Chapter Text
Emi Takada was halfway across the Ministop’s parking lot, a full bag of groceries in either hand and her car keys held in her mouth, when she heard someone shout her name.
Her pace faltered. It had rained while she had been in the store, and the tarmac under her feet was wet and slick; with her balance ruined by the groceries it would be easy to turn too quickly and end up on her backside. Instead she stopped, planted her left foot solidly and swung herself around, inwardly cursing her bottled water habit. “Mmf?”
“Mrs Takada?” There was a young woman trotting towards her, maybe eighteen, wearing a dark blue Ministop uniform. “Please wait!”
Emi put one of her bags down and took the keys from her mouth. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m so sorry.” The woman skated awkwardly to a halt and bowed. “Please forgive me for shouting, but I’m afraid you forgot this.” She straightened, took a folded carrier bag from her pocket and handed it over with both hands. “It’s your purse. You left it on the counter.”
“What? You’re kidding. How did I..?” Emi took the bag from her and reached inside. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“I must have distracted you, please forgive me.”
Emi grinned. The girl reminded her of someone from a long time ago. “Seriously, it’s fine. Got a busy day, that’s all. Stuff on my mind.” She put the purse into her pocket. “Thanks for running out here.”
The girl nodded, wrapped her arms around herself. The wind was rising, a cutting November chill. “That’s quite all right. Do you need any help getting your stuff into the car?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
“Um, Mrs Takada?” The girl was frowning. “That’s your car there, isn’t it?”
Emi glanced back over her shoulder. Her little blue Toyota was a few metres away, nestling alongside a row of scooters. “Yup.”
“Should the wheel be like that?”
“What? Like what?” She put her other bag down and took a couple of steps closer to the car. “There’s nothing wrong with the wheel, it was fine when I got… Oh.“
“Maybe you drove over a nail,” said the girl sadly.
“Aww…” Emi sagged. The rear tyre was completely flat, practically oozing off the wheel rim. “Now what?”
“I can call the JAF if you like.”
“No.” Emi squared her shoulders. “No, I can do this. It’s just changing the wheel, right? How hard can it be?”
“Ah, very?”
“I’ve got a spare. I think I’ve got a spare.” Emi would have liked to have crouched to study the wheel more closely, but crouching was one of the few things she had trouble with. She bent over to it instead, supporting herself on the car’s flank and mentally calculating how badly this was going to ruin her day. “Half an hour on this, drive home, stock the fridge, get changed… I can be at the bar before seven, easy.”
“Bar?” Determined to be helpful, the girl had picked up both shopping bags and was trotting around to the back of the Toyota.
“I’m meeting a friend. Haven’t seen her in a long time, so I really don’t want to be late. Don’t worry, I won’t be drinking.” Much.
“Mrs Takada…” The girl had frozen behind the Toyota, staring down at the other rear wheel. She turned to Emi with a nervous, lopsided smile on her face.
“Um… Would you like me to call you a cab?”
The Ministop wasn’t very far from Emi’s apartment. While the cab fare wouldn’t have been much, it was still an expense she hadn’t planned for, and most of her money was still vanishing into legal fees. Despite the weight of her bags, it made more sense to walk.
She would go back to the car tomorrow, and call the JAF on her mother’s tab.
She made her way carefully. The urge to push herself faster still rang at the back of her mind – it was always there, prodding her constantly – but today she found it easier than usual to resist, and not just because of the weight of her groceries. The damage to her car had shaken her more than she cared to admit.
One ruined tyre she could pass off as an accident, even when closer inspection had revealed what looked very much like a knife-cut deep through the sidewall. To find both rear wheels identically assaulted was genuinely frightening.
Emi had enemies, or at least people who didn’t like her any much; what she had received through the mail a week ago was proof enough of that. She hadn’t realised that any of them were capable of slashing her tyres, though.
The sound of a car horn snapped her out of her reverie. She glanced about, and realised that she had already made it halfway home. The pedestrian crossing was only a dozen metres ahead – she could cross the road there, make her way back around the nursery and then take a shortcut up the little hill that led to her block. Ten minutes max, fifteen if she was careful. She smiled.
It was dark now, and getting colder. Despite her thick winter coat and scarf, Emi wanted very much to be indoors.
Another car horn. She peered back over her shoulder, saw a white Honda van pulling out into the road. Something was parked back there, a tatty-looking green Ford, practically in the middle of the road. No wonder he was getting hooted at.
Emi trotted up to the crossing, paused there to make sure nothing was close. She stepped out.
Dimly, she heard the Ford gun its engine.
For several seconds the sound simply didn’t filter through from her ears to her brain. It was stupid, impossible. She was on the crossing, so how could anyone be accelerating towards her? The notion was too ridiculous to consider.
She stopped, halfway across, and turned to see a wall of green metal bellowing out of the darkness.
Emi was quick on her feet, even the ones she was wore to go shopping. She jerked back, took two swift steps in reverse. Easily enough to give the moron space to go past.
The Ford swung towards her.
She yelped in horror, hurled herself backward, the bags flying from her grip. The heel of her left foot hit the kerb. She flailed, stumbled, and then the Ford was on her, slamming into her right leg.
The impact was ferocious. Emi was spun clear over in the air, sent whirling down into the sidewalk. She hit face-first, the breath hammered out of her as she struck, rolled over and over. In the light of the Ford’s tail lights she could see her right leg in the road, whirling like a top.
Someone was running towards her. The Ford had slowed. Sickeningly, she heard it shift into reverse gear, but then the driver must have thought better of coming back to finish the job. Too many witnesses, now.
She sagged back as the car surged away.
There were hands on her, helping her sit up. “I’m sorry,” she was saying to them. Why was she apologising? She was starting to shiver uncontrollably, nausea roiling in her gut. “Sorry, I’m so sorry...”
“Miss, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she managed. “Fine. I think I’m fine.”
“Oh my God,” someone gasped. “Her leg…”
Suddenly, Emi wanted to laugh. “It’s okay,” she muttered. “They’re supposed to come off.”
Instead of laughing, though, she started crying. It took quite some time before she was able to stop.