The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

Amanda accelerated around a sharp curve, leaning her
shiny
black
Harley Night Rod
so low, the toe of her boot touched the road. Coming out of the curve, she watched as the speedometer climbed…70…75.

She leaned forward, letting the wind flow over her rather than against her,
savoring the sharp curves of
Highway
259
as it wound upward through the Kiamichi
Mountains
, letting the thrill of speed and danger crowd out anger, desperation and frustration.

Eighty
-five
…and still climbing. The trees along the roadside flew by in a rush of green.

Too fast.

She knew that.

Ninety.

It
was better than getting drunk to escape her problems. No hangover the next day.

She could handle the
speed
. She
'
d been riding since she was a teenager.
She could handle the motorcycle and her demanding
mother
and her
ditzy
sister…she could handle everything life had thrown
at
her except
Charley
Randolph, her almost-
ex-husba
nd
. He'd held that title for fifteen months
and counting.
Today h
is
scumbag
lawyer had finagled another postponement of the final divorce hearing
for his scumbag client
.

Charley
had sworn he'd never let her go, and she was beginning to believe that coul
d
be the only time in their two
-year marriage when he
'd told the truth
.

She veered around a particularly sharp curve, leaning
so far over,
she fancied she could fe
el the heat of the pavement
through her thick leather pants.
Adrenalin suffused every cell in her body.
This was great. Another hour or two and maybe she
'
d calm down enough to
stop plotting
Charley
'
s demise
.

She'd planned this
weekend getaway to a log cabin nestled deep in the Kiamichi Mountains to celebrate the divorce she thought would happen and mourn the marriage that had never really happened. Now she could only hope the peace and serenity of the mountains coupled with the exhilarating ride getting there would soothe her murderous
anger.

S
he
gave the
throttle
another
twist.

Ninety-five.

One-hundred.

Blow out the cobwebs, focus on the joy of speed, of the wind rushing past her and the trees along the roadside turning to a green blur.

A sharp curve twisted
to the left
just
ahead. She
pushed gently on the
foot brake
, and
a
chill darted down her spine
. The pedal was mushy. The bike didn
'
t slow. Something was wrong.

Not a good time or place for the brakes to go out. Her muscles tensed as s
he
feathered
the hand brake. The bike
gradually slow
ed
as she swept into the curve.
She let out a long breath and relaxed.
Everything was fine.
The hand brake controlled ninety percent of the braking anyway.

No, everything wasn't fine.

The back wheel wasn't gripping the road the way it should.

She hadn't noticed any sand or oil on the highway
, no irregularities in the smooth surface
. This shouldn't be happening.

But it was.

Halfway through the curve,
Amanda held steady,
slowing as quickly as she dared,
making a Herculean effort to
maintain control of herself and the bike.

It wasn't enough.
The bike slid
toward the side of the road, the side of the mountain.

She
lost control…of the motorcycle and of her own pounding heart.

She
slid toward
the side of the mountain
.

The adrenalin was gone. The euphoria was gone.
Even
her anger at
Charley was gone. Her entire focus became survival. A blanket of calm fell over her, shutting out sound, scenery, bringing her world down to nothing but the bike and her.

Seeming to move in slow motion, s
he thrust away from the cycle, leaving the beloved bike to roll on its own, down the hill, anywhere but on top of her body.

And then she was tumbling, freefalling down the mountain
, blue sky replaced by green grass replaced by blue sky, over and over
. Her shoulder slammed
into
a tree
,
the velocity of her impact bouncing her on a different course,
and a large mossy rock filled her vision
.
She ducked her head, but the collision was unavoidable, and
even through
the safety helmet, she felt
excruciating
pai
n before she
gratefully
embraced the
enveloping
blackness.

***

"Amanda!
Wake up, damn it!
Do you hear me? Get up! You have to get up!
"

Charley
. Of course it was
Charley
. Who else would be dem
anding that she wake from th
e
pleasant dream
she was having
?

"Go '
way," she grumbled.

"No, I won't go away until you get up. You have to get to the highway."

The highway?

"No, I don't." She tried to go back to her dream, to the
most amazing
bright
light
she
'
d ever
seen, a light that seemed to promise the fulfillment of all her dreams
, but
Charley
continued to yell.

And now he'd ruined it all.
She was awake and h
er head ached abominably. In fact, her whole body hurt.

She put a hand to her head…a gloved hand that touched something smooth and hard instead of flesh and hair.

She opened one eye and
, through a fog,
peered
at her hand. Motorcycle gloves. And she was wearing her helmet
which had fogged from her breathing with the
faceplate
closed and no air being forced through as she rode
.

Why had she gone to sleep in her riding gear?

"Get up, Amanda. You're hurt.
You've got to get help.
"

"I'll hurt a lot less if you'll leave me alone and let me go back to sleep."

"No! You can't do that! Listen to me. Look at me and listen to me."

She pushed her
faceplate
up and
lifted her gaze to see him kneeling beside her
,
streaked
blond hair shining in the sunlight, blue eye
s concerned, his khakis and
white
Polo
shirt immaculate as always
. In the background, she saw trees and rocks and grass and sky.