You Drive Me Crazy

 ## You Drive Me Crazy

The wipers beat a frantic, metronomic rhythm against the windshield—*swish, screech, thwack*—fighting a losing battle against the torrential downpour. Outside, the Scottish Highlands were a void of absolute black, swallowed by a thick, suffocating fog that clung to the rusted chassis of Arthur’s vintage coupé like damp gauze.

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles resembled polished marble. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and unblinking, locked intensely on the slick, winding ribbon of asphalt ahead.

Beside him, Julianna sat in silence. Or rather, what was left of her.

Her head rested at an impossible, sickening angle against the passenger-side window, the cervical vertebrae snapped cleanly during the impact three hours ago. A dark, jagged shard of the shattered windshield protruded straight through her collarbone, dark arterial blood steadily pooling and soaking through the fabric of her silk blouse, turning it a deep, heavy crimson. Every time the car hit a pothole, her limp jaw dropped open, letting out a wet, rattling sigh of escaping air.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Arthur," Julianna whispered.

The voice didn't come from her ruined mouth. It echoed from inside Arthur’s own skull, scraping against his thoughts like rusted iron.

"I am," Arthur choked out, his voice hoarse and trembling. Sweat poured down his temples, mixing with the grime on his face. "I'm watching it, Jules. I'm taking you home."

"Home?" A wet, bubbling chuckle spilled from her throat. The dead woman slowly turned her head—the sickening crunch of bone grinding against bone echoing sharply in the confined cabin. Her eyes were milky white and film-covered, yet they bored straight into him. "We don't have a home anymore, darling. You made sure of that when you took the curve too fast. When you let us plunge off the cliff."

"It was an accident!" Arthur screamed, slamming his foot harder on the gas pedal. The engine roared, a desperate, metallic shriek as the speedometer needle climbed past eighty. "It was ice! Black ice!"

"Liar."

Julianna’s hand shot out with sudden, violent speed. Her stiff, cold fingers clamped around Arthur’s right wrist, squeezing with unnatural, crushing force. Flesh tore beneath her fingernails, and hot blood welled up instantly, spilling over her pale knuckles.

"You were looking at your phone," she hissed, her voice morphing into a discordant chorus of metal screeching and tearing muscle. "You were texting that girl from the office while you drove me to my grave."

"Let go!" Arthur sobbed, trying to wrench his arm away, but her grip was bolted in iron. The steering wheel jerked violently to the left.

The car veered off the slick road, tearing through a rotting wooden guardrail. Gravity vanished for a terrifying heartbeat as the coupé launched into the pitch-black abyss of the ravine.

In the split second before impact, Arthur looked over at the passenger seat. Julianna wasn't looking at the approaching rocks below. She was smiling, her jaw unhinging wider and wider until the skin at the corners of her mouth split apart in long, weeping ribbons of red.

"We're almost home, Arthur," she whispered lovingly as the world exploded into glass, steel, and screaming bone.