That rear-end collision was only the beginning. One after another, more cars slammed into the wreckage.
The back half of my car crumpled under the relentless impacts, twisting into a mangled heap along with my father-in-law's body. Blood seeped steadily from the wreckage, pooling bright red on the asphalt.
The tunnel had descended into chaos. Vehicles collided in every direction, and the wail of police sirens echoed from somewhere behind the pileup.
Cecil's face had gone white as chalk. He tugged frantically at Gretchen's sleeve.
"Gretchen, this is bad. We need to go. Now!"
I locked eyes with Gretchen, too weak to speak.
She stared at the blood-slicked metal rod that had punched clean through my abdomen, her expression caught between panic and indecision.
But in the end, she gritted her teeth, turned away, and led Cecil to the Ferrari. They drove off.
Before she left, she said:
"Clarence, Cecil can't get arrested. He can't have a criminal record. His entire future depends on it!"
"You're different. The police are almost here. They'll save you."
A broken laugh escaped my throat.
There was a time when Gretchen would panic over a kitchen knife nicking my finger while I cooked.