rest of this so much easier.”
I looked at the destruction on the monitor once more. “Says you….”
11
Daddy Bliss decided to skip the tour of the Repair Unit itself. “You’ve already seen the ‘before’ and ‘after’ of the process. The ‘during’ portion would be a bit of overkill at this point, I think.”
We were back in the holding room, having re-traced our route through the halls and elevators. I’d almost looked in on Pinto again but closed my eyes at the last moment and just kept moving.
Someone had prepared a lovely meal for me; broiled pork chops in garlic-and- butter sauce, steamed vegetables, homemade rolls, a nice side salad with parmesan cheese and no dressing, and a generous slice of pecan pie topped with an even more generous portion of real whipped cream for dessert. A large, frosty mug of A&W Root Beer sat on a coaster, the ice cracking and rising to the top, thin beads of condensation running slow rivulets down the sides.
When we’d first entered the room, all I could do was stare at everything. If it were possible to have all of my favorite foods in one place at one time, prepared exactly the way I preferred them, then this meal was it. “How did you know?” I asked him as I picked up the mug and sipped at the root beer. “How did we know what?” I stared at him. “Please don’t be cute with me, sir.” He grinned. “Apologies. You want to know how we knew what to prepare, and how to prepare it?” I looked at the food. “Or you could just tell me that you already know all there is to know about me and be done with it.”
“We already know all there is to know about you. We’ve known since the moment you took that map from Road Mama’s apartment. I’m sensing more questions coming, am I correct?”
“You have to admit, this is an awful lot to take in.”
“Agreed.” He glanced at the clock on the wall—a clock that had not been here earlier. “We have some time—not much, but enough. Ask your questions but, please, do eat your food as you do so. Nova prepared the meal herself, and she is by far the best cook in town.”
I picked up the knife and fork and began carving up the first pork chop. I paused with the first piece halfway to my mouth and said, “Some people might look at this—all their favorite foods prepared just how they like them—and think, ‘This is a last meal.’”
His only response was to stare at me.
“I did nothing to deserve this.” I popped the piece into my mouth and chewed. It was perfection.
“On the contrary,” said Daddy Bliss. “The moment you took that map, you put yourself in this position—wait, that’s not entirely correct. The moment you asked Mr. Dobbs to take a close look at everything on Road Mama’s bedside table, you were already on your way here, you just didn’t know it—ooh, that sounds so ominous, doesn’t it? I would apologize, but I so rarely have the opportunity to indulge my flair for the dramatic.”