A SWERVE IN THE THUTH

She’s stepping out of the tattoo shop, waving a final goodbye. She’s looking down as a gentle wind kicks up the leaves, dancing around her ankles and blowing her long, wavy black hair across her face. She looks incredible—faded skinny jeans, a deep V-cut “Beautiful Disaster” tee, and a black leather jacket with metal clasps that match the buckles on her boots. When she brushes a strand of hair back, I see that sad smile just as the sun catches the aquamarine cross on her neck, making it flare with icy light. She climbs into a black Jeep with metallic pink trim. I watch her dock her phone and reach for her seatbelt, only to wince and drop it. She pulls onto the empty street. Then, the SUV screams into the frame—wrong way, too fast. The impact is a sickening crunch of tearing metal. The Jeep flips once,twice three times throwing her onto the asphalt seconds before the wreck vanishes into a wall of flame. The firetruck stops blocking the road Dan our chief jumps from behind the steering wheel as I’m getting out from behind him he yells “William, grab the medic bag! Hurry up” turning I grab the bag from the first compartment as the rest of our team is hooking up hydrants to put the jeeps fire out. Running to Dan as he’s kneeling over her. I watch my own shadow fall over her still form. No obvious breaks, no deep cuts. But the Chief—a man made of steel—looks terrified. Why is he scared? Then, she opens her eyes. Electric blue. I’m lost in them instantly; I feel like I’m home. Her eyes lock onto mine, and— I bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, my skin slick with sweat and the phantom smell of gasoline. I’ve had this nightmare every night for five months. My hand flashes to the nightstand, fingers closing around a cold silver chain. I remember the moment: she looked into my eyes, tried to speak, and passed out. As the EMTs lifted her, the chain snapped and slid from her skin. I saw a small, fresh tattoo behind her left ear—a cross and a rose, the ink still angry and red. I’d scooped the necklace off the wet pavement as the ambulance screamed away. For 152 days, this necklace has been my only comfort. No one will talk about the accident. The files vanished. They said the driver was drunk, but there’s no record of an arrest. It’s like it never happened. I turn the cross over in my hand, and for the first time, I notice a tiny indentation. I scramble for a magnifying glass. Under the lens, the light hits the back of the setting, revealing a elegant script: Mandy Ross. The air leaves my lungs. The Ross family—the wealthiest, most untouchable dynasty in town. Did the Chief recognize her? Is that why he looked so haunted? They didn't want to hide the accident; they wanted to hide her. The youngest daughter of the Ross family the one no one talked about. The truth hits me harder than the SUV hit her Jeep. The mysterious Mandy Ross how can I find her. I grabbed my phone and started searching her name. Nothing it’s like she was a ghost no social media no news articles not even a family photo. As I was about to give up an obituary caught my eye : Dolores Ross, of Northwood, NC went to be with the Lord on October 2. A devoted mother and "Grandma" to many, she leaves behind a legacy of love, faith, and cherished memories that will be carried forward by her family, Dolores was preceded in death by her husband, Ronald Ross. And there is was right underneath a comment. Mandy Ross: Rest in peace, Grandma. You were our foundation and our light. October 2 that was just 3 weeks before the accident. I remember Dolores she would bring bake goods to the firehall for fundraisers always donated at boot drives. She was a pillar of not just their family but also the community. The family lives 3 blocks away from me on the other side of the cemetery. How have I never seen Mandy before. I tuck the necklace into my drawer. At 5:00 AM, my alarm is going to be ruthless. I need to focus on the gym, but all I can see is that metallic pink trim burned into my retinas.