Six Seconds

“I’m good.”

It took longer than usual to get to the expressway.

From there it was fine. It was a clear night. No snow. The roads were dry. The heater was blowing a gentle current of warm air to offset a slight chill. It felt so good being with her. It was tranquil and as they left the city Graham fell quiet.

“You okay there, buddy?” she asked.

He yawned again.

“Yup.”

As they got off the highway, heading into the foothills and deeper into the darkness, she gazed up at the constellations, naming them for him.

“Cassiopeia, Cepheus…”

Her soft voice, the hum and warm air relaxed Graham.

“Ursa Minor, Draco, Ursa Major…”

A perfect moment and it lulled him to surrender to his exhaustion.

The last things he remembered—

“DANIEL!”

The car was vibrating, her hand seized his arm.

“DANIEL!”

They’d gone off the road. He’d tried to correct it but overreacted, turning the wheel too sharply. The car rose, then they were airborne, rolling over and over, pavement, grass, metal crunching, glass breaking, dirt, lights and stars, all churning into nothingness.

He’s on the ground looking at their overturned car,its headlights pointing in odd directions. He smellsgasoline. The rad’s hissing. He sees her in her seat withthe deployed air bag, head turned all wrong, like a badjoke, like a rag doll.

Someone is screaming.

Screaming her name.

It’s him.

Everything blurs.

Emergency radios, sirens and he’s on a stretchermoving fast.

So fast.

Something’s pounding the air.

It’s deafening.

He’s flying. Ascending. Glimpsing strobing lightsbelow. A galaxy of suburban lights wheel beneath him.

Next, a powerful antiseptic smell. Starched bed linenagainst his skin. He’s alive but not right. Sore but numb.A tube connects his arm to a bag of liquid on a pole.Faraway, hollow voices echo his name.

“Mr. Graham?”

He’s not dreaming.

“I’m Dr. Simpson. You’ve been airlifted to ourhospital. You’ve been in an accident, Mr. Graham.You’ve got broken ribs, lacerations and a mild concussion.Nod if you understand.”

His head brushes against the pillow.

“Your wife was hurt badly. Her injuries wereextreme. I’m very, very sorry.”

Graham’s heart slams against his chest.

“The paramedics did everything they could but shenever regained consciousness. Her neck was broken.Her internal injuries were massive. I’m so sorry.”

The earth quakes.

“And the baby.”

Baby? What baby? It is a mistake. It is a dreambecause they don’t have a baby.

“She was three weeks along and may not haveknown she was pregnant.”

A blood rush roars in his brain, the universe cracksand darkness coils around him, crushing him with therealization.

HE’D FALLEN ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL ANDKILLED HIS WIFE AND THEIR UNBORN CHILD.

Now, all he had to keep him alive was his guilt.

It’s why he’d gone to the mountains. To distribute the last of Nora’s ashes then use his gun to be with her and their baby.

What else was left?

Standing there alone in the prairie night, the burden of his guilt forced him to his knees. Aching for her, he gripped the cross. “Nora, I am so sorry. Forgive me. Tell me what to do. Please. Tell me what I am supposed to do now?”

He searched the stars for the answer. It was delivered on a gentle breeze, resurrecting what had happened when he’d gone into the river to save the girl.

He’d heard Nora’s voice.

“Keep going, Daniel.”

This was his answer.

This case would be his redemption because his wife’s voice was not the only one guiding him.

“Don’t—daddy.”