Haven

He drives fast. He drives with purpose.

He is having the time of his life.

Perhaps you have mistaken me, for I do not mean that he is enjoying himself, oh no. I tell you indeed that Todd Fabini is in fact as miserable as miserable can be.

A year ago today, on Christmas Eve, no less, Todd’s wife and daughter died somewhere out on these infinite roads - a tragic accident in icy conditions.

He hopes the demons of the road show mercy and take him too.

He drives fast. He drives with purpose.

Through the night: unfamiliar country lanes slick with drizzle, at racing speed. So far the tyres grip the tarmac as tightly as his hands grip the steering wheel.

The almost full moonlight illuminates the landscape with wonder, but slithers off Todd’s grim face as if afraid of what it might become. He navigates the road with frantic eyes and a maelstrom mind.

In delirium, he imagines going back in time to be with his beloved wife and daughter. This time he goes with them for that last-minute Christmas shopping. This time he is driving the car, and ensures they all return home safely.

A lightning-flash image of Jen and Lilly lying on mortician trolleys, naked and pale, covered only by thin white sheets.

They must be cold, he thinks.

And their eyes…

Their eyes more empty than you can imagine.

Todd flinches at the memory, and there the demons almost take him - almost. He makes adjustments by instinct; the car squeals in protest, but continues on.

                                                    * * *

“Give it a year,” his friend Mike had begged him, one beer and tear sodden night. “Give it a year, and you won’t have forgotten, but it’ll be easier to live with. Promise me you’ll not do anything rash till then.”

Formerly a man of honour and reason, Todd had made that promise of a year’s abstinence from self-destruction, and kept his word. He had tried to get on with his life: his job, his friends, and even, briefly, a lover. He engaged himself wherever necessary: sharing smiles and laughter, concern and condolence, but his emotion remained superficial. Gaping despair gnawed relentlessly at the tattered veil of sanity he wore loosely around himself 

Now the debt is paid, the promise spent. It is Christmas Eve, and all honour and reason is gone. What remains is a different man: a shadow man, a hollow man. The pretence of his life is over.

What keeps him, you might ask, from simply twisting the wheel and smashing himself against a tree or other suitably hard object? Is it fear of survival - of being pulled from the wreck with horrible injuries from which there would be no escape?

Perhaps, but perhaps it is more than that, for do we not intuit that some destiny lies ahead for him down this dark, insidious road?

He drives fast. He drives with purpose 

There are lights out there in the dark, the moon’s monochrome glow pierced with

flashes of green and red. Todd has no idea where he is and does not recognise the building ahead, all aglow with Christmas lights, but his face splits into an involuntary grin as the car’s headlights illuminate a sign:

                                                                           H A V E N

Caught by whim, he pulls into the modest car park. The building has no obvious amenities for wayward travellers. Why it lies out here in the middle of nowhere is a mystery.