Page 6 of Devil Inside

The Dip.

The whole city sinks, a mile-long slope of concrete, giving me the longest drop. About thirty blocks going down, down, all the way down to Shockoe Bottom.

Into the slipstream. In the void.

The blissful abyss.

I let out a shout, just a quick howl—it’s impossible not to—feeling the wind in my hair, the shrill sting of speed piercing my eyes, feeling gravity grab hold and drag me along.

This is it. This is the moment. I’m alive. Fucking elemental. One with the wind. Nothing can catch me. Not even the whispers in my ear, dragging me back into my sadness.

Faster.Faster.

Outrun it all. The voices. The shadows.

Myself.

Faster!

I make it to Main Street with less than ten minutes on the clock. Main is one way heading in the wrong direction, which isn’t the best, but beggars can’t be choosers. Cary is way too cluttered. All that rush hour traffic, all those suburbanites driving to work. Main is the only artery clear at this hour because it’s heading in the opposite direction, waiting until the end of the day when everybody gets off work and heads back home to the Southside.

Red on 9th. Red on 12th.

Jesus, I can’t catch a break this morning. The city’s conspiring against me. I’m trying hard not to take it personally.

There are less than twenty blocks between me and my rendezvous. I’ve got a date with a signature that will have me in Shockoe Bottom.

Whole lot of cobblestones down in the flood zone, thanks to Richmond keeping its city all swanky and Southern. Got to get those tourist dollars down here somehow.

Goddamn mottled rocky road wreaks havoc on my tires, but I’ve got no other option. It’s a straight shot and I’ve got less than three minutes to spare.

The light at 13th goes yellow.

Fuck me.

I’ve got enough momentum that if I don’t brake now, I’m skidding. And skidding is not something you want to do on cobblestone. To hell with that. I need to go go go...

I can make it. Beat the light. Get across the intersection before the cross section of cars bleeds into the box. There’s about three seconds of empty space for me to plow through. These morning commuters aren’t paying enough attention to press the pedal to the metal the second the light turns in their favor. It’s all mine. I’m going to take it.

The light goes red.

One second...

I slip past the last car.

Two seconds...

I’m drifting through the intersection, the open terrain of pavement, that emptiness, that void of black asphalt, just about to make it through to the other side when—

Three—

I feel the clip in my rear tire. I don’t see what happens, but I sense the backside of my bike swerve to my right, like I’m a tennis ball that just got swatted across the court.

I’m airborne now.

Spinning.

I rotate, still on my bike, turning into the opposite lane so that I can now see the SUV that hit me. Standard black. It’s there and gone before I can blink.