Richard Thomas Car Accident Novels & Stories

The accelerator became an outlet for Richard’s fury. He kept stomping on it until his phone rang. Richard forced himself to calm down a little, eased off the speed, and answered with one hand. “Brother, something’s gone wrong. A truck came out of nowhere and ruined everything. Angela—” Richard could no longer hear anything. Ahead of him, he saw a hatchback van, identical to the one he had arranged to ram Angela. Like a runaway horse, it was driving against traffic, its front end barreling straight toward him.

In a snap, they turned to the locate source. “Who’s the mad lad who crashed into Daryl Richmond’s BMW?” “Uh, looks like Thomas Carter’s behind the wheel.” “Holy sh*t, Thomas—you mean The Simp? How big are his b*lls?!” It was at that moment when Thomas sobered up—before all of the blood in his face was drained—did he realize his fatal mistake. He was shuddering. He recognized that car now. It was Daryl’s BMW!

Or was there any other news? "Thomas quickly checked Mitchell's location and drove directly to the place. However, when his car made a turn, a van suddenly rushed straight toward him. " "He tried to turn the steering wheel, but it was too late. Thomas crashed into the windshield with a loud bang and the van directly rammed into him." Blood was dripping down from the gap in the car door towards the ground. It was a terrifying and shocking scene.

Maya looked at her dad dumbfounded. "Dad, what are you talking about?" "Honey, what's going on?" Claire asked, equally confused. Richard slowly walked to a chair and collapsed into it heavily. "The accident... it was far worse than we realized. The only reason we walked away without a scratch was... the truck driver." Maya frowned, unsure she understood. "The... driver?" Richard's lips pressed into a thin line. "He swerved at the last second to avoid hitting us head-on. If he hadn't, none of us would be here right now." His voice cracked, betraying the strain he'd been holding back.

” I stood up and ran to the living room to see what news Richard talked about. The television blared in the background, the sound of police sirens and breaking news filling the room. Richard followed me into the house and sat comfortably on the plush leather couch, sipping a glass of fine wine, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The headline flashed across the screen in bold red letters: “Malcolm Blackwood Confirmed Dead in Car Accident.”He took another slow sip, his eyes fixed on the screen, watching the footage like it was his favorite show. “This news.” Richard said happily.

Then as the car finally stops spinning, everything goes quiet. I watch in horror as Richard lay all battered and bruised. I cannot see how wounded he is; I am trapped between the front seat and the dashboard. Richard, who failed to wear his seatbelt, has gone straight into the windscreen, he is slumped over, and I am not sure if he is alive or not. Then the thought comes to my mind, is Richard dead?

However, the facts remained unaltered in the prevailing news. On the day that Reynold Yates met with a car accident, it was said that he was trying out his new car which his best friend and bodyguard, Alister Gallagher had designed. The two were together in the car on the way to a business meeting, closely followed by Viktor Yates in his own sports car. Traffic was normal and the newly renovated highways were not as crowded as during the weekdays, which made it more surprising when the investigations showed that the car tires were the cause of the accident.

Panic began to bleed into my chest. The doctor nodded, not seeming to notice my hesitant speech. “Good. Anything else?” I shut my eyes, trying to clear my foggy mind. “Nothing clear. My head hurt? Did I have a stroke?” He drew in a long breath. “No. You were in a car accident, Richard. A serious one. You suffered a traumatic blow to your head. You’ve been unconscious for several days. The fact that you can recall some details is a good sign.” I had no memory of what he was saying. A car accident? Did I hurt someone?

On the A-road, in a ditch, unconscious and bleeding. And a man named Thomas—a man who’d been following Harrison for three weeks, who knew how often he visited Estelle and Claire Emerson’s name, who described his stalking like he was doing a job rather than committing a crime—had pulled him from the wreck and driven him to the hospital at full speed. I sat there and I tried to make it fit with anything I already knew, and it didn’t fit. Just another piece from a puzzle that kept revealing itself to be larger than the box it came in.

I was crying for him. For Adam. For what this was turning him into. --- Then, suddenly, the road ended. A sheer cliff. Richard’s car skidded to a stop, tires spitting gravel into the black abyss. He didn’t have time to turn. Adam’s SUV smashed into the rear bumper. Both cars slewed sideways. My scream was ripped from my throat as the world tilted. We stopped inches from the edge. Richard’s car teetered. I saw his face through the back window.