Chapter Text
Questions
Heavy eyelids open, a hazy, blurry canopy of white tile and bright lights before him.
Another night, another unfamiliar place.
A steady beep off to his left.
Everything hurts.
Everything usually hurts most mornings.
As he tried to absentmindedly reach over to turn off whatever was making that racket, it hit him that this was definitely different.
In particular, his arm felt like it was about to fall off of his body.
His chest felt as though it were being run over by a truck.
His legs felt like…
Like they weren’t there.
In a blind panic, through the pain, he craned his head up to see where exactly he had woken up this time. It must have been a hell of a party he had attended last night for him to feel this bad. What drug or drink could possibly make him feel like you had been in a car accident the next morning? Something he no doubt hadn’t tried before, though there was little he hadn’t tried.
He was startled to see that he wasn’t in a house.
Or a hotel.
Not even in jail.
Rather, he was in a hospital.
And he was in bad shape.
Practically his whole body was in a cast. One leg was suspended in mid-air by a wire, a large, metal apparatus surrounding it to keep it stabilized.
“What the fuck…” He groaned out, causing a familiar face at the end of the bed to look up from his magazine in shock, quickly rising to his feet and walking over to the bed.
“Oh my god! You’re… You’re awake! You’re alive!”
“Ray?” The man could barely get out, every word feeling like he had swallowed broken glass. “What…?”
“Don’t worry buddy, I’ll go get the doctor. Wait one second, okay?”
Ray quickly took off down the hallway, shouting for the doctor.
What the fuck happened?...
… Who’s bitch did I fuck this time? He thought to himself, chuckling under his breath, which sent him into a coughing fit, an unbearable pain radiating through his chest with each cough.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten my ass kicked over it, but they didn’t have to try and kill me… Jesus.
I don’t even remember what happened last night…
… Come to think of it, I don’t remember much of anything…
Just then, Ray came back through the door, holding it open for the doctor to come in behind him.
The man couldn’t quite rotate his head enough to see her, only hearing her voice.
“It’s good to see you awake! We were starting to get a little worried about you… Do you know where you are?”
“... No…”
“You’re in the ICU at Halifax Medical Center. I’m Dr. Mikhaylov.”
What kind of fucking commie name is ‘Mikhaylov’?
… And ‘Halifax’?... As in…?
“... Halifax… in Daytona?”
“The very same… Do you not remember what happened?”
Wait, I do remember something, but not from last night.
I know Daytona was the next race on the schedule…
“Can’t say I do…”
“Okay. Well, let’s just start with some simple questions.” He heard the sound of a chair sliding across the tile flooring. “Can you tell me your name?”
“You work in Daytona Beach, and you don’t know who I am?” The man chuckled, before once again going into a coughing fit and regretting the decision to be a smartass.
“Of course I’ve heard of you, Mr. Minerva.” The doctor said with a flat, matter-of-fact tone, not budging an inch against the American icon in front of her. He was known to be quite the arrogant loudmouth, typical for someone in his profession. “However, chief among your injuries was a severe concussion and swelling of the brain. I need to make sure you don’t have lasting effects. Amnesia, for instance... So can you answer my questions please? What is your name?”
A concussion?...
Brain swelling?...
… What the fuck happened to me?...
The man cooperated.
“... Norman. Norman Minerva.”
“Good. And what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a racer.”
“Good. What year is it?”
“1987.”
“Good… Let’s see… Who’s the president?”
Norman scoffed and tried to shrug his shoulders, causing himself more pain instead, wincing.
“I don’t fuckin’ know.”
Norman heard Ray sigh loudly at the foot of the bed.
“I see that crash didn’t knock any sense into you like I thought it would… Norman, would you please just stop being you for a minute and cooperate? This is serious…” Ray was usually angry at Norman for getting into any trouble he could find, so this was nothing new. “Sorry about him, miss.”
“It’s no problem. It’s actually a good sign to see that he’s still himself.”
“I genuinely don’t care who the fucking president is.”
“Fair enough… Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”
Norman did so.
“And your toes?”
Norman wiggled the toes on his right foot, which stuck out of a cast.
However, when he tried to do the same with his left, the same side as his mangled leg, all he could feel was a tingling. They barely responded to his commands to move them.
“That’s all I can do with that side.”
“Mmhm. Well that’s to be expected. There’s likely quite a bit of nerve damage in that leg in particular. It took a lengthy surgery to save it from being amputated.” Norman heard the doctor get out of her chair. “Well, let’s check your vision next.”
It was then that Norman got his first look at who was speaking to him all this time, as she made her way over to the eye chart in front of him.
A face to put to this strict, yet gentle voice.
Norman had been with more women than he could count.
It was practically a weekly ritual.
Win that week’s race, pick up copious amounts of drugs and liquor on the way home, and party and fuck all night.
Rinse, repeat.
It came with the territory, to those in the sport who weren’t family men at least.
Seemingly a million women had shared a bed with him…
But none…
Not one woman…
Ever took his breath away like she did that day.
His lips parted and his eyes grew wide at the sight of her.
A woman around his age. A redhead, though her hair was closer to orange than red, tied back in a ponytail, with a couple wavy strands falling down on either side of her face.
Her face...
Beautiful, vibrant green eyes, which, even though Norman’s vision was a little blurry for some reason, nonetheless gave him chills to see looking his way. Her lips full and voluptuous, moving to say something to him that he completely tuned out.
Her figure, yet thin, had curves in all the right places. Norman could only sit there and blink as he looked her absentmindedly up and down, not even mentally undressing her like he did with every other woman. Just admiring how gorgeous she was.
No woman ever had this effect on him.
Ever captivated him quite like she had.
She was beautiful. Gorgeous. In every sense of the word.
“Mr. Minerva?...” She finally got through to him, pulling him out of his trance with a jerk, wincing at the pain in… well… everywhere when he did so.
“Sorry… What did you say?...”
“I said, normally I would ask you to cover your right eye, but you can just close it if you’d like. Read this line please.”
Ray squinted at Norman in confusion as he actually did as he was told. No smartass or perverted comments to be found.
It was Norman. He was a pig. Always had been.
He should have whistled at her at the very least.
How could he not say something to a knockout like her?
Even he, a married man, found it hard to keep his eyes from wandering.
“T. R. A. H. R. M.” Norman spoke without strain, too disarmed to protest or comment.
“Excellent. Now close your left and read this one if you can.” She pointed to the row below.
Norman did as he was told, shocked at what he saw next.
Or, more precisely, what he didn’t.
“Whoa…”
“What’s the matter?” She asked him.
“Um… I can’t even tell that there’s letters up there at all… I can barely make you out.”
“Oh… I see.” She said, jotting something on her clipboard as she spoke. “Has your vision always been that bad in that eye?”
“No… I don’t think they’d let me race like that.”
“Is that normal, doc?” Ray asked up at her with a concerned look on his face.
“No, it isn’t, but given what he’s been through, it’s not unheard of. We’ll have to do some scans later to see what the cause is.”
“Okay.” Norman finally said sternly, with a bit of worry in his voice. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? What happened to me?”
Dr. Mikhaylov and Ray looked at each other, before the doctor pulled up a chair next to his.
“How about we start by telling me the last thing you remember.” She said, her clipboard and pen ready in her hands.
Norman thought and thought, unable to really nail down any memory he had of the last week or so, until finally, his mind settled on a very blurry, hazy memory.
“I… think I remember putting on my fire suit… But I don’t even remember what track we were at, or what day it was or anything else. It’s really hazy. I’m assuming since I’m in Halifax that it was Daytona.”
“That’s right.” She said, making a note.
“Doc, I can tell him, since I’m in the business, you know. Then maybe you can fill in how he was hurt?” Ray took the lead, knowing that Norman’s current situation was a delicate one, with a lot of moving parts. He should be the one to let him know.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Ray sighed.
“You don’t remember qualifying or anything, Norman?”
“No.” He shook his head slightly, once again wincing at the pain.
“Well you were on the pole. 209 something miles per hour average. You lead a lot of the race. We had the car to beat for sure, all day long.”
Ray thought for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, die-cast, toy car.
“Since when do you carry toys around with you?” Norman chuckled.
“Kids left one here when the wife took them home, you hush.” He held the car up, using it as a visual aid. “You were coming to the checkered flag, in the lead. Another car had a run on you, and pulled to the inside. You tried to block him, but he was there, and he hooked you. Because the cars are going so fast, when it turned backwards it lifted into the air like a wing and you went nose first into the fence. When you bounced back out on the track, someone hit you right about… here.” He pointed to a spot about halfway between the left rear tire and the driver’s window. “Another foot forward and it would have killed you.”
“Easily. You barely made it out alive as it was.” The doctor added.
“They’re calling it the worst crash for motorsports since ‘55 Le Mans.”
“... Jesus.” Norman said softly, stunned, not able to say much else, looking back and forth between Ray and the doctor. “... What are my injuries?”
“Well, let’s see. You broke pretty much everything on the left side of your body, because that’s where you were hit.” She turned a page on the clipboard. “You had… A concussion with swelling of the brain, 3 broken ribs on your left side, a collapsed lung, a broken vertebrae in your back, fractured left hip, arm, and of course your legs. Your left leg was crushed by one of the chassis bars from what I’m told, that’s why it’s in such bad shape.”
“So, how quick can I get back in the car?” Norman asked, not even phased. He felt like he had such a long list of injuries.
“That’s… Um…” Ray was the one to say, once again sharing a look with the doctor. “Well it’s complicated. You’re at least out for the season… You’re already out of the championship fight now anyway, having missed two races and all.”
Norman paused, his face twisting in the realization of what was said, looking at Ray like he was an alien.
“... Two races?...”
Ray could only look at the doctor once again with sadness in his eyes, unable to tell him, but she spoke up for him.
“You’ve been in a coma since the accident on July 4th. It’s Sunday, August 9th now. So a little over a month.”
Norman, for once in his life, had lost the ability to speak, merely blinking at the doctor and Ray, unable to believe what he was hearing.
As they sat in silence, Norman’s thoughts were swirling around his head, and came to a terrifying conclusion. One that he didn’t even consider. The beeps from his heart rate monitor grew faster.
1955 Le Mans…
A lot of people were killed…
A lot.
… I hit the fence separating the track from…
Oh no…
“Ray… You mentioned Le Mans…”
Ray nodded, preparing himself for what was next.
“... Did I… Did I kill someone?...”
With one last shared look with the doctor, Ray knew that it was finally time to tell Norman about everything that happened. He could put it off no longer.
“Miss, I’m sorry. I don’t wanna get in the way of your work‘n’all, but… Can I talk to him in private? He’ll wanna hear this all from me.”
“Certainly.” She said solemnly, nodding. “Please, if you need anything, there’s a call button beside his bed. I’ll be just down the hall.”
“Thank ya ma’am… Oh, and miss?” Ray stopped her, just as she was about to open the door. “Thank you for helping to save my friend... I know it’s your job, but you deserve praise anyhow.”
“I’m glad he’s alive.” The doctor looked Norman’s way and smiled a little. “I know there’d be a lot of sad fans out there if we lost him… Be back to check on you in a bit, Mr. Minerva.”
The door closed behind her and Ray and Norman sat in silence for a moment as they listened to her footsteps getting quieter down the hall. Norman in particular had no idea what to say next, waiting for Ray to tell him more about what happened.
“... She’s a looker, ain’t she?” Ray asked.
“I’m not really worried about that now, Ray… Answer my question please…”
Ray once again sighed and hung his head for a moment, looking back up at Norman with sorrowful eyes.
“... Twenty-three people…”
Norman’s heart was torn into pieces.
His breathing labored.
“... When you hit the fence, you hit a support post, and it sheared the front of your car off… Your engine went into the first couple rows of the stands. It’s a miracle only twenty-two fans were killed, honestly.”
Ray saw the question on Norman’s face and took another deep breath.
“The other was a driver… The driver that hit you when you bounced back onto the track… You landed on his windshield… It caved in and killed him instantly.”
… No.
Not only was it not possible, but right after Norman had…?
It was then that Norman realized that he remembered something else about that weekend…
No.
This had to be some kind of elaborate prank.
A terrible, nasty prank by Ray and the hospital.
Maybe even by the sanctioning body.
Yes, that had to be it!
Norman was such a pompous smartass to the media, this had to be their way of getting revenge! Where was the hidden camera that would capture him crying and air it?
“... Which driver…?”
Ray’s silence worried Norman to no end.
He had many competitors that were friends, after all…
“Ray… Which driver?...”
“Look… Norman…” Ray sighed, changing the subject. “Now that you’re awake… Someone from Nascar is probably going to be poking around here in the next couple days… They’re going to have some questions for you…”
“Why would they have questions for me…?”
“Norman… I had to tell them…”
“Tell them what?” Norman could barely breathe out, terrified at what Ray could say next.
“... I had to tell the hospital about the drugs…” Ray knew that this was going to be the hardest part. This is the real reason he had asked the nice doctor to leave.
“... You what?...”
“I didn’t want them to kill you by giving you something that would react with them, okay!? They needed to know.”
“Why the fuck would you tell them that?!” Norman’s voice rose as he went on, coughing again at the end of his sentence.
“I just told you! You were already in serious condition!... And someone must have talked… Or something… Because Nascar got a warrant to test your blood…”
Norman froze.
“Norman, you were high on cocaine!... And you had alcohol in your system when you crashed…”
“... And Nascar is talking like it might be investigated as a criminal case…”
“They haven’t released any information to the public yet…” Ray finally finished. “But that’s the direction it’s headed…”
…