He was about to turn away when he noticed a car racing at speed in his direction. It was about three blocks away and it was lurching and swerving through the mid-afternoon traffic scattering pedestrians and almost causing a couple of collisions. Faintly, behind the car, he could hear a police siren blaring. Crazy bastard, thought Jack. He glanced across to where he could still see Kerry approaching the crossing, waiting and starting to cross. The crowd seemed to melt away for some inexplicable reason leaving Kerry walking slowly across the road, unable to move quickly. Jack looked back up the street, through the fumes and crowds. The maniac car was picking up even more speed, screeching towards the intersection. Jack suddenly felt nervous.
Later, he remembered what happened as if it had been a slow motion replay. Every micro second was engraved on his memory circuits. The crowd was scattering before the oncoming sedan.
As the car approached the intersection, it swerved towards the crossing, screeching on two wheels as if the driver had made a sudden late decision. Kerry Madigan had no chance. She didn't even have time to look up before the car hit her and knocked her ten feet into the air and across the street onto the bonnet of an oncoming car. The killer car swerved and piled straight into the plate glass window of a fashion store.
Ernie Mason saw the woman too late. Instinctively he swerved just as he felt the impact of her body hitting the front fender. He fought for control, but lost it completely. He saw a window before him. He saw faces. He heard screams. Then he felt pain. Then he felt nothing. The voices were receding away down a long dark tunnel.
Jack stood motionless as though an ice pick was pinning him to the ground piercing his brain and freezing his blood. His vocal chords were paralyzed. He saw the crowd forming around the incident. He heard the sirens mixed with the screams of the crowd. With a huge effort he got his feet moving, slowly at first then, then carrying him screaming across the street, bulldozing his way through the crowd.
His scream seemed to come from somewhere so deep inside, it was outside, like from some other dimension. He seemed to be screaming in one continuous breath as though it would never ever end.
Kerry was still alive. Jack was fighting his way through the crowd. Scuffles broke out as curious onlookers battled to get the best view. He reached her and fell on his knees by her side.
He touched her face where a trickle of blood was running along her cheek. She moaned slightly. There was blood on the road and her body was twisted into a grotesque shape. Jack didn't hear but voices were yelling,
"He's dead, that crazy bastard’s dead,” from the direction of the smashed car.
Ernie Mason was killed instantly. No one would mourn him. He would become another New York statistic. Across the street among the crowd, Jack was screaming incoherently.
"Jesus, it's his wife," said one man.
"Poor bastard," said a woman.
"She's still alive, has someone called an ambulance?"
A couple of cops were shouldering their way through.
"Ambulance is on its way. Okay, folks, it's not a circus. Let's move it, okay?" One cop looked at Jack. "Okay, pal, you know the lady?"
"She's my wife," sobbed Jack, almost biting his tongue with grief.
Behind, another siren was approaching.
"The other one's corpsed. The car smells like a distillery," said the first cop, who then looked down at Jack, "Jesus Christ!"
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