Helen nearly slammed on the brakes. \u201cWhat are you talking about, Sophie? There\u2019s no one there.\u201d<\/p>\n
But Sophie was thrashing against her seatbelt now, tears streaking her cheeks. \u201cPlease, Mommy! He\u2019s down there! The man with the leather jacket and beard\u2014he\u2019s bleeding! Please, he needs help!\u201d<\/p>\n
Helen\u2019s first thought was that her daughter was overtired. She had seen no crash, no smoke, no broken guardrails. The road looked perfectly clear. But Sophie\u2019s panic was unlike any tantrum she\u2019d had before. Something in her voice\u2014desperate, raw, urgent\u2014compelled Helen to pull to the shoulder.<\/p>\n
Before the car had fully stopped, Sophie shoved open the door and ran, the hem of her princess gown fluttering wildly in the wind.<\/p>\n
\u201cSophie!\u201d Helen cried, chasing after her.<\/p>\n
Down the grassy slope, Helen saw what made her daughter scream.<\/p>\n
A black Harley Davidson lay twisted against a tree, its chrome mangled. Beside it, sprawled on the cold earth, was a man who looked like a giant. His cut-off vest bore the faded patch of a motorcycle club. His chest glistened with blood. His breaths rattled shallowly, as if each one might be the last.<\/p>\n
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