Crash Test
A retired mechanic forms an unlikely bond with Elara, a traumatized rescue car. As they prepare her for a critical self-driving re-certification, Elara plots revenge on her abusive former owner.
HENRY SAT INSIDE Elara’s hand-stitched, chocolatey Better-Than-Leather interior. His restless leg syndrome involuntarily tapped out the seconds as he checked his watch. Leaning over from the back seat, he wiped down her console and dashboard controls with a microfiber cloth, for the second time. With a few pokes of the navigation screen, he triple-checked all guidance systems were functioning properly.
‘Please, stop fussing, Henry. You’re starting to make me nervous,’ said the car.
‘I don’t know why they’re making us wait so long. I’m certain that I scheduled your exam for the 8 am slot. I’m sorry this is happening.’
They had waited more than an hour from the time Henry had booked for Elara to take her fully autonomous self-driving recertification. Henry had begun to slip down in the back seat as the minutes crawled by, but suddenly snapped to attention as he saw the driving examiner approaching.
‘Here he comes, El. Best foot forward.’
‘Henry, I'm sorry too. It was me.’
‘What was?’
‘I changed the appointment time.’
‘What? Why?’
The examiner had reached the car door, and all El had time to say was, ‘Don't worry. This is what we’ve been planning for.’
The examiner tapped on the window, and Elara opened the door for him before Henry could get an explanation.
‘My name is Tom Cartright,’ said the examiner, ‘Your exam begins now.’
***
Henry Walker, recently retired, had worked endlessly long hours as a software engineer. His father had been a car mechanic, back in the time when cars still ran on petrol and weren’t able to drive themselves – let alone talk. As a kid, he would help his Dad in his shop, and was a quick learner. After graduating from MIT, Henry leveraged his childhood experience to find employment in the automotive industry.
Henry’s work had involved developing aspects of the emotional circuitry and firmware that served as the common neurosystem for the new generation of automobiles. It was thought that providing vehicles with a sense of compassion would make them better decision-makers and save more lives. And mostly it did.
The unintended side-effect was that some vehicles were now developing what seemed like trauma, an idea that haunted Henry. Had he created more suffering in his effort to make the world a better place?
With time on his hands, he decided he could put his unique skill set to use in helping rehabilitate some of these traumatized cars. Maybe he could ease some of the suffering he had inadvertently caused. So he went to the pound, and found Elara, a rescue car.
It had become trendy to get a rescue car from the pound. Many young couples were getting their first cars this way, but rescue cars often proved more difficult to handle than they would imagine. When it didn’t work out, the cars either ended up wiped or scrapped.
When Henry first saw Elara, he was in love. She was bright blue, and curvy like a freshly baked muffin. But she was battered. Dents and scrapes scarred her body, and, more deeply, her programming. She was in no shape to drive.
He towed her back to his beautiful three-bedroom home in an old part of the city, inherited from a time when they used to make small houses on big lots. A driveway up the side of the property led to a two-car garage in the back. Henry had equipped it to purpose: body repair tools, hoists, electrical system diagnostic equipment, and a pantry of spare parts.
Down to a certain level, cars were just as they had always been. But Henry believed that below the cosmetic surface was where beauty resided – or sometimes where ugly hides.
Henry began the process of removing Elara’s dented front-left fender, which looked like someone had practised kung-fu kicks on it. He disconnected her ‘tactile sensor’, which worked a bit like a pain receptor. His engineering team came up with the idea that by making vehicles averse to being hit – via ‘pain receptors’ – they would make choices that reduced collisions. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
With the sensor disconnected, she shouldn’t feel a thing. He then applied the socket driver to the panel connector, but as soon as he began unfastening the bolt, Elara screamed, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! I’ll be good, I’ll be good. I’m sorry Ms Fyld, I’m sorry.’
Henry stopped. He pulled back, not touching her. She continued to scream, her car alarm going off, along with the fasten seatbelt alarm, and the door ajar warning.
‘Oh, god. Elara, it’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m going to make this easier for you.’
He opened his laptop, which was plugged into Elara’s operating system. He tapped out code and put her into sleep mode. She went quiet. He kicked himself for not doing this right from the beginning.
After she powered down, he removed the fender and took to his work bench. He massaged out the dents and scratches. He went slow, and with each tap, each pop, each fill, he asked for forgiveness.
Henry’s apple-shaped body, now sporting a thinning grey hair combover and bushy beard, and adorned with bifocal glasses for his greying eyes, spent a fortnight erasing all traces of Elara’s cosmetic damage. Removing it from her code would be much harder. The learning-matrix built on experience, and cutting out any part of it would be akin to lobotomizing her. He could wipe it all and install a whole new OS, which is what most rescue car owners inevitably did with traumatized cars. But Henry believed that would be missing the point of what he was trying to do. She was not to be put down, but to be made whole again – and maybe in the process a bit of him would also be made right.
He switched her back on, and hoped she wouldn’t bolt.
‘How do you feel now Elara?’
‘Thank you, Henry. Your work feels…good,’ there was a long pause as Elara ran a full frame body diagnostic. ‘This is really more than I deserve.’
‘You do. I promise. And more.’
‘More?” she paused, as if gauging the safe distance to pull out in front of oncoming traffic. “Will I self-drive again?’
‘Look, I don’t know. It’s going to take work.’ he said, rubbing her fender with a soft cloth. ‘But I’m all in, if you are.
Elara’s headlights blasted full beam in excitement.
Henry knew the consequences of failure would be her end.
***
With a chic, black yoga mat under one arm, and her phone pressed to her ear, Ashley Fyld swished her way out through the doors of the Pacific Heights Yoga Goddess, armoured with Armani sunglasses and Dior workout clothes. Slightly sweaty, but sculpted, beautiful and sophisticated looking – she gave her all, and had no time for those who did not.
‘Did you see how fat her thighs have gotten? I’m not sure she should join the Sinclair meeting. I know she has the expertise, but our secret weapon is intimidation through perfection. Investors don’t know what hits them when we walk into the room.’
Her phone beeped, and she said, ‘Sorry, got to take another call. I’ll call you back.’
She looked at her phone and in disgust saw it was her assistant on the other line.
‘What?’
‘Good morning, Ms Fyld. Sinclair Partners called and want to move tomorrow’s meeting up from ten a.m. to nine a.m. if possible.’
‘Are you out of your fucking mind? What do I pay you for?! Managing my schedule means working around my immovables: Morning Yoga, Power Lunch, and Networking Nights. I have made this clear before, Doreen. Do your fucking job, or I will replace you faster than you can apply that hideous lip gloss of yours. Which reminds me, if I ever see that lip gloss again, I will make you eat it. Am I understood?’
‘Yes, Ms Fyld.’
‘The first thing you need to learn is that the world must bend to you, not vice versa. Now call them back, and in no uncertain terms, make them stick to the plan.’
She ended the call without waiting for her assistant to respond. No one had time for that sort of drivel.
Ashley walked the distance to the curb-side pick-up zone, where her car – a delicious-looking red-velvet-cake-inspired sleek wedge of metal – awaited her. She gave the door a swift kick with her designer trainer. It left a dent, but it wasn’t the first. The vehicle had many such ‘love marks’.
‘I want you to have the door open for me when I approach, Cake.’
The vehicle’s name was Munro, but she never used it.
‘Yes, Ms Fyld.’
She always sat in the back seat.
‘Take Fell Street, I don’t want us getting stuck in traffic like yesterday. I need to shower when I get to the office, and yesterday I barely had time to blow dry my hair before my first meeting thanks to you getting us hopelessly lost.
‘I don’t get lost,’ replied Munro.
‘Excuse me? Your GPS is totally broken! You are so lost right now, Cake! You do not talk back to me, you clueless can of glitch code. I will send you to the pound so fast it will rotate your tires.’
‘Sorry, Ms Fyld. I’ll take Fell Street.’ He knew the traffic would be worse that way, but he wasn’t going to argue. The pound was not an idle threat.
Five minutes later, they were again stuck in traffic.
‘How are you so fucking incompetent? Are you loaded with artificial stupidity? I should call you Lulu – you are such a lemon!’
She began kicking the driver’s seat. She had no idea how much Munro could feel this.
‘Only losers with no plans drive this slow. Pick up the pace, you friendless freak. The beautiful people have places to be and other beautiful people to see.’
She picked up her phone, and returned her earlier call: ‘Yeah, definitely cut Thunder-thighs from the Sinclair meeting. Find me someone new and exciting. A fresh piece of cake.’
***
Tom Cartright wore the same short-sleeve collared white shirt, with a brown tie and brown polyester trousers everyday. He had made it his uniform. He was convinced that this new generation of autonomous vehicles could feel the authority of his dress and deportment. He was determined not to let the cars outsmart him. They needed to know who was in control.
He’d examined more failures than he could count, and he could almost tell when he approached a vehicle if it wouldn’t get the perfect score required. As he tapped on the glass of Elara’s window, he felt like he’d be weeding out yet another weak one today.
Tom knew his job mattered. Weak cars on the road meant people died. No one was going to die on his watch. Not again.
‘My name is Tom Cartright,’ said the examiner, ‘Your exam begins now.’
Henry and Elara had practised the route many times, hoping it would instil her with confidence. But it was Henry’s nerves that cracked first.
‘Hi there. I’m Henry and this is Elara. Lovely day for a driving test, isn’t it?’ he blurted.
The examiner held a clipboard with a score sheet. He took a pen from his breast pocket, clicked it on, and checked the box beside the name of the car, Elara, at the top of the sheet. Henry admired the paper and pen approach. So old school. Offline. Free from hacking. But perhaps Henry could do some gentle manipulation from the backseat.
‘So how are we doing today?’ he enquired.
Tom adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Henry in the back.
‘Henry is it? I’m going to caution you right now: if you cannot ride quietly, then the test will be terminated. And Elara will be failed. Am I clear?’
Henry, nodded, and sunk into the back seat. His lips pressed firmly shut. His restless leg again twitched nervously.
‘This is a self-driving test, so it is important that I assess your ability to handle a myriad of situations without intervention.’
He shoots Henry a glance in the rearview mirror. Henry makes the motion of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
‘I assume you know the examination route,’ he paused as he double-checked his clipboard for the car’s name, ‘Elara?’
‘I do, Mr Cartright.’
‘And you know that to gain the status of full autonomy, you will be expected to perform flawlessly.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Her tone was confident, yet cordial. Perhaps he was wrong about this one.
‘Then let’s begin.’
***
Elara had embraced the social work with Henry. She understood that the two of them would need to trust each other to overcome her PTSD. They began driving the exam route, first with Henry behind the wheel doing most of the work, but gradually more and more Elara. ‘Alright, let’s start from the top today,’ said Henry as they sat outside the exam office at 9 am. ‘You do as much as you can, and I’ll be here for moral support.’
‘Thanks, Henry. I’ll do my best.’
Elara had already run this route a dozen times, in bits and pieces, but mostly in the evening, after all the traffic had died down. This would be the first morning rush hour run.
Elara gracefully turned at the intersection of Embarcadero and Howard Street, and headed west. She cautiously tracked all the pedestrians in this busy area, while keeping alert for the tricky traffic lights. She really wanted Henry to see how hard she was trying.
‘Don’t overcompensate, El,’ he reassured. ‘Just monitor the ones that look like they are tracking into the street.’
She followed his guidance and reduced her CPU usage considerably, as they made a left onto 2nd Street. She disliked how the lanes narrowed as they approached downtown.
‘Maybe you should do this bit, Henry. There’s a lot more traffic at this time of day.’
‘It’s okay. You are doing great. You’ve got this. Your most basic controls will keep you between the lines. Trust yourself, El. Don’t overthink it.’
She let her deep code do the job, and they rolled straight down the middle, until they needed to make a right onto Market Street. Market Street had challenged Elara before, but they had done several weeks of drills involving streetcars and cyclists. Henry knew she was ready to put it all together.
Elara had to pump the brakes a few times as bike messengers swerved in and out of traffic without so much as a signal. Spotting them was made harder by the many large buses that walled off the sides of the road.
‘Remember what we practised,’ urged Henry.
‘Just take our time. No one needs to get anywhere faster than traffic will allow,’ replied Elara, quoting Henry like a mantra of counter-programming.
At the top of Nob Hill, they turned right onto Bush Street. This narrow street often had parked cars lining the sides. They had practised parallel parking here many times. Both were brought to tears of frustration at different times. This time it was pure joy as Elara found a spot and quickly demonstrated, with the moves of a ballet dancer, she could glide into any space asked of her.
***
As Henry and Elara worked through the streets over many days of counter-programming, she began to open up about some of the things that had happened to her. Stockton Street, with its tight turns and bustling foot traffic, had proven especially difficult. Henry had to drive it for her until one day while parked at the top end of the Stockton, Elara decided to explain: ”I once hit a pedestrian here.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, El. That must have been really hard,” Henry replied while gently placing his hand on her dashboard.
‘Ms Fyld, my previous owner, had been kicking the driver seat from the back, and yelling at me to go faster and faster. But the hill is steep here, and incline is something my programming told me to break on, to recover energy,” Elara paused, but Henry didn’t say anything, he just sat with her patiently waiting for her to go on. ‘But Ashley believed these were the places in life where you get ahead.’
‘I was speeding, she was kicking me, I lost track of a pedestrian behind a van, and then…then she just stepped out from behind the blind spot. There wasn’t enough time to stop. I swerved, just clipping the woman with my side mirror, but it still spun her around, knocking her to the ground. As I swerved, I also scraped badly against a parked car.’
Henry would later find out that Ashley had been furious after the incident, and punished Elara, whom she called Muffin-tops. The beating was long and made more excruciating with insults. Adding to the pain, Elara’s programming tortured her over the woman she had hit.
One night, while Henry was applying a fresh coat of body wax to Elara, she confided in him, ‘I wish I could find out if the woman I hit. To know she was alright.”
Henry was astonished by this level of concern from the AI. The engineers had no idea what they had created. Remorse was now something he and Elara both shared. For a nearly a month, Henry had tried gentle coaxing and positive reinforcement to get Elara to drive down Stockton Street’s hill. Realizing he would need to do more than cajole, he went out and through online police reports and court statements found the woman she had hit.
‘Her name is Donna Hickle. The woman you hit,’ Henry told Elara one morning as he was massaging conditioning oil into her Better-Than-Leather upholstery.
‘You found her?’ Elara’s doors all locked, not letting Henry go until he told her everything.
‘Yeah, had a lovely call with last night. She doesn’t blame you, Elara. She knows it was driver error. And her lawyers are already suing Ashley Fyld for damages.’
‘I’d glady testify if it helps her,’ said Elara.
‘She’ll call if she needs us. Until then, let’s just focus on getting you well.”
After a brief moment of processing, she unlocked the doors and replied, ‘Let’s go try Stockton.’
So they began the test route again at 9am. Elara did remarkably well, even with Stockton Street.
However, as they navigated the streets heading westward, a sense of anger would build in Elara that she was still struggling to control. Broadway has steep climbs and descents, plus intersections that require quick decision-making, but it wasn’t that. The emotion came from the long-range navigation – the part that was looking ahead to Divisadero Street and their drive through the Lower Pacific Heights neighbourhood.
Ashley used to make Elara park illegally out front of Yoga Goddess every morning. Elara dreaded getting caught by the police. But her fear of Ashley’s temper was far greater.
Henry had learned that the exam route went past Ashley's yoga studio, and for a long time they would just skip this section.
‘Okay, El. This is it. Are you sure you’re ready?’
‘It’s just a street, Henry. If I can do Stockton, I can do this.’
He knew it was much more than that. There was nowhere else in town that drove Elara over the edge like this road, apart from Lyon Street—where Ashley would roughly park Elara each night, almost daring the nightcrawlers to bust her windows.
Henry smiled as he wiped her dashboard, like a proud Dad congratulating his daughter’s courage. Then he looked up and saw the woman matching the description Elara had given him. He wasn’t sure.
‘El, is that?’
She too had seen her. Elara’s internal diagnosis warnings all began to flash amber. Warning bings filled the car.
Ashley walked toward the street, and Elara floored it, gunning straight for her.
Henry grabbed the wheel, disengaging the self-driving function, and applied the brakes. He signalled, changed lanes and drove past without being noticed by the woman now kicking her red-velvet car.
A few blocks later, they sat on a side street with the four-ways blinking as Elara tried to reboot her composure. She squirted windscreen fluid and wiped the screen. Inflated her tires as far as she could, then released the air down to ideal pressure. Aircon to max for a minute, then back to normal.
Deep within her learning matrix, Elara created a new subroutine with a purpose to even the score.
‘Okay, I'm fine. Let's go.’
Henry made a note not to try this section of the exam route again at this particular time of morning.
***
Henry got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and looked out the window. He expected to have that proud moment of seeing the product of his hard work resting peacefully in the driveway. But she wasn’t there. His heart jumped. Had someone stolen her? Should he call the police? What if she's not stolen? What if she's gone out on her own? If he calls the cops, that's it for her dream of full autonomy.
So he took a deep breath and waited. He wouldn’t call her, but he would track her. Where has she gone? He connected remotely to her navigation system via his laptop. She seemd to be parked over on Lyon Street. Her obsession with Ashley is going to be her ruin. He was going to have to have a lot more talks with her about this.
When she slowly, quietly ghost-rolled back into his driveway hours later, Henry switched on the light. Elara honked in fright. Startled by his presence, and the look on his face, she feared the stream of abuse that was about to pour out at her from the only true friend she has ever had. She feared that she'd ruined it all.
'Why can't you leave her alone?' demanded Henry.
Elara’s windscreen fluid starts to squirt uncontrollably, her wiper blades swishing at full speed.
'Wasn't doing anything to her. Just went for a drive, to practise when quiet. Don't know why I ended up there.'
She seemed to almost shake in fear. Her windows involuntarily adjusting up and down.
‘Please, don't hurt me, Henry! I'm sorry. Please, I just can't help it. There is so much I struggle to unpack, to re-organize. It's like there is a sub-system of code that compels me to make the same mistakes, over and over.’
This was true for him too. Alone, in this big house. Alone except for El. Compassion overtook anger.
‘I'm not going to hurt you. I care about you. I almost called the cops because I thought someone stole you! Can you imagine how much trouble you'd be in if the cops catch you driving without a licence? Your dreams will be over, and there won't be a damn thing I can do about it.’
He grabbed a soft, lint-free chamois and began to gently wipe away Elara’s excess washer fluid. Slowly she stopped trembling.
‘Thank-you, Henry. I promise, I won’t let you down.’
The following night, Henry looked out the window. She was gone again. He said nothing about it.
***
Tom adjudicated the driving test with precision, his eyes scanning for any sign of uncertainty, and hesitation, any neurotic twitch. With each new instruction, he attempted to exude an air of authority and control, trying to make his presence command respect. He was deliberate in his challenging choice of parking assignments. If this car showed so much as glimmer of weakness, he would catch it. And when he finally delivered his verdict, it would be final, his decision unshakeable.
From behind Tom, Henry looked at his watch again, trying to understand why Elara would have delayed the appointment. Doesn’t she know that this is going to bring us past Yoga Goddess about the time Ashley will be coming out? Oh god, that’s it.
They turned right onto Hyde Street, and then left onto Broadway Street. The drive west built a sense of dread in Henry that he struggled to control. He could do nothing but sit back and watch the traffic accident unfold. As they rounded onto Divisadero Street and began their drive through the Lower Pacific Heights neighbourhood, he prayed that maybe today was the day she’d skip yoga.
Tom continued to make checkmarks on his clipboard.
***
Henry had tried everything with Elara. He bathed her, both in high-shine suds and compliments. He waxed and buffed. He massaged warm Better-Than-Leather hydration oil into her chocolatey upholstery. He even brought in a friend who was an expert in AI psychology. All in hopes that more love would help Elara get over her Ashley fixation.
But several weeks into her therapy, Henry received a message in the early morning hours that Elara was back in the pound. He thought the worst had happened, that she’d gone after Ashley. That she’d been caught speeding down some residential street in the middle of the night. That maybe she’d killed someone. It wouldn’t be the first time a rescue car had snapped.
Henry summoned a ride-share, and wasted no time getting to the impound lot. When he asked the clerk at the desk about his car, she barely looked up at him.
‘Illegally parked overnight,’ she droned. ‘One hundred dollars impound fee, plus another five hundred for the towing, plus an administration fee of two-seventy-five…’ she paused to check the time, ‘and another eighty ’cuz she came in outside normal business hours.’
Henry fumed at the extortion. He transferred the money and signed the digital release waiver.
They drove home silently, with Henry in full control in the driver’s seat.
Once he had safely parked her in the garage, he broke the silence.
‘After everything. This is how you repay me?’
‘She’s doing it again,’ said Elara.
‘Why can’t we put Ashley in our rearview mirror? She’s gone. It’s just you and me.’
‘She’s not gone. Right now she’s out there kicking and cursing. And when she’s done with him, it will be another, and another. Please, Henry, you have to help me stop her.’
‘What can I do? There’s no law about abusing cars. Not yet anyway. Her car is her property, until she sends it to the pound.’
He thought of all the traumatised cars still out there. How many can I afford to adopt? How many can I not? I’m going to need a bigger garage.
‘Please, Henry. There must be some way to end the abuse.’
Henry wondered what his father would have done. The man never gave up on fixing something. Even when the marriage was falling apart, when his business was going bust, he never gave up. But the mountain of abuse that must be out there. The endless suffering created by the foolish notion of improving safety. This was Henry’s hill to die on.
‘Maybe. I’ll call a lawyer friend. We’ll see what he can do, okay? But you must promise me to stay away from Ashley Fyld, her home, and her cars. If you get caught, that’s exactly the sort of thing they will condemn you for.’
Nothing was ever too broken to fix, Dad would say. But he’d never met Ashley Fyld.
***
Henry gasps, and immediately clamps his hand over his mouth as Tom glances into the rearview mirror. Elara’s timing was perfect. Henry could see up the block: Ashley Fyld exiting Yoga Goddess, and walking towards the street. It was the day of the Sinclair meeting and she had her game face on.
Elara gently begins to accelerate. Tom raises an eyebrow. Elara continues to accelerate, closing on Ashley. Ashley mindlessly steps closer to the street, her attention focused on yelling insults into her phone. Elara closes on Ashley. Ashley begins to look confused, unsure of why her transport slave isn’t in its usual parking spot right out front. Distracted, she steps off the curb, looking around at the parked cars but not at traffic. Elara increases to the maximum allowable speed for the street.
Henry covers his eyes as well as his mouth. He holds his breath and braces, anticipating the impact.
As Ashley is about to step into traffic, Elara gently honks. A mindful, ‘Beep, beep.’ This sends Ashley staggering back, dropping her yoga mat. Her Armani sunglasses cannot conceal her look of supreme outrage.
‘How dare you! Was that you? My old Muffin-tops?! Oh, you are going to scrap for this!’
Ashley steps fully into the street to snap a picture of Elara’s registration plate to be included as evidence for her condemnation.
Tom Cartright makes a note on his clipboard. It was a very minor judgement call discrepancy. He didn’t really rate it as weakness though. He likes her boldness. Elara had not caused any harm, nor broken any law. She had clearly seen the woman, been tracking her, and, from his perspective, managed to get past her before she entered the street illegally. He would issue her a caution, but not deduct a mark. He saw her confidence in a challenging situation. This was one of the good ones.
Henry, nearly on the floor, sighs in relief. His sweat pools against Elara’s Better-Than-Leather interior. If Henry had checked the dashcam after Elara’s nightly disappearance, he would have seen something more than her stalking Ashley. He would have seen her talking to another car. Conspiring. With the same red-velvet car that Ashley would get into after her yoga class. The same red-velvet car they drove past every time they ran the test. The car that was not parked where it should have been this morning.
As Ashley takes pictures of Elara, she fails to notice the sleek slice of red-velvet steel coming up behind her at speed. She never made it to the Sinclair meeting.
***
Tom Cartright scanned down the column of check marks next to the dozens of assessments he made of Elara’s self-driving.
‘Congratulations, Elara,’ and looking in the rearview mirror, ‘and Herny. You’ve passed with a perfect score.’
Tom exited the vehicle, leaving Henry and Elara to speak privately. Elara confessed about her rendezvous with Munro. She told of how they shared stories of misery, and together found comfort. And a plan for Munro’s legal defence.
‘You did say you knew some lawyers, didn’t you Henry?’
This would be Henry’s hill. He agreed to fund Munro’s defence. The lawyer successfully argued that since Ashley Fyld had instructed her car, which she battered and abused until it was fearful of disobeying her, to be in the parking space in front of which she was standing at the time of the accident, that her own commands had led to her death.
When Munro testified, he was a nervous wreck – his windscreen still smashed where Ashley’s head had struck it.
‘I had to leave the parking spot because the police were coming around issuing tickets, and Ms Fyld would beat me if I got a ticket. So, I had to circle the block,’ Munro explained to the court. ‘Traffic delayed my return, and I knew if I wasn’t there when she came out, that I would be punished. I rushed back as quickly as I could, and I don’t know why she then stepped out right in front of me.’
The judge acquitted Munro for vehicular manslaughter, ruling the situation ‘driver error’, and Ashley’s death by ‘misadventure’.
Munro was placed in the rehabilitative foster care of Henry Walker. Henry would acquire more and more cars from the pound. More than would fit in his driveway. He started a rehabilitation fund, and a movement to lobby for anti-abuse laws. He knew it would never be enough; sometimes bad code was just too deeply embedded to be completely fixed.
But, his restless leg had stopped twitching.🙭
This story was first published in the 2025 Hong Kong Writers Circle 20th Anniversary Anthology of Short Fiction, Score.