The Panic Zone by Rick Mofina Page B

find any of his remains.” Emma stifled an anguished groan. Keep going, she told herself. Keep moving. “No teeth, no bones. Just his shoes, which I had removed during the trip and put in the front seat with me.”
    â€œMrs. Lane, I know this is a traumatic time when people cannot conceive of the reality of what has happened.”
    Emma noticed the framed degrees and certificates displayed on the wall behind Sanders.
    â€œDid you find any remains belonging to my son? Any bones or teeth because—” Emma’s chin crumpled “—I understand teeth can survive fire?”
    â€œNo, Mrs. Lane, no remains belonging to your son were found.”
    â€œWell then, how can you say—”
    Sanders removed his glasses.
    â€œThe impact of the crash situated the baby’s seat upon the fuel tank, so that at the point of ignition it was akin to being at the hypocenter of a powerful explosion where the heat and gasses are the most intense. I am so sorry, but Tyler was incinerated. And under the regulations of this state, I am authorized to reasonably conclude that death occurred as a result of this event. Again, my condolences, Mrs. Lane.”
    â€œBut I saw someone rescue him.”
    Sanders blinked sadly.
    â€œMrs. Lane, I understand the monumental loss you’refacing. Acceptance is difficult, denying the tragedy is understandable. Perhaps—”
    â€œI’m not denying it. I know my husband is dead, I just—”
    â€œPerhaps,” Sanders continued, “if you haven’t done so already, you should consider seeking counseling. There’s someone in Cheyenne I could recommend, if you like.”
    Emma cupped her hands to her face and shook her head slowly.
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    After leaving the coroner’s office, Emma drove across town to Blue Willow Park, where she used to bring Tyler. She stared at her copies of the death certificates until deciding to drive to the Big Cloud County Sheriff’s Office on Center Street, to see Darnell Horn, the deputy who’d brought Tyler’s burnt shoes to her in the hospital.
    Horn had been the first officer on the scene.
    â€œIs there something I can help you with, Emma?” Reed Cobb, Darnell’s supervisor, asked at the front counter, concern rising in his eyes. “Darnell’s out. But I expect him back any minute.”
    â€œI want to see the reports, pictures, everything on the crash.”
    â€œEmma, geez, I don’t know. It’s a terrible shame what happened, but it was a bad crash. One of the worst we’ve—I don’t think you want to look.”
    â€œI want to see them.”
    Glancing at her bruises, Cobb reasoned she had a right to see the file.
    â€œCome around this way.”
    He led her to a small room, left, then returned with a folder.
    â€œEverything we have is in there, and we shared it with the Wyoming Highway Patrol.”
    Emma took a breath, opening the folder to a collection of reports and photographs. There were color prints ofcharred metal, the contorted remnants of their family SUV on its roof. This was the car Emma used to load with their groceries, the car she’d dreamed in, the car she’d taken on class trips; the car Joe had driven when they went to the County Hospital where Tyler was born.
    Now it was twisted metal and melted plastic, a grotesque headstone to her life. Emma’s vision blurred as she searched for proof that her son had survived.
    She found none.
    The reports were clinical. Phrases leaped out at her.
    Single Vehicle Fatal Accident
    Fatalities: Lane, Joseph, Age 34. Lane, Tyler, Age 1.
    Injured: Lane, Emma, Age 31.
    â€œâ€¦survivor Emma Lane, front-seat passenger, reported that her husband swerved to miss an oncoming car. However, investigation of the scene deter mined no evidence of a second vehicle…no indication of mechanical failure…
    NOTE: Joseph Lane, driver, prone to sleeping in vehicle on job