Elijah felt his eyes fighting for their right to close, finally. He couldn't let them yet, not for another hour. Light rain was hitting the windshield, and the headlights lit up the country road. He took a deep breath and straightened his back, forcing his eyes to focus. Killer Queen was playing on the radio, and he turned it up slightly. He wasn't a huge Queen fan, but he liked them well enough, and this song especially gave him a kind of tingling feeling in the chest. "Should help" he mumbled to himself, fighting a yawn. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He stared into his own eyes for a few seconds: dark circles, red whites. He liked looking at himself. It's strange to think about yourself as a mind in a body, or a soul, or whatever.
Just as he was about to pull his eyelid down to see how red his eyes really were, he suddenly had an intense feeling that he should swerve his car. He had done it before understanding why. Sombodey was standing in the road, right? Had he seen someone? he must have, it wasn't an animal. Elijah thought all of these things in the split second after violently pulling at the steering wheel. The next moment, he slammed the brakes, and the car's tires squeeled like a pig having its tail pulled. He felt himself losing control over the huge, heavy piece of junk car, being unable to grip properly on the wet road. Guaranteed to blow your mind. His car wrapped itself sideways around a fir. Elijah hardly felt the pain; his body crumpled, his neck and head being yanked unnaturally quickly. Humans were never meant to fly, not even metaphorically fly down a country road at 60 mph. Not if there's a tree in the way at least. Elijah was dead on impact, in the forest. This wasn't supposed to happen, my bad. The seconds pass, the car smoking. Former car, now it might pass for a work of modern art. Usually, it's the artist who smokes, not the work. Funny, how things work out, Elijah didn't smoke.
I stepped off the road towards the "car". Shit, can't have this. I laid a hand on the "car's" "roof" and took a look inside. Elijah looked like a receipt that had been left in the pocket of a pair of pants, having been through the wash. I had to think, this guy wasn't s'posed to die. Would it be more trouble to cover up or fix? I realised quickly that I was gonna get chewed out no matter what. Might as well do something about it, right? That's what I thought at least. Boy howdy, what a mess. What to do? I reached out a hand to shake the guy; couldn't hurt to check. Dead. You gotta understand that this was a rare fuckup, not to say I never fuck up, but rarely this bad. Hadn't done this before, so I sorta did what first came to mind. Probably should have spent a few more seconds thinking, but what's done is (usually) done. When I was done, I pulled him out of the car, careful of course not to get dead guy juice on my gloves.
Elijah lay on the ground for a few seconds. Return soul to body, then fix major wounds, simple enough, powerful stuff tho. Suddenly, Elijah's body began to jerk and twist, contort. joints cracking, bones unsnapping, one and all returning to their proper places. Slowly, Elijah opened his eyes, as if waking from sleep. He slowly looked around, not really understanding where he was. The side of the road? Did I get out? He closed his eyes and curled up in a ball, looking like an infant. The rain hit him, no longer covered by the car or even the trees. The one last bone made a nasty, muted snapping sound, and his lower chest visibly filled out as the final rib moved back into place. Elijah gasped, and his eyes shot open. That's when he saw a tall, black clad man standing above him. He looked up, and his eyes met the man's. He had a chalk white face, like a mask; he wore a huge, ear-to-ear grin and a wide-brimmed hat. His eyes were black like polished obsidian. The man lifted a white gloved hand to his lips. "Don't tell".