Old Windows

Accidents Happen

* Continuing

Shutting his phone forcefully, as forcefully as his pointer and middle finger would let him, he hurled his phone into the passenger seat, latched a tight grasp on his steering wheel and jerked the car back around in an attempted U turn. Amidst his fuming rage, he neglected to check his rearview mirrors for any on coming cars. His mistake. Mort, at maximum speed bashed into another car head on, completely obliterating the grills and more of both their cars.

Mort's phone went flying through the windshield, never to be seen again. Whiplash caused his head to tear forward onto the front of his wheel, pummeling his forehead, then thrashing him backwards into the deteriorating and poorly cushioned headrest. He must've been knocked out for a couple minutes, since the next thing he saw when he opened his eyes, was a blurry figment of what seemed to be a person in front of the dark clouds hanging above.

Their voice was faint and fading out along with Mort's consciousness. Inappreciable pokes and shakes at Mort's body weren't enough to suffice. Eventually, his body forced him awake. This time there was no person, no man-made sounds. Nothing. Only the sounds of rustling in the trees and broken engines struggling to work. Mort grappled with his own strength, and his mind was perceiving all that had taken place. He roared in agony, and everything felt broken and contorted within himself. His best option was his arms he relied on to drag him at least an inch away from where he lied. He soon realized this was no help due to the small fragments of glass pushing themselves deep into his hands.

He hissed in pain and quickly brought his hands up to his eyes, trying to pull the microscopic pieces out. Mort quickly gave up when he came to the conclusion that his bare and bloody fingernails were no use, he rested his wrists on the cold and soaked streets, avoiding more glass. He looked to his left and saw what had to have been the immemorable person from earlier. It was a woman, most likely in her late 50's. She seemed as if he hadn't endured as much physical trauma as he did. Sure her face was slashed in some areas and wounds were forming by the minute, but he was certain his pain was much worse. Mort scooted himself as much as he could to face her direction and managed to thump the very top of her shoe with his, a couple times. It wobbled lifelessly. 'There's no way she could've died. She was up not that long ago'  he thought to himself in bewilderment.

It amazed him that absolutely no other witnesses were around, nor did anyone else come. Mort had a suspicion his leg might've been sprained due to the grievous affliction he could easily identify.

He crawled over to the woman and lied a gentle and cautious hand on her chest, he felt for a moment or two, "No pulse?" he pressed his hand a little harder to verify his conclusion.

Her body was beginning to chill, and his hand lied there a little too long. His verdict that he had most definitely killed this woman from the crash, was a most chilling reality for him to handle. Mort ripped his hand off and yelped, trying his best to crab-crawl away from this corpse. Mort had been around plenty more dead bodies than one should have been, but this time wasn't like the others. He didn't deliberately kill her, it just happened. No one knows, only him and God, if there was one to Mr.Rainey.

"Sh*t sh*t sh*t," he cried over and over. Genuine tears were materializing down his face. He had never encountered something like this before, and the element of seclusion from everyone else was probably the one he detested most.

In his still very much acknowledgeable physical and psychological torment, he devised a plan. An urgent, must needed plan. He conjured all the remaining brawn his body could possibly have left, and gambled his low chances of getting on his two feet. Not even Mort knew if they were broken yet. He grabbed on to what was left of the distorted and unrecognizable front that used to be his car. The metal was digging into his hand, and he bit down on his lip, knowing one way or another he had to get up.

His phone was nowhere in sight and his strength didn't have the power to carry him to the deceased woman to see if she had one available. This might've been in his best interest however. No one could know. He wouldn't have to comes to terms with what was turning out to be a loathsome day. Mort's bent legs could only transfer him so many inches at a time. His ankles would give out and his muscles were not where they should've been. But with terror being his only motivation, he went behind his car, where thankfully nothing had been damaged too badly. His trunk had been opened ajar, just enough for him to cram in his dirty and raw fingertips to force it open. Mort unlatched the opening on the bottom of his trunk floor to get to the tool box that was inside. It wasn't the correct size screwdriver but it had to do. He performed a miracle and popped off the license plate of his 'new' car, since the old one was never to be seen again.

"No tracks no traces, no tracks no traces," he repeated through his teeth over and over again. Almost as if he was giving reason to his actions for himself.

His house was nearby. 5 minutes by foot seemed nearby, but not when your ligaments were disfigured. Minor and fragile footsteps were all he had to rely on to get him home. In this manner, he found his ankles wouldn't give out as easily and the pain wasn't so prominent. Mort clenched on to that plate in his hand that was beginning to become coated in his blood with everything in him; which wasn't much. So he hid it in his jacket.

A brief and ineffective thought crossed his mind on that treacherous walk home, this is how Elise must've felt. This is how Amy, must've felt. This is how Claire is going to feel. He had no remorse for it, he could just recognize how they might've felt and the thought was blown away like dust.

Mort could see his house in the distance. The dark brown shingles of his roof were calling him home from afar. What could Claire be doing in there? he thought. Right now she could be deep into his story. My story. My computer. Sh*t! Trepidation buried itself into his stomach. His computer couldn't be gone. It was the one thing besides his innocence and control that he held close to him. Mort stopped in his steps and fell on the ground. The contemplation was too overwhelming for him, he needed that stupid little computer. Nothing was in his hands anymore and he had no sense of any plan to solve this. His computer was probably in scattered fragments all over the road. He fell to the ground in exhaustion, his knees couldn't bear anymore weight. He cried in pain as he hit the pavement.

"Mort?" he heard a woman's call in the distance.

A strange and impossible concept came to him when he thought briefly, 'could it be the woman I killed?' 'It can't be' but to his relief it was not, it wasn't even coming from the same direction. It was a woman he dreaded but also felt relieved to see.

"Claire?" he called back.

He saw her running in her raincoat and boots, dressed as if she had been out for a while.

"What're you doing? My God Mort...what the hell happened to you?" she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand as his appearance was becoming clearer the closer she got.

"I got in an accident," he could barely catch his breath to get it out.

"Where? Did anyone get hurt!" Claire's concern arose at the possibility of Mort killing, yet another person.

"Claire," his words were combating his crushed lungs as he took a clutch of her dangling trench coat, "just up the road, is my car. Find, my, computer," his breath meeting its end.

She had no right words to say in the moment and struggled with her conscious, "Mort, was anyone involved?" she asserted as she knelt down again.

"Yes, now just get the g**damn computer!" he roared through aching anguish.

"How're you gonna get back? You can't go by yourself!"

"Just go!" He yelled once more, pointing in the direction of the accident.