Driftwood: Tales

The Horror of Route 57

"I read the old reports. Your bus hit the guard rail post, and you were thrown from the vehicle. You must have hit that post pretty hard."

Fran nodded.

"Could you please explain what happened next?"

"As I said, Mr. Belmont. I was thrown from the bus, injured."

"...a broken arm, it reads in the report."

"That's correct." Francis Briar's expression was distant, eyes empty and glazed. "I saw the tail end of the bus go over the edge. The screaming. Such horrible screaming, and then... there was a second crash. The sound of breaking glass. Twisting, tearing metal. Then it was over. The screaming stopped. My students were silent."

"Did you try to get down there? Check for survivors?"

"I wanted to. I really did. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. I couldn't climb down there." Fran's brow furrowed, and the years of guilt showed over her aged face. She looked as if since the accident, she aged ten years for every year. She looked weak, frail, and bitter.

If her story was true, perhaps she had every right to be.

"Franny - can I call you Franny? Franny, I need more information. I'm pushing to reopen this investigation. People will forget this ever happened if I don't get the full story. I feel like I'm not getting it all. Can you help me?"

"Bret - yes, Franny's fine - I've spent well over forty years trying to forget it ever happened. It's the last thought I have before I sleep... the first thought to greet me when I wake in the morning... never mind the nightmares. Why would you or anyone else want to relive that horror?"

"If not for the case, then to clear any doubt over your involvement? This is true horror. It is real. It did happen, and the facts are facts." Bret reached for a briefcase beside his seat. He opened it, and drew a file folder. He opened the folder, and shuffled through a thick collection of reports inside it. He held the folder in one hand, and rubbed his forehead with the other. "Thirty-eight students were killed when the bus went over the edge. Thirty-eight young lives lost. There were no survivors of the route fifty-seven incident."

"You're wrong, Mr. Belmont. There was one survivor, and I've had to live with that all these long years. I see them, you know."

"Do you see them right now?"

Francis Briar laughed grimly. "No, Mr. Belmont. I don't see pink elephants. I'm not some drunk on detox, and I don't hallucinate. I'm not a madwoman, no matter what the staff believes."

"...but there were no other survivors."

"All the more reason to forget it ever happened."

"People need to remember this tragedy and keep it close to their hearts. Maybe it means this never, ever has to happen again. Franny, this could clear your name. If you help me help you, you could get out of this place."

"Mr. Belmont, I can promise you nothing like that will ever happen again. It was a fluke. A freak accident. Inexplicable. I could not even begin to clarify this to you enough."

"You've got to try. Things like this can't be discarded! I need the information, and you're the only survivor."

"Survive? Do you call this surviving? Maybe I walked away from the accident, but I didn't walk away from it free. Hillside Driftwood these past forty years. No visitors. I get to walk the gardens once a day. Maybe I didn't die, Mr. Belmont... but I am hardly what you could call alive."