Sunsets and Car Crashes

William

I opened my eyes slowly. The light in the room was bright and nearly blinded me. She was stood in front of me. As my eyes adjusted, I realised that she was crying. She was pointing something at me – a gun. It hit me then that I was about to die, and, not only that, but it was going to be brought about by the woman that I loved. I screwed my eyes up tightly and waited for death...

***

My name is William – Will for short. Most people spell it wiL. I’m 27, I live in Seattle and I’m in two rock bands. I don’t like people who think they’re better than everyone else. I do like wearing make-up, I am bi-sexual and I love my tattoos.

This story does not have a happy ending. I want you to know that. I am giving you the choice to read it or not. It is both the most wonderful love story ever told, and the worst tragedy that you will ever hear of. It is not for those who are weak at heart. I am going to tell it exactly as it happened, and with other people’s point of views, so that you fully understand.

This is your final warning. You don’t have to read on.

***

It was a typical Tuesday morning. It was 10am in downtown Seattle, and it was the middle of summer. For once, the sun was shining. Everyone around, on the streets and in their cars or on the buses, was wearing what you might call ‘summer clothes’ – short sleeves, short pants...anything that would take advantage of the good weather that comes so rarely to Seattle. I was wearing my favourite tee – black, short sleeves and with a rainbow on the front – and a pair of cheap suit pants. I had a hoodie in my bag; I wasn’t one for summer clothing.

The traffic was moving fairly quickly for once. I had my favourite Morrissey album on pretty loud, singing along and tapping on the steering wheel in time to the beat. I took a right turn and drove up a narrow street, caged in by tall, grey blocks of flats. There were no other cars around, and so I put my foot on the gas slightly. I like driving fast.

Then another car appeared out of nowhere. They weren’t driving particularly fast but I couldn’t swerve far enough to avoid them, with the street being so short and so narrow. The left hand side of my car hit head on and my car did an almost ninety degree turn, pushing the other car along with it. I was thrown forward and was jolted back by my seatbelt. The airbag went off in my face a couple of seconds later, making me jump in fright. There was a lot of smoke coming from both car engines. I got out quickly, pushing my airbag back with all my force, and went over to the other car.

In the car was a young woman, in her early twenties. She stepped out the car, a hand to her head. I think she must have hit it. She stood, taking in what had happened to her car and swore quietly.

“I’m real sorry,” I said quickly, stepping forward. “This is totally my fault...I’ll give you my details and...”

“You’re a bloody dangerous driver!” she screamed. My eyes widened in shock. “What speed were you fucking doing?!” She kicked the side of the car, and I backed off slightly.

“I don’t know...it really is my fault...I’m sorry...”

She seemed to calm down slightly, taking deep breaths and resting her hands on the bonnet of her car. I could see it had been nice before I’d destroyed it. It was a black estate, a Mercedes. The windows were all tinted, so you couldn’t see in at all. Anything could have been hiding back there. The passing thought made me shudder, though I didn’t know why.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, in a much quieter tone. “It’s just this isn’t my car, and I’m gonna get seriously bollocked for this. I promised I’d take care of it.” Her voice wasn’t local – it was plainly English, though it had been tainted by the American accent. I found myself taking in every detail of her appearance then: she had ‘FOREVER’ and ‘ALWAYS’ tattooed on her left and right wrists respectively; she was wearing a white shirt, with three quarter length sleeves, and the top three buttons left undone, exposing a rather pathetic excuse for a cleavage and extremely pale skin. Her hair was just past her shoulders, light brown, and with a fringe that hung across one of her eyes slightly. On her bottom half, she was wearing a rather tight work skirt, with skin coloured tights and high-heeled black shoes. I drew nearer to her again, sure that she wasn’t going to bite my head off now, and saw, through her black, thick-rimmed glasses, that she had eyes a confusing mix of blue and grey. She saw me staring, and smirked slightly, making me blush.

“Do you want my details, then?” I asked, my voice slightly stuttered. She laughed.

“Yeah sure. Hang on, I’ll get a notepad and give you mine too.” She opened the driver’s door and leaned in. She came out again, with a notebook and pen. She opened it and wrote down her details, tearing out the page and giving it to me.

I took the paper and read it out loud. “Francesca Giordano, 206 421 6719. You’re name’s pretty.”

She blushed as I said that. “Thank you.” She offered the notebook and pen to me, which I took, and scrawled my own name and cell phone number on. I gave her the notebook back, and she read out my details to herself too.

“William Francis, 206 462 8636.” She leaned into the car again, producing a small, black handbag, which she then stuffed the notebook inside. “I really gotta get to work. Listen – you should phone up wherever you were in such a rush to get to, and get them to pick you up or summat. I’ll have the repair company drop your car back at your place.”

“But you don’t know where I live,” I pointed out. Francesca grinned at me.

“You don’t know where I work.” Her voice was somewhere between joking and threatening. She squeezed past the wreckage of the cars and walked around to shake my hand. She was taller than I had first realised, standing an inch or so above me, aided by the heels. “It’s been nice to meet you, Mr. Francis.”

“Will,” I corrected her. “And it’s been nice to meet you too, Francesca. Fucked up circumstances, but, still, it’s been nice.”

She smiled at me brightly. “Yes. Nice.” She pulled away from me and walked out of the alley, turning right. The sound of her heels on the sidewalk clicked away into the distance. I shook my head, clearing her from my brain as much as possible. I then pulled out my cell phone, and phoned Nick, to tell him the news about my lack of a car.

Francesca

I felt sorry for Will. He seemed like a nice enough guy and now he was going to get entangled into affairs beyond him, just because he drove like a maniac. I knew the boss was going to get angry. The boss liked any excuse to throw his weight around.

I walked into the offices at exactly 10:31am. I was twenty-one minutes late. I jogged up the stairs, trying my best not to twist my ankle in my heels. I hated wearing them, but the boss said it made me look more ‘professional’. Basically, people wanted to do business with him, so they could get to see me looking like a total slut. Eugh, I hated my job.

I knocked on the door of the office I worked in – the main one. The boss’s bass voice rumbled through the door. “Enter.”

I walked in slowly. The heavy wood door made no sound – everything in the building was kept in perfect condition, from the thick, blood red carpets, to the faux gold bars along each flight of stairs, to the door hinges. Everything about this place was made to look professional. Everything was professional, even down to the ‘hiding the evidence’.

The boss was stood at the window. It was large, standing the height and width of the room. The sun was blazing in, making him look more like a silhouette than a human. Fitting really – the shadow, the man of darkness.

“Bonjourno, Francesca,” he said in his thick, Italian accent. “You are very late.”

His words were threatening, and they made me shudder. “Yes, I know I am, Ermanno. I was in an accident. Someone collided with the car – they were speeding in a narrow alley, and I couldn’t avoid them.”

Ermanno didn’t even look round. He just stood, his arms folded behind his back, surveying his kingdom. “Did you get the driver’s details?”

“Sì,” I replied. Ermanno preferred us to talk to him in Italian as much as possible. “I have his name and mobile number.”

“Molto buono. Do not worry, cara, you will not be punished for this.” He turned around and smiled at me. I recognised the smile – it was the same one that he gave customers, promising their deals would be honoured. The deals that included the death of another human being. He was meaning the same fate for Will.

“He doesn’t have to be punished, Ermanno!” I yelped, running forward and slamming my hands down on the desk. “It was an accident! He said he would pay for the damage!”

“And so he shall, cara.”

“By dying?! For a fucking car?!”

Ermanno pursed his lips. “Not just a car, mia dolce. You have a mark on your forehead. He could have made you look less pretty, and then I would lose business. My customers do not want to see someone less than pretty when they come here. And you know how well they pay you for the honour...”

I shuddered again. The last ‘customer’ had cornered me in the hallway, tried to kiss me and put his hand up my skirt. The worst bit of it was that I had to play along, otherwise Ermanno would make me the next person on his list.

“Yes, I know that. But he didn’t destroy my face. Ermanno, let it go, will you?!”

He stood up, and towered over me. I was tall, but he was a lot taller. I backed up, frightened of him. “You forget your place, Francesca!” His voice quietened very suddenly. “Molto bene. I will ‘let it go’ this once. But if I discover that anything else happens, he will pay.”

I gulped and nodded. “Grazie.” I went forward with my bag, undid the clasp and handed the notebook to him. He looked through and nodded.

“I will search for his address. Until then, cara, I want you to type out some letters for me. A few of our customers have not kept up with payments.”

Eugh, great, more threats. All in a day’s work.