He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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As Detective Keates arrived on the scene, he knew what kind of shift it was going to be. Some drifted past in a procession of drunk drivers and speeding fines. Other shifts were a blur of high-speed chases, although those were much rarer. This one would be one of those that haunted him.
His shoes slapped against the damp tarmac, but the sound didn't echo. The surrounding trees seemed to absorb it, like it got lost in the endless sprawl of damp green foliage. Undergrowth that had appeared timid and tentative closer to town —sneaking across the forest floor hoping to go unnoticed— had now become confident with the lack of civilisation to trample it down. Moss crept up the tree trunks as if the woodland floor was eating them alive.
A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes scanned the roadside. He always hated coming this far out of the city. He missed the comforting glare of bright street signs and the cconstant hum of voices. Here, winding towards the wilderness, it was hard to remember there was civilisation nearby. It was too quiet and with that quiet came the ever-present feeling of being watched. Rationally, he knew that wasn't the case, but —as always— the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he looked out to the quiet woodland.
The sooner they got this cleared, the sooner he could get in his car and race back to the hustle and bustle of the city centre. There he could barricade himself in with the pile of paperwork he'd need to fill out and file.
Given the scene in front of him there would be a lot.
He sighed as he saw the body in the middle of the road, a white sheet covering the gore underneath.
"Detective Keates." The officer by the body nodded in greeting. He was already on the phone making calls, so the detective continued on towards the second officer on the scene.
He could see the car crumpled against the large oak; steam or smoke drifting from the engine bay like the vehicle's dying breath.
The road had been purposefully curved to avoid the tree; courtesy of some conservation order put in place to protect the local wildlife. He couldn't help but wonder how many times he was going to come here and see another car wrapped around that trunk before someone said enough was enough. At some point people had to think whether the preservation of one tree was more important than the lives it had cost.
Of course, these accidents didn't happen without cause. The tree didn't jump into the road. It had always been there, so had the 'sharp bend' signs, but darkness had a strange effect on people's driving abilities. It was as if when they could no long see the white lines disappearing under their car, they lost all concept of speed. That lapse in judgment had cost many their lives here, but by the look of the tyre marks, this time was different. It wasn't a crash caused by going too fast or not paying attention. It was something much more sinister.
"Nasty crash," he said as he approached Police Constable Johnson and the car. The bonnet of the super compact was wrapped around the thick trunk, as if the tree had grown up through the car. Decades of clever engineering had been no match for centuries of Mother Nature.
