Page 2 of Bad Intentions

There are hardly any cars on this road this time of the year and definitely not on a night like this.

“Hey,” I call out, taking a step forward, but the heap on the road doesn’t move. Something is terribly wrong.

“Hey,” I say quieter, afraid of the silence, and halt at the curb.

The man is splayed on the pavement face up, the sharp, unnatural angles of his limbs making him look like a spider.

My chest shakes in a reflex to throw up from sudden panic.

I need to call 911.

I close my eyes, sniffle, and gather myself together, my entire body shaking.

I need to call 911. Now, I repeat in my mind.

I need to call 911. Because a man was just hit by a car. And he might need help. Or he might be…dead.

But then a memory from several months ago flashes in my mind. Pittsburgh. What happened. The scandal. “Josie Boots—a despicable individual who deserves all the hate she gets.”

I can’t get in trouble again. I moved here to get my life together. And because I need to take care of Grandma. I owe her that for raising me. For giving me a better option than my mom ever did. To make sure Grandma lives the rest of her months, or however long the doctors give her, in peace. I can’t disappoint her again, not after what happened to Mom.

There are too many reasons for why I take a step back, then another, and another, letting my legs carry me away from the scene.

I can’t be here.

It’s a split-second, I’m-going-to-leave-so-no-one-will-know-I-was-here-and-things-will-be-fine decision. The kind often made on reflex when you end up in crappy situations that might involve law enforcement.

I spin around and run back toward the parking lot. The wind yanks my hoodie off my head. Rain slaps me in the face, gets into my eyes, nose, and mouth as I pant, sprinting toward my car.

Once inside, I turn on the engine but not the headlights. Not yet. Not until I’m far away from the scene of the accident. That was an accident, right?

I gun the engine and race through the night, far, far away from the body on the road.

2

JOSIE

I pull up at Grandma’s house, kill the engine, and sit in silence, listening to the rain hammering against the windshield. I’m not sure which is louder, the rain or my heartbeat.

It’s dark, the streetlights barely visible in the downpour.

The man got hit. It was an accident. It was dark. The car didn’t have its headlights on… Wait, why?

I’m trying to convince myself that I didn’t just flee a crime scene, but I did. I left the man there. What if he’s dying? What if he needs help?

The scene flashes in front of my eyes again, the car connecting with his body, sending it flying, the thump of it landing on the road.

My heart starts hammering in my chest.

I can’t just do nothing, no matter the consequences or having to deal with the police. This isn’t right. This isn’t about not upsetting my grandma, who shouldn’t be stressed out in her condition. This is about what’s right and wrong.

I turn on the car and drive back to the fairgrounds.

I will drive Fair Road again and check the man. If the police are there and ask me what I’m doing, I can say I went for a late-night drive. I didn’t hit the man. There’s absolutely nothing to connect me to that guy.

My thoughts dissipate as I turn onto Fair Road and slow down. The windshield wipers maniacally wipe the rain away. I turn the high beams on to see better, but when I approach the spot where the body was, it’s not there.

I keep driving. Did I miss it?