“Where are we going?”
“The other side.”
Carson doesn’t think he’s talking about the other side of the bridge. Hell, he can’t even see it past the fog.
After he hit the ground, heart exploding after the knife has done his damage, he woke up in the back of the taxi. The driver’s good for a bit of nervous chat but he mostly just fiddles with the radio though Carson can’t hear anything.
They’ve been on the bridge the entire time, moving so slowly you barely notice. The cars move like they’re all being pulled on the same string. He stares out the window again. Can’t see past the bridge for the fog. The old man in the car beside him weeps.
“What’s over…there?” Carson asks.
“Dunno. I’m just the driver.”
Carson looks in the car behind the sobbing gentleman.
No no no. He presses himself up against the window to get a better look.
“That’s my wife!” The driver doesn’t respond. Carson batters the window but she doesn’t look. She’s busy.
“Who’s she with?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking. Him. James. Or was it John? They didn’t really get introduced. She’s sitting on his lap, licking his face while he tries to undo her bra over her dress.
Her hands are still covered in Carson’s blood. He scratches his chest.
“Any chance they’re going to hell?”
The driver meets his eyes in the rear-view mirror. Raised eyebrow. Knowing smile. “Did you really think it would be that simple?”
Originally posted on my former WordPress blog in 2014.