She touches her fingers to the place on her head where mine are, then pulls them in front of her to see the red on her hand.

This only makes her cry harder and begin to shake.

“I hit something. Andrew, I hit someone,” she shouts. Her body is shaking, and her eyes look terrified.

I felt it too. Just before she jerked the wheel, something hit the front of the car. I wasn’t watching the road. I was watching Emma.

Emma was watching me.

We didn’t see it.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You hear me? It’s okay.”

I reach for the passenger door and she grabs for me.

“No, Andrew. No! Don’t leave!”

I hold her hand, bringing her fingers to my mouth. Her cut is dripping blood into her eye now, so I reach into the glove box for a napkin and put it in her hand.

“Hold this right here,” I say, guiding her hand and pressing firmly on her gash. “Leave it there, and keep the pressure on. I’ll be right back.”

She nods, but I can already see her hand starting to slide down and grow weaker. I push on it again, and she follows my lead, pressing harder.

I step from the door and move to the front, seeing the large dent in the bumper. The headlight is busted too, and there’s blood on the glass. My stomach drops, but I don’t let my face show any of it.

Watching her watch me through the back window, I hold up a finger, signaling I’ll be right back. I step into the roadway, keeping my face still, no sign of the terror ruling my body. When I turn back to the road, I see a large mass lying on the asphalt—my only relief, it’s moving.

The moaning hits my ears when I’m ten feet away; I realize it’s an older man and his dog. I rush to his side—his head is bleeding onto the pavement.

“Sir, can you hear me. Sir?” I shout. I touch his neck, looking over him again, and he rolls to his side and the extent of the cuts and injuries to his abdomen and face hits me.

“Sir, I’m going to call for help,” I say, standing and fumbling my phone from my pocket. My eyes are seeing things in scenes—in flashes, really. This man lying on the ground, his injuries, his dog whimpering at his side flat against the road—they are all scenes from a nightmare—then I look to the car, nearly one hundred yards away, and my eyes lock onto Emma’s…I realize this nightmare, it’s just beginning.

The emergency operator answers instantly, and I give our approximate location along the dark rural road. The temperature feels about twenty degrees colder than before, my breath thicker, and the air damp with mist.

I pull my sweatshirt from my body, wrapping it around the man’s head, resting it easily on the pavement and promising him I’ll come back. He seems to be fading in and out of consciousness. I reach for his small dog, and it growls at me, so I leave it where it is and jog back to the car, where Emma is now rocking in the driver’s seat, her eyes wide and full of tears.

“He’s going to be okay. Emma, listen to me.” I cup her face in my hands, turning her to face me. I feel badly because I’m being a little forceful, but she’s slipping into a real state of panic, and I don’t think that’s going to help.

“Andrew, this is going to ruin everything,” she says.

I shake my head no. She’s just panicking, and I understand that. But the man is going to get help; he’ll be okay. My car—it’s just a dent. These things, they’re not forever nightmares.

No.

“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice more forceful, her worry showing in her eyes in a different way. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me that says something more, something she can’t seem to verbalize. “Andrew…I can’t. This…oh my god. Andrew—”

Her shaking begins again, so I cradle her to my chest tightly, looking out the window that is hazing over with dew from outside.

“They are going to take everything away,” she whispers against me, her eyes open, staring into emptiness. Nothing I say seems to bring her out of this trance. I know I need to get back out to the roadway, to the man lying there in far worse shape than either of us, but I can’t leave her here, without hope. There’s an absolute look of fear on her face, and the more seconds that pass, the more dire her expression becomes.

“Come with me,” I say, stepping out of the passenger side and moving quickly to the driver’s door, opening it and pulling on her arm. She shakes her head no, so I reach in and lift her into my arms, carrying her to the passenger side, where I place her in the seat I just left.