held on the following Thursday. Malachi wondered if Travis had gone to it. He wished that he could have been there for him, but knew that the best thing was to keep their distance from each other right now and act like it never happened. Sitting alone in a dimly lit room, his mind wandered as he worried about Travis and wondered how he was handling it all. An emotional trauma like this can bring up feelings you’re not prepared for and have no idea how to handle.
The nightmares had started again. Malachi thought he was over all that. But, somehow the crash with Junior vividly brought back that foggy evening in July of 1980. Malachi was outside working on the bridge. Mera had run into town to pick Lukas up from a birthday party. The tourist was speeding on a narrow blind curve. His car went left of center and hit Mera’s head on. Even though his family was their seatbelts, they were killed.
Lukas died instantly, sustaining a severe blow to the head. There was no pulse when Malachi arrived on the scene, but Mera was still alive. He’d heard the crash from the mill and took off running. He’d never forget that sound. The crushing metal, breaking glass and the screams of pain and anguish. Those were the memories that still haunted him.
But, what disturbed him even more was the sight of his family. The blood and suffering. Mera reached out for Malachi. Her legs were pinned under the dashboard when the front-end was smashed backwards into their seats. The steering wheel was pressed firmly against her chest and as hard as Malachi tried, he could not free her from the wreckage. Every time he would try to move her, she screamed out in excruciating pain.
The driver of the other car was still alive and begging for someone to help him. Malachi stayed with his family, desperately trying to release the grasp of the twisted metal from Mera. Realizing he couldn’t do it, he kissed her forehead and said, “Hang on, honey. I’m gonna go call for help. I’ll be right back.”
Racing back to the mill, he grabbed the phone and called for an ambulance. By the time he got back to Mera, she was gone. She was peacefully quiet, no longer suffering in pain. He shook her, desperately trying to wake her up, but she never did.
Malachi fell down beside the car, pounding his fists into the dirt and crying out to the sky. “Why, God? How could you allow this to happen? I’m begging you to bring them back. Please!” Malachi’s prayers went unanswered.
The driver of the other car was still coherent and crying out for help. “I’m trapped. Something’s stuck in me. Help me, please.” He pleaded with Malachi. Then, his car caught on fire and began to burn.
Malachi was beyond distraught with emotion. He couldn’t even move. He sat paralyzed by shock and watched the man suffer in pain, never lifting a finger to help him. How could he? For some reason Malachi couldn’t justify trying to help the man who’d just murdered his beloved family. He sat idly by, almost willing pain on the man, hoping that he would suffer and wishing he would die. Flames engulfed the car. The man screamed out and within just a moment or two, he was silenced. Somehow it gave Malachi a feeling of satisfaction at the time, but the image of that man suffering still haunted him.
Malachi couldn’t move. He was left behind, sitting on the ground beside his family’s car, holding what was left of his heart in his hand and cursing out loud at the only God he’d ever known.
When the ambulance finally arrived, they found Malachi gently stroking his son’s hair, telling him how much he loved him. It was a heartbreaking scene.
That was the worst night of Malachi’s life. He fought the nightmares for years, barely getting any sleep. Roberta was actually the one consistent person who would stop by and check on him. He never forgot her kindness. Some days, she would even tend to his plant for him or help out in the store when the darkness set in. Sometimes it was just too
The nightmares had started again. Malachi thought he was over all that. But, somehow the crash with Junior vividly brought back that foggy evening in July of 1980. Malachi was outside working on the bridge. Mera had run into town to pick Lukas up from a birthday party. The tourist was speeding on a narrow blind curve. His car went left of center and hit Mera’s head on. Even though his family was their seatbelts, they were killed.
Lukas died instantly, sustaining a severe blow to the head. There was no pulse when Malachi arrived on the scene, but Mera was still alive. He’d heard the crash from the mill and took off running. He’d never forget that sound. The crushing metal, breaking glass and the screams of pain and anguish. Those were the memories that still haunted him.
But, what disturbed him even more was the sight of his family. The blood and suffering. Mera reached out for Malachi. Her legs were pinned under the dashboard when the front-end was smashed backwards into their seats. The steering wheel was pressed firmly against her chest and as hard as Malachi tried, he could not free her from the wreckage. Every time he would try to move her, she screamed out in excruciating pain.
The driver of the other car was still alive and begging for someone to help him. Malachi stayed with his family, desperately trying to release the grasp of the twisted metal from Mera. Realizing he couldn’t do it, he kissed her forehead and said, “Hang on, honey. I’m gonna go call for help. I’ll be right back.”
Racing back to the mill, he grabbed the phone and called for an ambulance. By the time he got back to Mera, she was gone. She was peacefully quiet, no longer suffering in pain. He shook her, desperately trying to wake her up, but she never did.
Malachi fell down beside the car, pounding his fists into the dirt and crying out to the sky. “Why, God? How could you allow this to happen? I’m begging you to bring them back. Please!” Malachi’s prayers went unanswered.
The driver of the other car was still coherent and crying out for help. “I’m trapped. Something’s stuck in me. Help me, please.” He pleaded with Malachi. Then, his car caught on fire and began to burn.
Malachi was beyond distraught with emotion. He couldn’t even move. He sat paralyzed by shock and watched the man suffer in pain, never lifting a finger to help him. How could he? For some reason Malachi couldn’t justify trying to help the man who’d just murdered his beloved family. He sat idly by, almost willing pain on the man, hoping that he would suffer and wishing he would die. Flames engulfed the car. The man screamed out and within just a moment or two, he was silenced. Somehow it gave Malachi a feeling of satisfaction at the time, but the image of that man suffering still haunted him.
Malachi couldn’t move. He was left behind, sitting on the ground beside his family’s car, holding what was left of his heart in his hand and cursing out loud at the only God he’d ever known.
When the ambulance finally arrived, they found Malachi gently stroking his son’s hair, telling him how much he loved him. It was a heartbreaking scene.
That was the worst night of Malachi’s life. He fought the nightmares for years, barely getting any sleep. Roberta was actually the one consistent person who would stop by and check on him. He never forgot her kindness. Some days, she would even tend to his plant for him or help out in the store when the darkness set in. Sometimes it was just too
Similar Books
