An Icy Road in December

    It all happened on the night of my office holiday party. My boss's mid-century modern house was tucked in at the top of a winding private road. The great hall was full of stockbrokers trying to impress the boss, hoping for their chance at that office on the 23rd floor. Their wives were grouped in packs like wolves, judging and whispering. My wife, Kate, didn't want to go. She hated parties and I knew that, but I didn't care. She wasn't going to ruin this for me. I was so close to getting that office. The boss had to see me there. 

    Before we went in I turned her around. "Fix your hair. It's better like this," I said, moving her hair behind her shoulders. "Oh and don't wear this dress again." 

She cordially smiled as I made small talk with people from the office I had complained to her about on many occasions. She played the part of the demure soft-spoken wife very well. “Just don’t talk,” I told her as we drove to the party. Eventually, she found a seat on the side of the hall and sat, petting the boss’s german shepherd, and occasionally giving me the ‘I want to leave’ signal. Of course, I ignored her and made her stay late into the night as I drank and shared cigars with the boss.  

    We argued as I drove home down that long and winding road. It had been sleeting steadily since we left the party. The ice fell against the windshield creating a coating on the glass my wipers could not keep up with. I was angry and drunk. She screamed at me to slow down, but I wanted to get home and get out of that car. 

    "Please," she said. I looked angrily at her for a moment. She was crying and scared.

    “Slow down,” she begged again. 

    “I know how to drive!'' I snapped and pressed the accelerator down further. We came around the last curve and the back end of the car fish-tailed. The car spun several times and bounced against the guard rail. Kate's head hit the window and I saw her go limp. The car stopped at the bottom of the hill on the cross street.

   Her eyes opened just in time to see the semi-truck coming from behind. I watched as she was lifted from her seat, projected forward through the windshield. A black mass began to cloud my vision, expanding until there was nothing but blackness and the continuous blare of the car horn.

    I woke up in my bed. The phone was ringing relentlessly. My head throbbed. Groggy and half-asleep, I answered. 

    "Hello?" I asked, my voice raspy and confused. Silence.

I could hear Kate walking down the hallway. A Scott Joplin ragtime tune played, archaic, and crackling from the record player in the living room. What was she doing?

   "Hello?!" I asked again, annoyed. 

   “Why good day, Mr. Ferguson, this is Herbert White of the wildly popular television show Second Chances. I’m sure you are familiar with our broadcast no doubt.”

I sat up in bed. 

   “No. I’m not. What is this about?”

A distant histrionic laugh echoed through the line. 

   “Well, Mr. Ferguson you, are certainly in luck. This is your chance at a brand new life!"

   "Is this a joke?" I asked glancing at the caller id. Unknown number.

   “Most assuredly not! You are in for a real treat. Oh, be sure to dust off those dapper rags. We certainly want you to look your very best.”

   “We are so excited. We’ll be seeing you soon!” The line went dead.

The music in the living room continued to play. I yelled her name. She did not respond. 

    “Turn it off. My head hurts,” I said as I walked down the hallway, the music getting even louder.     

    “Jesus fucking christ are you deaf or—”

I turned the corner. A man stood at the record player looking down and tapping his foot.

    “Who are you?!” I yelled, reaching for the closest weapon I could find. I held the umbrella up. 

The man turned and looked at me. He gave a short amused chuckle.

    “Actually you might need that umbrella. I do believe it is sleeting out.” 

    “Who the fuck are you. ”

He grabbed a piece of taffy out of the candy dish and shrugged.

    “I don’t know I’m just the driver.”

I looked at him confused. 

    “Hello, your driver for the show Second Chances. I thought you already talked about this with the boss." He reached out to shake my hand. "Name's Karen." He pulled back his hand. "It's a family name, so don't make fun."

I ran back up the stairs to the bedroom, locked the door, and grabbed the phone. There was still no dial tone. Only the man's voice.

    "Come on then, Mr. Ferguson. We have to get you into hair and wardrobe. They're waiting for you." I threw the phone down. The steps came closer to the bedroom door. A knock. 

    "I have other people to pick up, I really don't have time for this."

The door began to move inwards and out. It was breathing. His face pressed through the expanding wood until it was completely on the other side. His arms broke through and reached for me as I hid beside the bed. A laugh came from the phone, high-pitched then deep like a record spinning faster and slower. The laugh continued as the arms pushed me down through the floor and into the darkness. 

   When I came to, I was seated in front of a lit dressing room vanity. A man stood behind me fussing with my hair.

    "You passed out. Sounds like those nerves got the best of you. Not a thing to worry about though, except this hair," he said, spinning my chair around. Frustrated, he combed it back and slicked it down with pomade. 

    "Perfect. And how about that suit, huh?" The man spun me back to face the mirror. I was wearing the blue suit I had worn to the party. This must be a dream, I thought to myself. I am in the hospital being fed a cocktail of drugs through an IV drip. 

   I was rushed out of the room by a short production assistant. She led me down a hallway and at the last door on the right she turned me around, fixed my tie, and grabbed my shoulders.

    "You'll love this. Don't be nervous. And this isn't a dream" She spun me back around and pushed me through the door.

   I stumbled into a dark room. The only light came from an exit sign in the distance. A spotlight broke through the blackness followed by a drumroll. An applause sign lit up, and a voice boomed from a speaker. 

    "Welcome our first guest, Jim Ferguson, ladies and gentlemen!" 

The house lights came on revealing a crowd of familiar faces.

A man in a glittering red suit and bowtie walked towards me. He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously then wrapped his arm around me, guiding me closer to a red couch. The crowd cheered and the man waved.  

   "Let me tell the audience a little bit about you.” He read from a card. “ It says here you’re a stockbroker and a husband. Your pastimes include being an alcoholic abusive husband, killing your wife, and just being an all-around piece of shit.” The crowd booed. “Let’s take a look at this clip." The lights dimmed. Behind the couch, the accident replayed on a screen. The crowd stood up yelling and waving their fists. I closed my eyes. Wake up, Jim. Wake up. 

    "Ouch. That is hard to watch. I bet you wish you could take that night back!”

    "But hold on, Jim, because we have a surprise for you." The black curtain opened. "Kate, come on out!" Kate slowly emerged from the darkness. Her face poured blood from shards of glass embedded in her cheeks. The side of her face hung on like flaps of thinly sliced meat. The only recognizable trait was her long wavy red-hair which was matted with blood and fragments of bone. I wailed and fell to my knees. With a tormented retching sound I threw up on the floor. Kate walked forward and sat on the far end of the couch, placing her hands delicately in her lap.

   "Thank you. For being here, Kate." He took her hand in his. "This show is called Second Chances and that is what we are giving here today. A second chance to set things right." He jumped to his feet. "So let's give them a second chance!" he yelled and danced around like a preacher selling the word of God. “Here we go!” The crowd's deranged applause and chanting faded.

    I woke up in the passenger seat of our Lexus. Kate was driving wearing the same black dress she wore to the party. There was no more blood or cuts on her face. I looked out the window. In the mirror was my boss’s house at the top of the hill. It was the night of the party. Kate was crying. The sleet covered the windshield. 

      “You’re not going to treat me like shit anymore.” 

     "Kate, please slow down," I begged. 

Kate looked at me and accelerated, hitting that same curve. The car spun and hit the guard rail. My head hit the windshield. I came-to just in time to see Kate smiling at me. She placed her hand on mine, right before the truck hit us from behind, right before I was lifted from my seat.