The Crash

Wednesday, May 13th, 1953

“Dean, she’s getting worse,” his wife’s voice cut through the babble of the television in the den. “And I can’t reach the doctor, the storm has knocked out the phone line again.”

Dean said nothing in response, his frustration rising despite the two fingers of Scotch he had tossed back with his dinner. June had stared at him from across the dinner table, her mouth set in a tight line. She hated it when he drank in front of the children. It wasn’t as if they noticed. Betty was in bed and Danny had been too busy stuffing his face with fried chicken to care.

He had ignored her look of disapproval and kept drinking.

She has no idea the hell of a day I have had. Sitting there, staring at me, sanctimonious and judging.

The morning had started off with a bloody scene at the factory, the first accident in almost two years. Some young fool just three months on the manufacturing line hadn’t been paying attention. If he was lucky, he would keep the three remaining fingers on his right hand.

Doyle, the operations manager, had called with an update before Dean left the office. “Two of the fingers had to be amputated. The thumb was almost crushed and his hand is broken.”

Dean swore under his breath. “Make sure the family knows we will cover the medical bills and keep him on at full pay until he recovers. After that, perhaps he will work out in sales, there’s an opening now that Simmons has retired.”

“Already done, Mr. Edmonds,” Doyle had answered. Doyle, along with Howard, had been with the company since the early days. They knew the business better than anyone. Better than Dean, for that matter. After all, they had worked for Dean’s father, Arthur, from the beginning. They had been handling situations like this since Dean was still in short pants.

It was the most expensive hit the company had seen since the 1951 floods. At least with that, they had seen it coming. Dean could still remember them struggling to get the paperwork and lighter equipment off of the main floor before the flood waters had risen. Nevertheless, the disaster had shut down their operation for a full month. Many of the plant’s employees, most of whom were residents of Armourdale, were not as lucky. Many of their people had lost everything in that flood.

“Dean, did you hear me?” June’s shrill voice interrupted his thoughts. God, he hated the sound of her voice these days. “Betty can’t breathe. This is the worst attack I’ve seen yet. We need to get her to the hospital.”

Dean closed his eyes. June’s voice annoyed him, even her soft snore at night annoyed him. He wished he could just sit in his armchair and be left alone. His daughter’s asthma was just the latest in a string of domestic matters he didn’t want to deal with. Not on top of work at least. How much domestic nonsense did he have to endure on top of providing for his family? Next she would expect him to cook and clean. It was ridiculous. He thought of his mother, then. Helen Edmonds had been a quiet woman. She had even died quietly, without fanfare. There one minute, gone the next. In contrast, June was loud, abrasive, and Dean wondered if she spent her days looking for some transgression or another to complain about.

The rest of the day had seen one catastrophe after another. The production line had struggled to recover from the delays caused by the accident. The men were always off-kilter after such incidents. They had lagged behind, the production of an already overdue order still not completed by the end of the day. Worse, this was a new client. Dean was sure that, after receiving the part a full two weeks later than promised, the client would not be returning.

As he had struggled to explain the delay to the client, his new secretary had spilled coffee all over his desk. Rattled, she turned and dropped the carafe, the glass breaking into sharp shards he would be finding for months and coffee spilling everywhere. This was, of course, during the phone call to the same client.

“What the hell is going on over there, Edmonds? What kind of a side show clown car business are you running?” The man had demanded.

Dean held his tongue until he hung up, then turned on the girl and described to her in detail why she was unfit to hold the job. She had disappeared, sobbing, from his office. An hour later she was gone from her desk, a letter of resignation on her chair.

On the way home, it had begun to rain. Not a gentle, easy rain, oh no. This was a violent downpour. The gusts of wind rocked his solid-built 1948 Ford Woodie. He had forgotten his umbrella, again, and his coat had been soaked through in the dash from his car to the house. Two hours later, the storm was still in full swing.

And his wife wanted to go out in that.

“Dean.”

“Damn it, June, I heard you the first time. Stop your damned nagging!” He levered his body out of his easy chair.

He ignored her dagger stare and turned on his son, “Turn the television off, Danny.”

Danny didn’t move. Instead, he began to whine, “But Captain Video just started!”

“You heard your father, turn it off, now.” June’s voice was hard, angry.

“It will just take a few minutes to watch! Why can’t I stay here?” Danny made no move to flip off the television, his face intractable, stubborn.

“Damn it, boy.” Dean shouldered Danny out of the way, flipping the television knob to the “off” position. “When I tell you to do something, you better damn well do it.”

Danny looked sullen. He glared at his father.

“Get your shoes and coat on.” When Danny made no move to obey, Dean added, “Or don’t and damn well drown in the rain for all I care.”

June threw up her hands, her anger written on her face. She clenched her teeth together and muttered under her breath as she wrapped Betty up in a blanket.

With the television off, Dean could hear Betty’s wheezing clearly. She sounded bad, worse than he had ever heard. And of course, it had to happen on a Friday night. The emergency room would be full up. Everyone gets sick on a weekend and ends up in the emergency room.

Dean sighed in resignation, reaching into the front closet for his hat and raincoat. The umbrella bent under the hammering of the rain as they ran to the car. A few minutes later he was backing the car down the drive. Behind him, Danny kicked the back of the car seat. Through flashes of lightning in the rear view mirror, Dean could see his son’s small face screwed up in an angry scowl.

“You and your stupid asthma,” Danny glared at his sister, “You ruin everything.”

Betty said nothing, focusing all of her energy on breathing.

“Daniel Arthur Edmonds!” June said, shocked.

Dean shot a look back at his son. “The world does not revolve around your spoiled and inconsiderate little self, boy. I’ve a mind to give you a hand in remembering that.”

Danny folded his arms over his chest, glaring out the window, his foot continuing to kick the seat in front of him.

The rains pummeled the car. It was dark out, earlier than normal thanks to the storm, and the wipers did little to clear the view of the slick road ahead of them. Dean peered through the fogging windshield. He cursed his wife, the weather, and even the labored whistle of his sick child from the back seat as Betty struggled to breathe.

Dean wished he were home, comfortable in his easy chair. He would have to work tomorrow, despite it being Saturday. He would need to oversee a skeleton crew that would get them back on schedule after all the delays. The damned hospital would take forever to see them, he was sure of it.

“Dean,” June said, while she pointed to her right, “take Lansing, it’s quicker.”

Dean swore under his breath. Everything she said or did these days irritated him. It had been this way for years. Especially since his father had died and he had assumed the job of running Edmonds Manufacturing. The days were long, the work demanding. Having to work those long hours had been bad enough. But it felt as if he worked all day just to come home to a wife who was critical and demanding.

And children who are spoiled and rude.

It ate away at him.

He had found himself flirting with the pretty receptionist at the front desk. He had even considered having an affair, before catching himself.

As if that would make domestic life better, then I would have two women carping on me instead of just one.

“Damn it June, I know how to get to the hospital.”

His father had managed it. He had maintained a string of mistresses through the years. And Dean’s mother none the wiser. Or perhaps she had known and chosen to ignore it. Dean wasn’t sure.

Hell, for all I know, I have a half-sibling somewhere out there.

He could feel June’s eyes blazing holes in him, but she said nothing. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and stared out at the heavy rain. In the backseat, Betty’s breathing alternated between whistles and tiny gasps. Danny continued to kick the seat while he scowled in Betty’s direction. The foot shifted. It connected with Dean’s back, near his kidneys, a sharp, knifing pain. Dean saw red.

“Danny, you stop that damned kicking right this minute!”

Growing up, it had only taken a scant handful of whippings with a birch rod by his father to keep him in line. Danny was different. June’s interference had coddled and spoiled the boy far too long. Dean was going to put an end to his son’s misbehaviors the second they had Betty in the hospital. He would show that boy once and for all that his behavior was unacceptable.

June harrumphed at her husband’s language. Betty was too busy struggling to breathe to be her normal whiny self. Spoiled by June because of her asthma, Betty made a career out of whining and crying to get what she wanted.

Danny stopped and Dean could hear the boy muttering under his breath, resentful of the rebuke. The road ahead was populated with trees, branches weaving a thick canopy above. One side of the road was a high wall of rock, the other a sharp slope into wooded darkness. Disoriented in the darkness and heavy rain, Dean turned right twice and found himself on an unfamiliar road.

“What does that sign say?” he barked at June who peered through the window. He was hard pressed to see anything but rain and trees whipping in the wind.

“It said, Shh-something, maybe Schicksal...Shicksal Turnpike?” she answered. “I think we have gone the wrong way. I told you that you should have taken Lansing.”

Dean clenched his jaw, and reached out with one hand to clear the fog from his side of the windshield. As he sat back, Danny’s foot slammed into his kidney, sending a sharp wave of pain through his back and side.

“Damn it, Danny! I’m going to give you licking of your life if you don’t stop that. I’ve had enough, do you hear me?”

He turned in his seat, glaring at the sullen child sitting behind him. In the darkness, Betty’s pale face was lit up from a set of lights on the road in front of them. June screamed, hands reaching for the steering wheel, body turning away from what was coming.

Dean whipped his body back, his attention returning to the road in front of him.

It was too late.

In front of them, the blinding lights of a large truck bore down on them in their lane, its horn blaring a frantic alarm. There was no escape, no room to maneuver, brace, or avoid. And for one terrible long moment, there was nothing but light.

Bright light.

June and the children’s screams, and then...

Nothing.