Chapter 5
I drove to county road at midnight. Headlights cut empty blacktop. No traffic. No sound except my engine and wind through pines.
I parked on shoulder where sheriff report said accident happened. Report lied about location. Shifted it quarter mile south. Real spot was near Miller's Diner. I remembered neon sign from before crash. Red glow over highway. I had not remembered that in months.
I stepped out. Legs shook immediately. Cold bit through trousers. Asphalt cold under my shoes. I had stood in ballroom three nights before. That stand lasted twenty seconds. This would need longer. Pain shot up calves, then thighs. Numbness followed. Recovery incomplete. Doctor warned me. Nerves relearning, muscles atrophied, risk of collapse real. I gripped door frame. Breathed slow. Waited for legs to hold.
My name is Eton. I was man who should not have walked again yet.
I took tape measure from glove box. Brother's truck left skid marks months ago. Rain had faded them but outline remained, dark rubber burned into asphalt. I knelt. Knees screamed. I measured length. Ten feet, four inches. Then width between parallel lines. Six feet, two inches. Same as his F-150. Dual rear wheels, lifted suspension, aftermarket tires he bragged about at gala last spring. Sheriff wrote "single vehicle, loss of control." No mention of second vehicle forcing me off road. Marks told different story. Angle showed truck braked hard, swerved left, pushed my sedan toward ditch. My sedan's paint scrap still on guardrail. Blue flecks. My car was blue.
Pain spiked again. Legs buckled. I caught myself on guardrail. Metal cold under palms. Breath came short. I had pushed too far. Standing at gala was performance. This was proof I could not yet trust my body. I leaned there a minute. Let tremor pass. Night silent except crickets and distant highway hum. No one to see if I fell. That scared me more than pain.
I forced myself upright. Folded tape. Walked back to car. Each step deliberate. Heel then toe. Like physical therapy. Slow. Controlled. I drove fifty yards to Miller's Diner.
Diner still open. One truck outside. Lights warm inside. Camera mounted under eaves. Small black dome. Pointed toward road and parking lot. I had hoped it still existed. It did. Same camera from last year. Same angle that might have caught accident.
Bell jingled when I entered. Manager wiped counter. Late fifties, gray hair, flannel shirt. Name tag said Ray. He looked up. Did not recognize me.
I asked about camera. Voice low. Controlled.
Ray said camera worked. Records on loop. Overwrites every ninety days. He thought. I corrected him. Asked how long archive kept before overwrite. He said maybe six months on hard drive in back. Not sure. Owner handled that.
I explained I needed footage from night of my accident. March 14. Around 11 PM. Truck and sedan on county road. Did not mention brother. Did not mention wife.
Ray frowned. Said he couldn't just hand footage over. Needed paper. Privacy policy. Liability.
I nodded. Expected that. Pulled request letter from jacket. Lawyer drafted it that afternoon. Formal request for preservation, not release. Cited case number, date, time window. Asked him to lock file, prevent overwrite, hold for subpoena. No demand to view tonight.
Ray read letter. Slow. Lips moved. Then called owner on phone. Spoke quiet. Owner said yes, preserve it, don't release without court paper.
Ray signed copy. Handed it back. Said drive still in back office, he'd flag it, not touch it. Promised not to delete.
I thanked him. Hand slipped when I took paper. Legs still shaking under table. I hid it. Gripped edge. Ray didn't notice.
I walked out to parking lot. Neon buzzed overhead. Camera blinked red above door. Still recording. Evidence still there because I asked in time. Another week and loop might have erased March.
May you like
I sat in car. Did not start engine yet. Pain throbbed up spine now. Hands sweated despite cold. I had measurements in phone, photos of skid marks, signed letter in hand. Proof chain started. Body told me price. I could stand, but not long, not safely. Next step needed sheriff, and I could not afford to collapse in his lobby.
I breathed until legs steadied. Then drove back toward town. Diner light shrank in rearview.
