8:13

[SENSITIVE THEMES: ALCOHOL USE, DUI, HARM TO A CHILD]

They say your life can change in an instant, and… by god, that might be true.

“Alright, alright…” John, red-cheeked and loose, raised his hands in surrender with a grin. “This has been a blast, but the wife expected me home a half hour ago to tuck the girls in.”

His boys let out a chorus of groans.

“Cmon!” the tallest one whined. Then, he swayed unsteadily and leaned against John’s shoulder for support, completely oblivious to the way his drink was spilling onto the floor. “We get, like, one major church mixer a year and you’re gonna leave early?”

Another leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a whisper as he flashed the flask in his suit jacket pocket. “Yeah, and after we went through all the effort to smuggle this little beauty in…”

John chuckled. “Duty calls, fellas.”

And they let him go – of course they did. Even if they could get a little rowdy sometimes, these men were honest-to-god good people. All members of the church were, really. He could not ask for a more wonderful congregation. Even as he stumbled his way to the door, he received nothing but smiles and well wishes for his drive home, short as it may be.

Geez, that breeze felt good.

Just outside the church doors, right on the edge of the pavement, John paused. His hands fumbled awkwardly in the pockets of his peacoat. It had been an anniversary gift from his wife, so he loved the thing, but the pockets were small. Even now, he could barely move his fingers around to find his own car keys.

“Pastor John?”

John looked up, bewildered, only to calm as he saw a familiar face. “Mr. Engel!” He straightened his posture, but his cheeks flushed anyway. “Are you alright?”

Even under the dim light of the street lamp, he could see the disapproval creeping onto the old man’s concerned expression. “I should ask you the same thing.”

John swayed nervously. “Me? Oh, I’m just headed home for the evening… But! Festivities are still going strong in there, so you’re still welcome to join in on the fun.”

Mr. Engel was still staring. “You’re sweating.”

John blinked, then twisted his neck to check his arms. “Am I?”

“Pastor, forgive me if I’m wrong, but…” The old man crept forward into his space, taking a deep inhale. “You haven’t had anything to drink, have you?”

He could still taste the liquor on his breath, but his wife was going to kill him if he didn’t hurry it up. He was late enough as is. So, he smiled, and placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder and told him, “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Engel, I’m an iced tea man myself. I probably just worked up too much of a sweat boogying down on the dance floor, is all.”

Sorrow crossed the man’s face. “You have a good night, Pastor.”

Finding his car was more difficult than John had anticipated. Even with pressing the button to make it chirp, it took a few rounds of stumbling around the parking lot filled with near identical cars to find his specific lifted truck. Still, he managed to pull himself into the driver’s seat and shakily shove the key into the ignition, filling the cab with metallic scratching until he got it right.

“Okay, home…” John murmured idly under his breath as he pulled out from his parking spot. “Go-ing home. Driving home to shee my girls.”

By the grace of God, the streets were empty. Turning left onto this street was usually a nightmare, but John was able to merge right away. He grinned, and felt as euphoria swelled in his chest. How lucky was he! That really must be the big man looking out for him.

Where was the window button in this new car, anyway? That dancing really had taken a lot out of him; his skin now felt hot and sticky to the touch. His collar clung almost painfully to his throat, and shifted angrily across his skin as he leaned down to get a better look for the button with increasing desperation. It should be right there… just a little farther….

The rumble strip roared to life beneath him, jolting John back into focus.

“Damn,” he muttered. Then, a grimace crossed his face, and he gripped the wheel tighter. “Ope, sorry. Won’t happen again, Father.”

Now, John hadn’t given much thought to his personal belongings when he climbed in. The contents of his wallet, still half-open, were strewn messily across his passenger seat – he had all but thrown the thing in there. His phone’s spot was equally haphazard. Only the bottom half was actually touching his seat, while the rest kept a shaky balance on the edge. When he jolted back into the road, however, the entire phone went flying, landing with an audible crack on the passenger side floor.

“Shit!” he cried, immediately launching himself over to grab it.

Paying little mind to his driving, John instead fumbled desperately for the phone, his hands blindly searching with increased fervor with each passing second. Then, a text came through, and the temporarily lit screen was bright enough for his hands to curl tightly around the device.

Seeing the time, however, John’s face scrunched anyway. “8:13? God, Michelle is going to kill me.”

He popped his head back up just in time to see a blur of red.

John gasped, but there was no stopping this. Even with his pedal pushed full-force to the floor, his brakes grinding uselessly against the asphalt below, the car continued to move. Forward, forward, forward.

The two vehicles collided with a horrifying crunch.

—

John’s ears were ringing.

“What…” He brought two fingers to his temple. Then, upon feeling something damp, he drew them back to better inspect them. Red. Wet. Blood. Was that his? Nausea bubbled in his gut.

There was shattered glass in his lap.

Grunting, he tried to lift his hips enough to brush it onto the floor, but the seat belt had already locked itself, holding him tightly against the seat. He exhaled roughly.

The engine hissed angrily at him. Dazed as he was, this was a new vehicle, and he didn’t want to damage it any more than he already had, so he used all of the strength in his body to pull the key from the ignition and drop it into the cup holder beside him. He let out another sigh. He was okay. He was going to be fine.

Outside the car, someone began to scream.

John’s eyes widened. The other car.

Groaning, he clicked out of his seat belt. His entire body ached, but he pushed his way from his truck anyway, stumbling onto the dimly lit street with exceeding effort. His shoes crunched against the shattered glass that littered the intersection.

The wailing started up again. “AVA!”

The other vehicle, an older model Prius, was starting to smoke. As John stumbled forward, even with the loud ringing in his ears, he could hear the engine hissing and groaning, as well as a strange sound that sounded almost like water hitting hot metal, drop by drop. When the screaming began, however, that quickly overpowered any sound the car could have made.

“Charlotte…” A strained voice called out. “Charlotte, are you okay?”

“AVA!” The first voice sobbed. “Ava, please, you’ve gotta wake up… c’mon, Ava, please!”

There was a serious dent in the driver’s side door. Even from where he stood, John could see a small body slumped against the remains of the window frame. Blood was splattered against the outer paint.

A pit formed in his stomach. She wasn’t… was she…?

His phone, shattered beyond recognition, still laid uselessly in his hand.

“Oh my god, I don’t think she’s breathing…” The car shook a few times, like there was slow movement inside the vehicle. “Mia, oh my god, she’s really not breathing… What do we do?”

“9-1-1,” the girl answered, her voice trembling. “Quick, is your phone still okay? Call 9-1-1!”

Wait… Mia. Charlotte. Ava. John knew those names… He knew that voice. Why did he…?

On the pavement before him, something glittered, drawing his attention. He took a step closer, narrowing his eyes to inspect the item: a shimmering gold chain with the name Ava Rose hanging at the bottom in perfect script. A crown charm decorated the top of the A.

John was going to be sick. Of course he recognized the necklace – he had paid for it.

Ava’s hand slipped lifelessly from the shattered window. Her bracelet, the matching one she shared with his oldest daughter, smacked tinnily against the car’s metal hull. Her dried blood adorned half of the charms.

And what could John do, but stare in abject horror? “... Oh, fuck.”