“What do you remember of the accident?” Bruce asks.
They drive down a long stretch of highway, the black tarmac lined on either side with freshly fallen snow. It’s late afternoon, and the sun shines red and fiery behind them. Jory sees its dying rays in the passenger side mirror, low bands of light bathing the snow and road in a crimson glow. The road twists back on itself, the bare trees giving the empty highway a desolate air. No cars follow them, and none pass as they drive around the curves. The sun glints off guardrails…
It all seems so familiar somehow, like a scene from a dream, forgotten upon awakening but recalled in bits and pieces as the day wears on. Bruce asks, “Do you remember anything, Jory?”
“It was a week ago.” Jory rubs at the pain lacing his temple. His stomach coils
