A voice message from my wife buzzed through the phone.
"You love punishing people so much, don't you? Cecil took a wrong turn on a delivery, and you boxed him in and slapped him across the face."
"So what if there was a delay? The company still closed the deal in the end! But you nearly ran him off the road!"
"You like playing highway games? I'm going to show you exactly how it feels!"
Cecil took a wrong turn on a delivery?
That wasn't what happened. Not even close.
He'd delivered the shipment to the wrong address, then drove off in the opposite direction. No matter how many times I called to warn him, he never picked up. I had to arrange vehicles far ahead on his route to intercept him and recover the cargo. By the time I personally delivered it to the client, we'd already blown the deadline. I lost my temper and slapped him once.
The only reason the company kept that client was because I gave away the entire shipment for free, not even covering the cost price, and quietly made up the difference out of my own year-end bonus.
From start to finish, I never ran him off the road. I only blocked his path to stop the delivery from going further astray.
Cecil deliberately twisted the story, claiming I'd tried to run him off the highway. It was pure spite. A vindictive lie.
But none of that mattered now.
In the backseat, my father-in-law's face had turned a deep, mottled purple. He looked like he could lose consciousness at any second.
This was no time for grudges.
I jabbed the window button and leaned out, shouting at the top of my lungs. "Gretchen! Your dad is in my car! I need to get him to a hospital! Move!"
The wind tore my words apart. At this speed, the road noise swallowed everything.
Gretchen sat behind the wheel of the car ahead, sunglasses perched on her face. She saw me leaning out. Without a flicker of hesitation, she folded her left side mirror flat against the door and turned away.
She couldn't hear me. She didn't want to.
Cecil watched the whole thing from the truck's driver seat and burst into gleeful applause, slapping his hands together.
I didn't have time to deal with him. I pointed at myself, then jabbed my finger toward the backseat where my father-in-law had slumped over, completely limp.
Cecil froze. Before I could register what he was doing, a voice message came through.
"Well, well. So your old man's dying. No wonder you're driving like a maniac!"
I stared at the phone. Cecil thought Norman was my biological father?
I kept turning toward him, frantically trying to explain, gesturing for him to pull aside.
Cecil just smiled. Said nothing. Watched me the way someone watches a show they're thoroughly enjoying.
We'd been tearing down the highway for ten minutes. Other drivers, spotting the three-car standoff, had started calling the police.
The radio in my car crackled to life first.
"Driver of vehicle plate Golf-Eight-Four-Seven-One, pull over immediately. Cease all aggressive driving. Continued behavior of this nature constitutes a violation of traffic law, and you will be charged with reckless endangerment."
Hope surged through me. I grabbed the radio.
"Officer, I have a critically ill passenger in my vehicle. I cannot stop. The car ahead of me is my wife. She's in a dispute with me and is deliberately blocking my lane."
The radio went silent. The officer switched over to negotiate with Gretchen and Cecil.
Then Gretchen's window rolled down. She reached out and angled the side mirror back, adjusting it with deliberate precision until she was certain I could see her reflection from behind.
She raised her middle finger.
Her voice message landed a second later.
"You actually called the cops, Clarence? You've got some nerve."
"When Cecil made a mistake, you didn't call the police then, did you? No, you chose to slap him instead."
"You think calling the cops is going to help? I'll break every law on the books before I let you pass!"
In the mirror ahead, Gretchen's face was twisted with fury. Her speed dropped again, sharp and sudden, and my car was forced to slow with it.
To my right, Cecil lounged in the truck's driver seat, eyes glittering with amusement.
"Scared yet, Clarence? This is what happens when you cross me."
I was pinned in the far-left passing lane. The guardrail ran along my left. Behind me, a growing line of cars crawled at the pace Gretchen dictated.
The navigation screen told the rest of the story. A massive traffic jam had formed behind us, stretching back as far as the map could show.
I was trapped. No way forward. No way back.
