THE CROSS ROADS
722 Words
Ariana’s hands gripped the wheel tighter as the truck rolled to a stop at the intersection. The red light glared ahead, a harsh circle in the dark. Cars lined every lane, engines humming. Everything looked ordinary, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced down.
Wait. Don’t move until instructed.
She obeyed, keeping her foot on the brakes. The red light cycled green, then red, then green again. Her patience stretched thin. Every passing second felt deliberate, controlled.
A new message appeared:
Drive.
Ariana exhaled, easing the truck forward. She followed the light, merging carefully into the intersection, eyes flicking between her surroundings and the other cars. Each movement felt precise, almost rehearsed.
Her phone buzzed again.
Don’t make any mistakes.
Her stomach twisted. Confused, she looked up….then she saw it: a black car, creeping through the intersection. Her heart lurched. Time slowed.
Before she could react, the truck slammed into the side of the black car. The metal screamed as the impact sent the vehicle spinning. Tires squealed, glass shattered, and the black car flipped violently, somersaulting across the wet asphalt.
Screams filled the night, horns blaring around her, but all Ariana could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Her hands shook on the wheel. The truck skidded, hitting the curb, bouncing slightly before she wrestled it upright.
Through the shattered windshield of the black car, she caught a glimpse of movement or what was left of it. Panic gripped her. People were trapped. Blood. Chaos everywhere. Her stomach twisted, nausea rising, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t undo it.
This… this wasn’t random.
Adrenaline and fear coursed through her. She pressed the brake harder, taking stock of the aftermath. Twisted metal, scattered debris, and the faint smell of smoke filled the air. Every sense screamed: something had been planned, and she was the instrument.
Ariana’s chest heaved. She stared at the wreckage, the horrifying scene before her. A part of her wanted to run. Another part wanted answers. But the truck still idled beneath her hands, and she had no choice but to move forward.
Across the city, far from the chaos at the intersection, everything carried on as usual.
High above it all, behind glass walls and quiet control, he sat in his office.
The world here was different.
Organized. Precise. Predictable.
The soft scratch of pen against paper was the only sound as he signed through a stack of documents, his focus absolute, his movements unhurried. Nothing slipped past him. Nothing ever did.
A knock came at the door.
He didn’t respond immediately.
The knock came again, slightly sharper this time.
His pen stilled. He didn't look up.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
His assistant stepped inside, posture rigid, expression tight, wrong. Completely wrong.
He looked up.
And just like that, the calm in the room shifted.
“What is it?”
The door closed behind the assistant with a soft click, like even the room understood something had shifted.
“There’s been an accident.”
A beat.
His expression didn’t change.
“Be specific.”
The assistant hesitated, then
“It’s your car, sir.” Silence. Real silence this time.
Not the controlled, comfortable kind he was used to but something heavier.
His gaze sharpened.
“Where?”
“At an intersection. About thirty minutes ago. The vehicle…”
A pause. “…it overturned.”
The words landed, one after the other. Measured. Careful, too careful.
His fingers curled slightly against the desk.
“And who was inside?”
The question came out quieter than expected.
The assistant swallowed.
“Miss……..Victoria sir”
The name hit the air.
And this time—
He moved, not dramatically, not loudly. But the shift was instant. His chair scraped lightly as he stood, tension threading through every controlled movement.
“Status.”
“We’re still confirming, sir. Emergency responders are on site.”
Still confirming. Not safe. Not stable.
Unknown.
That was unacceptable.
He grabbed his jacket without looking, already moving past the desk.
“Get me everything,” he said, voice low, precise. “Surveillance. Traffic cams. Witness reports.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t stop walking.
“And the other driver?”
“
We’re tracking the vehicle now.”
A brief pause. Then
“Find him”
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD