”“I know,” I said. “I’m here until you can help me figure out what to do.”“Where are you staying?”“Over in Colerain Township with a friend.”“A friend?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.“A married friend, her husband, two kids, and grandmother.”“Good. That kind of self-medication would be disastrous at the moment.”“I have no desire. I told my wives yesterday that the whole thing was getting old and I just couldn’t go on the way I was.”“And that’s when you started your freefall?”I nodded, “Yes.”“Well, let’s start with this encounter. Or do you need to start before then?”“Before. Long before. February of ‘89, according to my journal. I had a conversation with my friend Jorge, God rest his soul, about the exact thing. Let me read it to you. I used to turn to this guy for very serious help with problems, to the point where I called him ‘Lucy’ when he asked for 5¢ at the end of the conversation I’m going to read to you. He actually helped a lot more than some professionals.”“So you let, in. He instinctively slammed the brake pedal but his tires refused to grip the icy road. In the dying glow of the second explosion — just as his brain was beginning to comprehend what was actually happening — he witnessed before him a violent chain reaction of cars and trucks smashing into one another like some fair ground amusement gone disastrously awry. With the final flicker of the second fireball all went black. Blinded, his scorched eyes unable to readjust quick enough, he felt the vehicle persist forward regardless of how fiercely he pumped the failing brakes. He turned the steering wheel hard to the right, choosing to take his chances towards the shoulder rather than follow the terrifying path his car, still full of vicious momentum, was currently taking. His vision began to clear and the last thing he recalled seeing before all would grow dark once again was the metal guardrail growing nearer in his headlights and then quiet blackness as his car smashed through at 60 miles per.
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