The Nature of Things, Part 5

I blinked several times in shock, and then tried shaking my head to clear my thoughts. That was a mistake. The throbbing pain danced wickedly in my head, and brought tears to my eyes. "Who are you?"

"I'm Officer Thompson." Something seemed to click in my head, and I finally realized that she was wearing a police officer's uniform. She continued, still smiling, "but the real question is, who are you? We don't have any record of you." She paused, waiting for me to respond. I stared at her stupidly, trying to make some kind of sense out of what she had said. "So," she prompted, "who are you?"

"I --" my voice trailed off into nothingness. Who was I, after all?

"Yes?" she prompted again.

"My name's Jonathan." I blurted it out before I knew what I was saying.

She smiled. I tried to smile back at her, but ended up wincing at the pain in my head. "Jonathan, how do you know David?"

"He's my roommate," I replied.

"Your roommate?"

"Yeah."

"Your roommate." She repeated it softly, thoughtfully. It was no longer a question. Suddenly she glanced up at me, turning her head to one side. "So, you're not from D'arville?"

"No." I was about to say more, but movement at the door of the police station caught my attention. Two large policemen were escorting David across the parking lot. His hands were cuffed in front of him. He looked tired and disheveled, but flashed me a smile when they pushed him into the car. I heard Officer Thompson's door open, and glanced toward her. She was getting out of the car. I called after her. "Wait." She hesitated, and looked back at me. "Where are they taking us?"

She looked at me for a moment before answering. "We're transferring you to a more secure location." The door closed behind her with an air of finality.

I turned back toward David, and was about to say something to him when our driver got into the car. He didn't glance back at us, didn't say a word, just started the car and began to drive away. He drove smoothly, quietly, never speaking, never looking back at us, but somehow, his presence seemed to keep David and I from speaking.

After several minutes of silent driving, we turned onto a narrow road that wound its way down a steep ridge. To the right of us, a nearly sheer wall dropped to the river. I knew this road. Up ahead, there was a T-shaped intersection where another narrow road emerged from a canyon and intersected the road that we were on. The pause was nearly imperceptible, but I am sure that it was there. For just a moment before we reached the intersection, our driver touched the brakes. Because of that tap on the brakes, we reached the intersection a moment after the semi.

It hurtled down the canyon road, out of control, not even trying to stop or swerve. If our driver hadn't tapped on the brakes, it would have hit us squarely, and we would have been hurled over the precipice with it. As it was, though, the truck barely clipped the front of our car, tearing off the radiator and front bumper, and spinning us crazily as it flew toward its destruction.