She was there, sitting cross-legged on his dashboard. Her dainty head, turned away from him, was softly swerving between her round shoulders.
Her eyes compulsively followed the road, tracing the blur of lonely street lights.
Softly, as if waving in the wind, her feet swerved, producing bell chimes only Averie heard.
"Go away," he whispered, his gaze losing focus. "Not now."
But the sound of wind chimes continued in his ear, whispering to him to look at her.
His extreme dedication to the role had come back to bite him in this unique way. A new form of lunacy had returned to torture him.
"Are you okay, Mr. Quinn?" asked the cameraman. "You seem to be sweating."
He turned to look at the aloof lady on his dashboard, and all the words left him.
"I am seeing a dream..."
"Yes?" The man was baffled. "When, now?"
"She just won’t go away. Look at her."
"Okay, but please keep your eyes forward."
The man didn’t think he was being serious, and he was afraid of the other possibilities.
"We are fast approaching the M6 motorway."
"Have you ever been to Warwick Castle?" Averie asked the man, trying to distract himself from the spectral figure.
"Not really. It’s not very special, I hear."
The man raised his eyebrows. "Well, I wouldn’t say that."
He clicked his tongue. "Now, I feel even less inclined to go there."
The front lights flashing in the rear-view mirror suddenly caught the cameraman’s eye.
"They are really close. Can we not go faster?"
"Not on these roads. Once we hit the motorway, we are done."
"Really?" The man looked doubtful. "We have managed to stay in the lead for so long."
"That’s because I am a great driver. Look behind us. Everyone close to us in brackets is far behind. They have already been overtaken. The faster cars don’t need a lot to beat the opposition in the long run."
He tapped on the steering wheel and looked into the mirror.
"They can’t overtake me here, because they don’t want to die in a horrific accident. But once on wider roads, they will definitely do it."
The cameraman gulped nervously. For some reason, at some point, he had begun hoping for a glamorous victory.
Suddenly, a roaring engine sounded from behind, and a beautiful black car entered Averie’s sight.
It overtook the Bugatti and put pressure on the Supra
"Isn’t he the man you pissed off?"
It was the Corvette from before.
"Yeah." Averie laughed. "The ugly guy is really risking it, huh? He must be pretty angry. Strap in, boys; he seems to have some ideas in his head."
As if to prove Averie right, the Corvette driver hit the accelerator a little too passionately.
The sleek car, glittering in the rushing lights, sped up incessantly.
It rammed into Averie’s Supra from behind, destabilizing it.
"Bastard!" screamed the second cameraman as the car swerved. "What’s he doing? Does he want us dead?"
Averie’s eyes narrowed as he spun the wheel and stabilized the car.
The Corvette guy continued nibbling at the Supra’s tail. Again, he hit the accelerator hard and hit the right side of the boot.
Again, the car swerved, this time a little harder.
Averie sharply turned the wheel and somehow managed to keep the car from losing much speed.
"What is wrong with him?" screamed the cameraman. "The car could have been flipped."
He turned to look at Averie.
He swallowed the rest of his sentence.
Averie’s expression that entered his sight was one that couldn’t be described in vernacular.
His amber pupils were seeped in bloodlust, and his jaw was set in cold stone. His Hellish nature had taken over him.
The cameraman didn’t know what that was, but he knew something was about to happen.
He abandoned all care in the world and kept filming.
The Corvette driver sped up for a third round.
Abruptly, Averie hit the brakes like a man crushing the most disgusting bug under his foot.
"Shit!" screamed the Corvette driver.
He turned the wheel sharply and entered the right lane, barely stopping himself from crashing into the fence.
"Trying to PIT maneuver me?" Averie muttered ominously through his clenched jaw. "At this speed?"
The lady had disappeared from his vision, and his senses had returned to their finest.
"No more brake checks. I will show you what it truly means to taste death."
He too sharply cut his wheel and rammed his side into the recovering Corvette.
"You bitch!" shouted its ugly driver. "You deranged—"
His cursing was cut short, as again the Supra crashed into his car.
The force sent the driver’s side crashing against the long brick wall of what seemed like a church.
Seeing the ridiculous display, the cars following them slowed down. They wanted none of that dangerous shithousery.
Again, Averie rammed into him.
"Stop it, you idiot!" yelled the Corvette driver.
But the diabolical actor did not cut the contact. While maintaining high speeds, he kept to the right, dragging his adversary with him.
The Corvette did not lose speed—it could not lose speed—as it scraped across the long wall.
The right rear-view mirror broke and fell off as sparks flew from the friction between metal and brick.
But Averie did not. His blood was boiling, seeking brutality.
He kept the Corvette pressed against the wall, scratching its color off.
The shrill, hair-raising cry woke up half the neighbourhood. From their apartment windows, hundreds of people awoke to record the scene.
It was as if someone had brought a film to life.
Sparks flew as the two cars did their deathly dance.
Averie wanted to throw the Corvette into cement and display it on the wall, but that was impossible even for him.
So, he settled for something entirely different.
He lowered his window, opened the glove compartment, and felt something metallic in his hands.
It was his old friend, a lug wrench.
With his left hand on the steering wheel, with as much force as he could gather, he bashed the Corvette window.
Its driver, already frantic and afraid of the sparks flying so close to his nose, screamed.
Sweating profusely, he frantically looked at the end of the wall. He desperately hoped it would come sooner.
The repeated assault continued.
In the air filled with sparks, a crack was heard.
The window shattered.