The thrum of engines and exhausts penetrated the windows, and occasional horn blasting in the distance. The torrential rain had stopped a few minutes ago, the window wipers no longer plodding backwards and forwards. Traffic flowed freely, although somewhat more slowly than normal on the far side of the motorway. No doubt drivers had slowed down to rubberneck, catching a brief glimpse of whatever disaster was up ahead.

Changing the radio station to find some news of what had happened, Daniel stretched out, making himself more comfortable behind the wheel. There was nothing to be heard but teeny pop “bands” or irrational government officials mouthing off about the recent developments in the Middle East. In the car in front, a blue Volvo which had clearly seen better days, he could see the girl applying or reapplying makeup in the rear view mirror. The middle aged man in the Ford next to his was having a heated conversation on his phone via one of those earphones which Daniel thought made people look like they were delusional and conversing with some imaginary friend.

The endless stream of cars, motorbikes and trucks which regularly frequented one of the country’s busiest motorways had ground to a halt nearly an hour ago. Daniel had been a little relieved; the downpour had reduced visibility and there were still complete idiots who insisted on driving on your tail. Now those complete idiots could be clearly seen as the impatient drivers who were standing beside their vehicles, moving backwards and forwards, standing on their toes to try and see what was causing the holdup. Their beloved Mercedes, Porsches and BMWs would just have to sit and wait like the rest of the rabble.

Daniel’s mobile beeped into life, the display showing “Emma-Claire calling”.

“Hey baby sis how’s things?”

“All good as usual. Dad heard about some accident on the motorway, just checking you’re alright.” Despite being six years his junior, Daniel’s sister always looked out for him. The age difference had never meant much to the siblings, they simply enjoyed each other’s company, especially as they had entered their twenties.

“Yeah, stuck in traffic behind it though. You’ll have to tell Mum to put a plate in the oven for me.”

“Will do. We thought you might have gotten lucky and missed it.”

Truth was, he should have.

“Sadly not. I’ll keep you posted though.”

Daniel had intended on leaving earlier to visit his family up north. Over the years Daniel, Emma-Claire and their older brother Adam had moved away from the old family home, as was to be expected. Emma-Claire, having moved to the “big smoke” had gotten her fill of city life and moved back to their hometown into a house less than three miles from their parents. Adam had moved to the opposite side of the country while Daniel had ventured south. As a closely knit family, they made an effort once a month to get together at their parents’ house.

In the beginning, five years ago, this had worked beautifully. Now that Adam brought along his wife and two daughters, and Emma-Claire her fiancé, the three bedroom semi-detached house seemed more cramped and confined. They made it work though.

Daniel’s routine for their monthly meet-up rarely varied. Getting up at 7am, he would take a four mile jog along the river before heading into town for breakfast with old friends from university. At this time of year, late October he tended to take his time with his morning run. The path which edged the river’s route through the town was lined with trees, shedding their leaves and making his route that little more treacherous, even if it was beautiful.

Ryan and Matthew, two friends from his days studying Computer Science had waited in the café for him, coffee in hand when he arrived. Dining on a traditional English breakfast (the waitress knew his order) they had discussed their upcoming ski trip, which they had been planning for the past eight months. Strangely for 9am on a Saturday morning the café had been busy and when it came to paying for their order, the card machine had taken an age. With a slight delay, Daniel had made his way home, taking the quickest route to make up time. On the way back to his apartment Daniel had been forced to wait at nearly every single crossing for red lights. Maybe it just his imagination; his brother had promised some exciting news when they arrived later this afternoon. Between himself and his sister, they were taking bets on it: Daniel reckoned the family were moving again (Adam had always wanted to emigrate) while Emma-Claire’s money was on another baby (hopefully a boy, Adam’s head was fried in a house full of women).

“With the latest traffic update, Ken Donnelly.” The interruption in terrible music broke his train of thought. “Thanks Louise. The most significant update we have is about a motorway accident, approximately 2 miles north of junction seven. Multiple ambulances and fire crew are attending a three vehicle collision on the northbound side of the motorway. Traffic is at a standstill and motorists who are not stuck in the queue are advised to find an alternative route. The most recent estimate is for delays of around two to three hours. Police are hoping to clear enough space for one lane of traffic to continue, though there has been no time frame given for this.”

Daniel switched off the engine of his twelve year old Ford and sighed.

“Ken, do we have any information regarding the casualties?”

“At this time there is no information of that type. We do know that a lorry and two cars, both small hatchbacks have been involved in the collision. Eyewitness reports, and information from those waiting on the motorway say that the accident occurred in heavy rain and is of an extremely serious nature.”

Daniel doubted he would make it back to his parents in time for dinner. It occurred to him, sitting amongst the cars, fumes and irritated businessmen that it could be worse: had he not been delayed this morning, it could have been him up there. At least his Mum made a super breakfast.

The streets of his hometown were almost deserted as Daniel drove through. The area their parents had chosen for their first, and only home was on the outskirts, within walking distance of a park, a golf course (very important for his father) and one of the local primary schools. Daniel had enjoyed growing up in this quiet neighbourhood, and made some good friends. He had managed to keep in touch with his best friend from his early days, Sarah. She was off living in America now, so they exchanged emails on a regular basis and last summer he had visited her in her stunning new five bedroom house in Kentucky.

It was dark now, well past eight o’clock and streetlights illuminated familiar houses, the local newsagent he had bought sweets at every Sunday morning and the charity shop he had spent his Saturday afternoons volunteering in as part of his Duke of Edinburgh award. It still amazed him that the shop remained open fifteen years later.

Once again, for at least the seventh time today his sister rang him. Having spent several hours waiting on the motorway he had kept her updated with his progress. What would usually have taken four hours had escalated into a ten hour journey. He would be glad to get out of the car, into the house and relax.

The quirky, happy ringtone of his mobile became drowned out by a much louder, more harsh and constant noise. Not a noise from inside the car, but a sound he vaguely recognised. Turning in the direction of the sound, Daniel saw a flash of bright orange through the passenger window, two bright lights aimed directly at him. He briefly caught a glimpse of the face – young, shocked, scared – behind the wheel before the impact sent his car into a spin. He felt the thump of an airbag inflating as the car spun, exploding into life from the depths of the steering wheel; heard the smashing of glass as the car collided with some unknown object. Then it was dark.

The path seemed to go on for miles, over the horizon both in front and behind. Along either side, deciduous trees in shades of red, yellow and orange occasionally dropping a leaf here or there. Unsurprising really, it was autumn. Beyond the trees, large expanses of well-tended lawn, just like the park he and his brother ran around as children; the same part where he helped his father teach Emma-Claire how to ride her bike. Above a cloudless pale blue sky watched over him. He could hear a few birds talking to each other, but couldn’t spot them.

On and on he walked, his journey marked only by the change in colour of the trees. He would have loved to have jogged this path, put his earphones in and let the music carry him along. He didn’t have his earphones with him, and when he tried to remember why he drew a blank. They usually occupied the pocket of his light running jacket, but he wasn’t wearing it. Usually he wore it everywhere.

The breath-taking monotony of the path was broken by a wooden bench up ahead, marking the point where the path split in three. As he neared the junction he could see a woman sitting on the bench, not reading or listening to music or talking to anyone, just sitting. She turned as he approached, long brown hair flowing down her back across a dark purple jumper. She smiled.

“Do I know you?”

“No.”

“Should I?”

“Not yet.”

“Where am I?”

When the woman rose from her seat, he noticed that she was tall despite wearing flat shoes. Her brown eyes were warm, comforting.

“What is the last thing you remember, Daniel?”

He took a step back.

“How do you know my name? Where am I?”

“What do you remember?” She was patient with him, the soft tone of her voice unchanged. She did not approach him, simply waited as she had done on the bench.

“The last thing I remember,” he hesitated. “Traffic, I remember sitting in traffic.” The woman nodded. “I remember passing the accident on the motorway, it was carnage. One of the cars was crumpled almost beyond recognition.” He glanced at her again. “Then I left, drove on.”

“Where were you going?”

“Home. I was going home to my parents’ house.” He was starting to struggle with the details now. “I was late, because of the accident and it was dark. I drove past the newsagents on my way to their house. I was just a few streets away when the phone went.” A tightness started to take hold of his chest. “It was Emma-Claire. She was phoning me, again. That’s my sister.”

“I know.”

“She was probably checking up on me as usual, she worries far too much.” The woman continued to watch him, unmoving. “I wasn’t going to answer, I was only a few minutes away. Then there was a noise, like….like a car horn that didn’t stop.” It was getting warm. He didn’t notice how warm it was before. “Lights, not orange like streetlights but white, bright white. Coming towards me.”

The rambling stopped; he fixed his gaze on the stranger: “Am I dead?”