Chapter 3: The car crash

~Elara~

FIVE YEARS LATER…

The road ahead was already blurring as the rain spattered furiously against my windshield. Headlights from oncoming cars floated through the darkness like angry eyes. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles pale against the leather.

"Mommy."

Lily's voice sounded tiny from the backseat. I glanced at the rearview mirror. My daughter sat strapped in her booster seat, her little hands clutching her stuffed rabbit.

"Yes, baby?"

"My tummy feels funny."

My heart somersaulted into my stomach. I knew that phrase. I had heard it dozens of times before something bad happened.

"We're almost home, sweetheart. Just hold on for Mommy, okay?"

The therapy session had been useless. Again. Dr. Bennett had smiled that patient smile and suggested increasing Lily's medication again as if the pills had ever done anything except make my daughter drowsy and confused.

Five years. Five years of doctors who couldn't explain why Lily's eyes sometimes changed color. Five years of specialists who blamed stress, genetics, environmental factors. Five years of being told I was imagining things, exaggerating, or being an anxious single mother.

I wasn't imagining anything but no one would believe me.

A low sound came from the backseat and my eyes quickly darted to the mirror.

Lily’s head was bowed, her dark hair spilling forward like a curtain. I could only see the top of her head and the tightness of her shoulders. Her small body trembled in quick, jerky pulses, as if she was cold even though the heater was on.

The sound came again, rougher this time, too rough for a child.

It wasn’t a whimper.

It was a growl.

And then, slowly, her head began to lift.

"Lily? Baby, are you okay?"

There was no answer. No little “I’m fine,” no sleepy complaint, no sniffle. The only thing I heard was that sound again. It vibrated through the seats and up the steering wheel like a warning before the storm.

I kept my eyes on the road but reached one hand back between the seats, fumbling for her. My fingers brushed air, then the edge of her seat, then her trembling knee through her leggings.

“Lily, talk to Mommy,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but failing. “What’s wrong?”

The growl thickened. It wasn’t louder exactly. It was deeper, like something was sinking its claws into the sound and dragging it down.

Then Lily’s head suddenly snapped up.

The motion was so fast it made my heart skip. A streetlight slid over her face in one clean sweep, and for a heartbeat I saw her the way I always saw her; round cheeks, baby-soft mouth, that little smudge of chocolate at the corner of her lip from dinner earlier.

And then I saw her eyes. They'd gone from brown to gold. Bright, burning gold, like coins held in a flame. The light didn’t just reflect off them; it looked like it lived in them. The stupid little plush I’d stitched up twice already because she loved it too hard fell from her hand and dropped to the floor of the car.

Her hands went to the sides of her seat then I heard something tearing.

“Lily!”

She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. She stared straight past me, as if she was seeing something I couldn’t.

Her mouth opened, and the sound that came out didn’t fit in her face, neither did it fit in her lungs. It was animal-like; the kind of noise you hear in nature documentaries right before something dies. The growl filled the car until there was no room for my own breathing.

My hands tightened on the wheel. My foot jerked on the pedal. The tires hissed louder on the wet road.

I turned fully to look at her just for a second because my brain refused to accept what my ears and eyes were telling it.

One second. That was all it took. One second of my eyes leaving the road.

The horn blared from somewhere ahead, then headlights glared into my eyes. The whole windshield turned into a bright wall and my brain did that useless, panicked math.

I yanked the wheel to the right too hard. The tires snapped and lost their grip on the wet asphalt and gave a high, thin sound that made my teeth jitter.

My hands were still on the wheel, but the wheel was useless. It was just something to hold while the car decided our fate.

Glass exploded everywhere at once, then I heard a deep, folding sound, like the car was made of paper being crushed in a giant hand. The impact shoved us sideways and down. My shoulder slammed into the door. The steering wheel wrenched under my grip and I screamed.

Lily screamed too but now the sound was human again, just a terrified little girl calling for her mother.

“Mommy!” she cried.

“I’m here,” I tried to say, but I don’t know if anything came out.

Something hit my head and for a split second I saw nothing but sparks behind my eyes. My neck snapped forward and back.

The sounds stretched out, like the world was pulling away from me. Lily’s crying became muffled, as if she was underwater.

And then everything went black.

I don't know how long I was gone. Seconds, probably minutes until something pulled me back. It was a deep, urgent voice, cutting through the fog wrapped around my brain.

"Miss? Miss, can you hear me?"

Rain was hitting my face now. The coldness forced my eyes open.

A man leaned over me. His face was blurry at first, then the details became clearer. Strong jaw. Dark hair plastered to his forehead. Eyes that looked almost silver in the strange light.

I knew that face.

I knew it like I knew pain. Like I knew betrayal. Like I knew the exact moment my heart had shattered into pieces I still hadn't finished collecting.

My lips moved but no sound came out.

His hand touched my cheek, gentle in a way that didn't match my memories of him. His brow creased with worry that looked almost real.

"Stay with me," he said. "Help is coming. Just stay with me."

Lily. Where was Lily?

I tried to turn my head to find her, but the darkness was already pulling me under again. The last thing I saw was his face, hovering above me like a ghost I couldn't escape.

Then nothing.