VISTARIA
By: Teresa VanMeter
Copyright 2014 Teresa Vanmeter
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Copyright 2014 Teresa Vanmeter
VISTARIA
Life is nothing more than a stain on the world, ever so fleeting, and at times propelling those around it into uncertain motion. As uncertain as the perception of time in the path of true fear. “Sh…it!” Zayne Dayenu was now face to face with fear, as his encounter slowed time virtually down to a crawl, and things he would not have generally noticed were clearly etched in his mind. Such as the crazing on the face of a sign, while three birds sat on top of the streetlights, or the woman walking along the sidewalk dressed in heels with unusually bright red hair, and the mans horrified expression staring back at him as he ran headlong across traffic into the front of Zayne’s car.
In those infinitesimal moments of time he held his breath for the impending impact, as his heartbeat had quickened every nerve and cell in his body, and he prayed that he could stop in time. The deafening sound of tires squealed athwart the pavement, as the frantic man molded to the front of Zayne’s vehicle, and left a bloody streak up and over the hood. The man came to rest face first onto the windshield. It was too late, much too late, as Zayne had been jerked forward at that same instance, and came eye to eye with the assured dead man through the fractured windshield.
A deep rumble roared amid the street behind the accident, as a chain reaction seemed to follow. Horrific sounds of metal on metal, breaking glass, terrified screams, even as a dark colored van nipped the tail of his car spinning him around in a 180. Now he faced the disparaging sight of mangled vehicles left in his wake, and traffic at a frightening standstill. Even with all that set before him he could think of nothing else other the man, as the terror in the man’s eyes had all but warped holes into his subconscious, “I have to help him!”
Zayne stumbled from his car onto the pavement, as he half staggered half ran to the lifeless body of the young man he had just hit. The young man had to be in his early twenties, as he was contorted uncomfortably in a pool of his own blood. Zayne cringed from the metallic smell of the blood, as a wave of nausea overcame his senses. Uncontrollably his body couldn’t stop shaking over what he had done, as sure as he had this mans blood on his hands. He rocked the poor inert mans shoulders back in forth, and cried out, ‘Oh God, No!” yelling to the top of his lungs, “Help!” he beseeched the steadily growing onlookers, “He needs help!”
The horrified people just stood by staring at him as if he were some kind of monster, and he at last realized that blood was dripping from a gash on his upper forehead. It must’ve happened when he flew head first into the glass. The man in his arms desperately made a gurgle sound. Thank God he wasn’t dead yet, however the look in his glazed eyes told a tale of fright, as if the devil was hot on his heels. Zayne tried to steady the mans head, as he was beside himself with worry, addressing the sounds that were obviously meant to be words, “Don’t try to talk.” He breathed, “Help’s coming.” At last the young man gathered enough strength to loosely grab Zayne’s wrist, and gurgled out the words, “Don’t le…” he had a terrified look in his eyes, as his eyes wandered sluggishly towards the crowd of people, and choked the rest out, “…t get me.”
Zayne looked out among the gathering people not sure what the young man was so frightened about, as far as he could see there was nothing other than average everyday normal people. But what does normal really define in a world of war and oddity, as the so called mister nice guy goes on a killing spree inside schools, and everyone that has known him claims he was really a nice guy that was never known to have ever even harmed a fly. “Bullshit.” His thoughts groused that there is no such thing as normal.
Then he noticed the red haired female that had been walking away from the accident area, which had somehow traveled the quarter mile distance in no time at all, and unbelievably from the opposite side of the road. Zayne wasn’t entirely sure if it was even possible in those heels, but who was he to judge. She sorely stuck out like a sore thumb that fact didn’t surprise him none by the sight of her bright shade of hair. The elegant way she casually strolled amid the bystanders along the sidewalk seemed strangely out of place, nor did she attempt any interest at ogling the accident like everyone else. It is a well-known reality that the majority of people are as curious as a cat, even gruesomely during life or death events.
Zayne reassured the man in his arms, “You’re safe with me.” The man swallowed hard with his eyes rolling back in his head fluttering, as he negatively tried to protest, “Nn…” Then he was more insistently in control of his trembling voice, fearfully whispering, “It’s waiting…” He began to choke again.
Suddenly several men in paramedic uniforms moved in, and ordered Zayne aside. Officers could be heard in the distance, “Get back everyone.” One of the paramedics pulled the man’s wallet out of his pocket, and tried to calm the injured man, “Mr. Messenger just stay calm.” However the man began to gasp, as a gurgling rattle rolled up from deep in his chest. One of the paramedics shouted, “Ethan stay with me!”
Unexpectedly another paramedic pulled Zayne aside and started to administer to his head wound. All he could think of was the man Ethan Messenger who was fighting for his life, and it was his entire fault. Zayne could only idly standby and haul himself over the coals, “Idiot!” he berated, “If I had stopped in time.”
Without warning one of the paramedics working on Mr. Messenger yelled, “Code blue!” All at once they frantically worked on Ethan’s limp body, even as he made nary a sound, and it was painfully evident that he had passed. Guilt washed over Zayne, as he stared at the dead man being loaded aboard one of the many ambulances, yet they continued to work on his lifeless body. Oddly the ambulance set no more than three feet from the twisted dark van, even as he’d watched the procession of reflections twist athwart the contours of light and paint in that van, until the convoluted images of those men gradually faded from view. However there had been an image in the van of someone or something watching the scene, as distortion had bent into something quite grimacing, and he wasn’t sure where the likeness originated. The likeness was there the entire time, as its monstrous form shifted in the paint, and vanished as the last vestiges of images had passed by. It reminded him of tales about reapers coming to collect the dead, but it couldn’t possibly be something as outlandish as that.
Then a sharp pang ravaged throughout his skull, and he could do naught but writhe in agony awaiting the pain to go away. He had been developing a headache since the accident occurred, so he couldn’t be sure if he was seeing straight or not. Zayne blinked, as he rubbed his temples, and sure enough it was as if the distorted image had never been there. He hissed more for his benefit, “This has been one fucked up day.” Tired, exhausted, and all he’d wanted to do was just make it home after a day of work.
Many hours after extensive questioning and medical observation Zayne had finally made it home. Home had never looked so welcoming before, as he pulled in the drive, and a sigh of relief escaped his form. Unexpectedly he regarded his butt vibrating, as he leaned in the car seat to retrieve his cell from his back pocket. He exited the vehicle while looking at the phone. A total of six messages from his friend Brody Karrill, as the last read, “Hey buddy, hang out have a few beers or I will suffer in abject misery.” Zayne chuckled over his choice of words, because just this morning Rita was telling everyo
ne what their names meant, and Karriill’s was he would enjoy great success or suffer abject misery. Be that as it may he regretfully had to decline, seeing that he was too weary and ready to just go to sleep. He sent a quick text to reply to Brody’s needling, and he postponed the night out for the subsequent night. Afterwards he glanced up from his cell to make sure his car doors were locked, since there have been a few people in the neighborhood that have had their vehicles broken into. Certain no lock would prevent theft if the criminal truly wanted what you have.
Startled from the hazy humdrum of everyday life, seeing that the most ungodly reflection peered out from the red paint of his car fender, and he took a nervous step backwards wanting nothing more than to flee. Dear god, he was losing his mind. Zayne whipped his head around in the obvious direction the hideous image had come from needing proof he hadn’t gone crazy.
In that moment a police cruiser drove by slowly, however not a soul to be seen anywhere except the passing automobile. It had to be merely his imagination, or he conceded