Page 158 of Untouchable

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One minute Parker is driving,singing along to “Body Like A Back Road” at top volume, on his way to Harp’s house for a session—and then dinner with his boyfriend—

And then—

A flash of light, then dark.

A sickening thud.

The seatbelt knifing into his chest.

Tires screeching.

Parker’s instincts take over, and he finds himself sitting stiffly, hands still at ten and two, his car facing the wrong way on the second switchback. His hand darts out to turn the music off.

I must have hit a deer,he thinks vaguely. Adrenaline whites out all other thoughts.

On shaky legs, he gets out of the car to inspect the damage. He’s grateful, at least, that this didn’t happen when it was dark out, though when he sees the damage to the front of his car, he doesn’t feel particularly lucky. The hood is mangled, crumpled like a balled-up piece of binder paper, and there’s a massive crack that looks like a gunshot spider webbing across his windshield. There’s an ugly smear of blood, and steam is hissing out from the engine.

He stares at it for a long moment, his thoughts moving slowly, as though he’s wading through brackish water. The deer is nowhere to be seen. Parker looks around, hoping it survived, darting away banged up but ultimately unscathed into the trees.

I need to call someone, he thinks. He can’t quite figure out who, though. His parents, maybe, but he recoils at the thought. He feels panicked and blank all at once, as though his body can’t decide whether to lose it or shut down completely.

And then he remembers.

Harp, of course.

He pulls out his phone, and his hands are shaking so hard it takes him several tries to unlock it. He prays he has reception—he does—and prays that Harp will hear his phone and answer.

"Hello?" Harp answers cautiously.

“Harp—I, uh—I hit a deer and now—my car’s all fucked up—” The words tumble out like ice cubes from a pitcher. “I don’t think my insurance is going to cover it—-I just—it’s not even dusk you know? I dunno I just didn’t see it and then suddenly it was like, on top of the hood of my car and, oh my god, it was so fucking scary and now there’s steam coming out of the engine—or, fuck, maybe it’s smoke—shit I don’t even know, oh god, I feel like such a fucking idiot—”

Harp tries to interrupt several times but Parker can’t seem to stop himself.

"Parker—listen to me!" he finally cuts in. "Are you somewhere safe right now? Get out of the road and get far away from your car."

“Oh—” He walks along the shoulder of the road, trudging through the snow and gravel and dirt. His voice is weak. “Okay, I’m on the shoulder—fuck, do you think my car is going to like, blow up or something? My car’s still like, in the middle of the road though, are you sure I shouldn’t move it? What if someone comes and hits me and they get hurt—I don’t know where the actual deer went, I think it’s fine and it just, like, ran away but what if it has like, a broken leg and dies or something? I’m like, you know the switchbacks? I went around the first one and then it was just—standing there like some kinda asshole and then—oh, fuck, Harp, this is so bad, I really think I might have totaled my car—”

* * *

The winch is still workingon the back of his truck, and it only took a moment to hook up the trailer. Harp is already halfway to Parker. His hands had worked like they didn't belong to him as he prepared to leave, but now that he's trying to navigate the roads and operate a manual transmission and talk to Parker, Harp is falling apart.

"Forget your car right now," Harp says. "Get to a straight stretch of road and stand in the middle of it, facing the direction you came in. Make sure you're visible and listen for cars. I have to hang up—I'll be right there."

His hands shake mercilessly as he hangs up the phone.

Harp's heart drops when he arrives on the scene after a few impatient, adrenaline soaked moments. Parker's airbags have deployed. He hadn't mentioned that. The car looks surprisingly mangled and it's a more shocking scene than he expected when Parker said he hit a deer.

Christ, Harp thinks. I bet it was an elk. An adult elk could be two or three times as big as a deer, and that looks more consistent with the damage to Parker’s poor car. Harp doesn’t say what he’s thinking, though—what keeps pulsing adrenaline into his system. He could’ve died.

Harp beeps as softly as he can as he approaches, letting Parker know that it's him, and then hops out of the truck, running past the car to catch Parker in his arms. The first thing Harp realizes is that Parker is bleeding, cut above his eyebrow, and they are both shaking.

"You're hurt," he says stupidly.

“Huh?” Parker says, his voice muffled by Harp’s chest.

He can't believe Parker can't feel the warm drip of it. There's already a spot of blood on his scrub top.

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