The car came to a screeching halt, a little too late so it seems, when a body slammed on Eliza's windshield and cracked the glass.
She sat there frozen, her heart beating wildly in her chest, hands shaking, too shocked to move.
When she noticed that the figure in the middle of the road isn't a product of her imagination, it was too late. The car vibrated as she stepped hard on the brakes. And then, as if it was a movie, everything happened in slow motion. The moment the man looked the car's way, how the people's eyes widen in horror, the amplified sound of rain hitting the pavement.
Maybe Eliza's assistant missed the part about taking extra precautions on her horoscope. Or that her life would change that night. Or that she's about to become a murderer.
And then the slow motion breaks into chaos when gasped and cry for help filled the silence. A tap on her window forced Eliza back into her senses.
"Miss, are you okay?"
No, she wanted to answer as her heart continued to hammer in her chest, but no sound came out of her mouth. The ringing in her ear became a splitting sound trying to break her skull. The back of her eyes burned and her vision blurred. The space became smaller by the second and the air thinner with each breath. Her mind went blank.
She already know what's about to happen. She's going to pass out and wake up in a hospital bed and she can't stop it from happening. So she let it. Too tired to fight a loosing battle, she closed her eyes. Going home was her last thought before she lost consciousness.
And long silver hair on her cracked windshield.
To be fair, it's not silver, it's 'the color of pearl', the man's mother used to describe it. He got it from his father, and his father got it from his grandfather. Pearls are a great deal where he came from. They have plenty of it, all kinds. And they treasure it just as much as they treasure everything else around them.
And although expensive salons could imitate the same color if an Asian woman paid enough money, no one could afford the natural shine to it.
"I don't know why he's punishing you like this. To live with the legged-people?" his sister complained on his behalf. "They're dangerous! With their boats and their garbage. Luca, they're going to kill you!"
You might think this particular sister is being dramatic, but let's be real, she kind of has a point. Some people are dangerous. And garbage is a big problem. The getting killed part is still debatable. After all, Eliza didn't do it on purpose and he's technically not dead. Yet.
And 'legged-people'? Why does that sound like a deformity? That's not how you refer to your own kind right? No. You don't go around and point at people and say 'see that two-legged over there? we went to the same high school'.
Luca looked at his sister. "I believe I have to do this, Blue. Just think of this as my vacation. I'll tell you all about it when I come back."
"If you comeback."
Luca fought a chuckle from his sister's stubborn expression. "I will come back."
"Promise?" Blue's face softened.
"I promise."
In hindsight, he shouldn't have made that promise with his sister. But how was he supposed to know that walking alone is dangerous? And how was he supposed to know he's going to end up in a bright room with sharp objects inserted to him? Or that the woman dressed in white holding a light to his eyes is not what his sister described as 'dangerous'?
Maybe his sister was right. It was dangerous and he should've been more prepared. Because 'legged-people' seems to not like him with his feet uncovered. Or the fact that he's half naked in a sea of layered ones.
But then again, you're not supposed to judge and call people 'legged-people' unless you don't have legs because that's mean. Either you're a reptile meant to crawl with your body, a leg-less person born without it, a hero who fought cancer or diabetes or a fire and lost your limbs. Or in this case, you could be a mermaid.
"You've got to be kidding me!" A young woman's voice rang in the hospital voicing out at least a hundred people's exact thoughts inside. One of those is Eliza's. Because, truly, you've got to be kidding! After she's been cleared and interviewed, she settled her bill and asked about the victim. Her victim. And until now, she couldn't wrapped her head around what happened. She almost killed a person. Aside from a light bump on her forehead, she's fine. The black A-line dress she wore to dinner with her mother remained clean and the 4-inch black Prada stilettos shined on the white marble floor of the hospital.
She sat there, waiting for only god knows what. If she's being honest, she's not completely fine. Her knees are too weak, and she couldn't think properly. She was about to talk to a nurse when a woman sat down next to her.
"God! What is with these reckless drivers? Is running people over a trend now? Is caution not taught in driving school?" Annoyance laced her tone and made Eliza freeze in her seat. She slowly turned to the woman and realized it was the same one yelling from the counter. Her hair wild as if she drove with the hood down under the rain, her shoes making a pool under her, and her brightly colored clothes stick to her body. Two women sitting in contrast to each other.
"Are you okay?" Eliza gathered enough brain power and asked. Although it's clear to her that the woman was, in fact, not okay, she still did because sometimes that's all we need.
In addition, Eliza couldn't help but feel guilty for being one of those reckless drivers she was complaining about. For all she know, her victim is related to the woman.
The woman, who looked like she's in her mid twenties smiled at her. "Sorry for the rant. It's just that I didn't have the best day and just when I was thinking I could turn the day around, my dad got into a car accident. My mom doesn't have any idea and she'll get a heart attack if she knows what happened."
A part of that guilt lifted by the mention of her dad. For some reason, she's sure that her victim doesn't have a mid-twenties daughter with a colorful fashion taste.
"How about you? Are you okay?" The woman pointed the red bump on her forehead.
Is she okay? She asked herself but didn't come up with an answer. She forced a polite smile. "Nothing serious. I got into an accident."
The woman nodded in sympathy. "I'm Samantha by the way." She extended a hand which Eliza accepted and introduced herself. "I feel like a mutt seated next to a royal poodle." She joked, but Eliza isn't one to enjoy a self-deprecating humor, so it went over her head. "And I make jokes when I'm anxious. Sorry."
That made her smile.
"So you got into an accident, but you don't look like someone whose going to drive after five double tequila shots—"
Right.
"—or drive over the speed limit in a storm."
When Eliza visibly winced, Samantha gasped. "You did?"
She couldn't find the word 'no' and immediately went on defense when Samantha's eyes narrowed at her. "Well, who in their right mind would stand in the middle of the road at night under the pouring rain?"
"A crazy person?" Samantha offered.
"Exactly."
"Is he dead?"
"Why would you assume it's a he?"
"Because men are dumb. And even if women do a lot of crazy things, dying on the road isn't giving female vibe. It's more of a 'save me' kind of situation, actually. Based on that, I'm guessing it's a guy. My mom once said that people don't go on the street to die, even if they want to. Deep inside they just wanted to be saved because they can't do it for themselves."
For a moment, Eliza was speechless. For someone who graduated on top of her class in college and has a masters degree in economics, her brain stumbled to keep up. And when it did, she frowned. Apparently there's a so-called female vibe when it comes to committing suicide, but she didn't asked further. "What if he really wanted to die?"
"Did he?"
Before she could answer, a nurse appeared on their side. "Excuse me, is any of you connected to the patient?"
If the glint in Samantha's eyes was an indication of trouble, Eliza didn't catch it at that moment. But that didn't change the fact that the woman pointed at her and answered before she could. "Yes, she is."
"Good. Please follow me."
When the nurse was far enough Eliza whipped her head to the woman beside her, brows furrowed. "I don't know him." She grounded, harder than she intended, but Samantha has been in the presence of stubborn old people her whole life so that didn't faze her one bit.
"You ran him over—
"I did not ran him over."
"—And he's not dead." She pointed. "Seems to me like you owe him an apology. Or money. Or..."
Eliza raised her brow. "Or what?"
"Or a little bit of saving." She grinned.