I ran up the stone steps just as my sedan’s headlights swung wildly down the driveway, illuminating the ancient oaks like a chaotic strobe light. The car hurtled down the slope, the engine coughing and rumbled, before coming to a violent, jerky stop. It missed the closed garage door by less than three inches. Automobilesand vehicles
The driver’s side door opened and Chloe stumbled out, almost tripping over her own feet. She was wearing a sequined cocktail dress that was now ripped at the shoulder, her blonde hair a tangled mess. The smell of expensive gin and raw panic emanated from her in waves.
But I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at my car.
The front grille was broken, hanging by a few plastic clips. The hood was crumpled like a discarded piece of aluminum foil, folded upwards into a jagged V. And on the front bumper, dripping onto the pristine asphalt, lay a thick, dark, viscous stain of purple.
Blood. Still smoking in the cool night air.
“I didn’t mean to!” Chloe moaned, her words tumbling into a jumble of syllables. She leaned against the driver’s side door to keep from collapsing. “He just… came out of nowhere, Elena! He was on a bike! I didn’t see him until the crunch! I heard the crack!”
Beatrice and Arthur ran out of the house, their silk dresses billowing in the breeze. Beatrice froze when she saw the state of the car. She saw the blood. She saw her Golden Child swaying, clearly drunk, next to a hit-and-run scene.
“Is he dead?” Beatrice murmured, her face taking on the color of ash.
