A Curve In The Road Novels & Stories

Naomi Abbott peeled out of the Dangerous Curves parking lot like she had the devil himself chasing her… and in a way she did. Two devils, actually. One old and familiar – the one that had tried to ruin her life in ways that she was just starting to get a handle on – and one new. One that was, in some ways, far more frightening than the first.

When they arrived at the penultimate corner, the yellow sports car was less than five meters behind her. Scarlett looked ahead to see a long and wide curve, so she shifted gears to slow the car down through the lane in the first half of the curve. Once the car was halfway through the corner, Scarlett quickly shifted the throttle, and in the accelerated state, she used the power output and the control in the opposite direction to complete the second half of the curve in merely a few seconds. With that mad dash, her car shot out like a bullet on the straight road and flung off the yellow car for at least 20 meters.

Singing freely to the radio, without a care in the world. “I wonder how well you take turns?” I ask the car as we approach a deadly curve in the road that has claimed more than a few lives. Without relenting the speed, I whip the wheel to the side as I go around the bend. The unexpectedness has the car tumbling through the air like a gold metal gymnast. The car finally rolls to a stop, the shattered glass piercing my skin like it’s paper, but I remain unphased. The alcohol coursing through my veins encourages my devil may care attitude.

Hungry. He reversed out onto the gravel drive and headed toward the descent, tires spitting water. The road from Monteverde toward the valley was not built for indulgence. It was narrow, unpredictable, carved into mountainsides that did not forgive mistakes. Miguel loved the challenge. He turned onto the serpentine stretch near Calle Oscura, then continued toward the steep bend locals called Curva del Mirador—a corner that overlooked nothing but fog most days and a thousand-foot drop when it cleared.

Mimi was halfway through her explanation when the cab came to a sudden stop. The two women were so engrossed in their conversation that they were caught off guard. Their bodies were thrown forward immediately. The road was built along the coast. It may be a two-way street, but the surface area on the road wasn’t wide enough. An off-road vehicle suddenly turned a sharp corner and looked close to ramming into the cab. The driver hurriedly hit the brakes. He veered off direction when turning the wheel and smashed through the guardrail!

Everyone was excited to see who will be the new champion tonight. The two cars came ever closer and simultaneously rounded the big curves of the two mountain roads. Everyone stared at it with bated breath just to envision a light blue Rolls-Royce Phantom speeding by on the left of a car. Everyone was completely silent. That's why it's often damn exciting! The degree of curvature and narrowness of the mountain road is obvious to everyone.When the speed exceeds 201 mph, the driving force usually does not choose to take a corner that is not large enough to accommodate 2 cars.

There’s nothing marking it – nothing mystical or magical about it but…it’s almost as if someone really did clear a path here so that a car just this size could squeeze through… “Okay,” Cora says, laughing a little hysterically. “I think I get it now…” “Look!” I shout, pointing forward to where, after a few minutes of driving, I start to see…asphalt? Something black stretching out before us. “Cora, is that a road?” “I think so,” she says, hope blooming in her voice. But just as the little road is starting to become clear before us, something slams into the car, making us scream in shock and surprise as we fishtail sideways and the back corner of the car slams into a tree.

I quickly scan the paper map for Roadhouse Peak. “Oh, God,” I whisper, staring at the map. “It’s right here.” I look out the window as more cars turn into the path. I glance across the main road at the hopeless towing efforts still going on. Drivers have begun honking their horns in a chorus of frustration. I double-check the map one more time and realize that the Roadhouse Peak drive actually loops straight around the hill. It cuts directly back toward the airport highway. It’s a shortcut. Easing my car out of the stagnant line, I merge behind a black Cadillac Escalade.

I ran harder. The mountain road narrowed after the second switchback — single lane, stone wall on one side, the valley dropping away on the other. At wolf speed through the turns I was gaining. The car couldn't take the tight corners at the speed it wanted to run, had to brake, had to find the line, had to operate within the physics of a vehicle while I operated within the physics of something considerably less constrained. Third switchback. I was close enough to see the plates.

Three years after my release from prison, I ran into my ex-wife in the presidential suite of the most exclusive hotel in Bayshore. It had been years since I last saw her. She was draped in a silk robe, radiating wealth. When she recognized me, something unreadable passed through Cecily Monroe's eyes. "On the day you got out, why didn't you wait for me to come pick you up?" I said nothing and handed over the takeout. Her gaze dropped to the scar on my wrist, and her breath caught. "I went too far with that. But you've always been tougher than Adrian. You can always get back on your feet." She was talking about what happened six years ago, when Adrian Burke was involved in a catastrophic