Counterpoints 2 (Counterpoints #2) Read online

  Isolate yourself, pretend you are not part of it, like you are seeing things from the outside. Think only about your goal and how to reach it. The first place is there, it’s yours. Go get it!

  Nothing, nothing helped. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shrug off the words of that man.

  As he slid on both gloves, Christopher saw Isabella walk up and down the box lane, camera in hand, trying to get a good shot at the MB stand entrance.

  Her face was so serious, so focused on what she was doing, she didn’t even noticed Christopher staring.

  She’s absolutely fantastic.

  “That guy was a sick, lunatic. Stop thinking about him. The championship Christopher, the race. That’s all you have to think of. Leave that conversation out of the car”

  He breathed in and out again, slowly and closed his eyes, replaying Isabella’s words in his head.

  Isabella was right. People had said and done worse things to him over the years. That guy was crazy, he wasn’t going to let anyone mess with his head, not that day, not that race weekend.

  He listened to his own lies, until the truth started to resurface slowly in his mind.

  Who was he kidding? The man was wrong.

  If he were to die that today, that autograph would be worth nothing, not even a third of what his father’s was worth.

  Because Christopher was the son of, because Christopher hadn’t won as much as James Taylor. Because Christopher had to still take that German Trophy home.

  Because I trusted the wrong people and soon everyone will read about me, as just the son of James Taylor and nothing more.

  When he opened his eyes again, Christopher looked down at his hands and saw that they were still shaking, but he wasn’t going to stand down. His hands would stop shaking, eventually. Or maybe not, but he was getting in that car no matter what.

  Chapter 16

  Hillary had her own way of seeing things.

  To her it was all schematic, all bullet points and sequence like.

  Isabella had noticed this after the third or fourth race weekend in the boxes, working side by side with her. The whole team had a sort of schematic routine, really.

  Mechanics too had a sort of order in doing things, repairing sections of the car, changing tires and so on.

  Hillary, as head of Communication and Marketing for MB, was no different.

  “So it’s going to be: parade, girls walking on the starting line, mechanics taking their places, drivers coming out with their cars. Then, more girls walking around in short skirts and small parts of fabric in the wrong places…”

  Isabella had grinned, while checking her schedule.

  “…then mechanics taking places near the cars, cameras going live on the circuit and then warm up lap. That’s when you’ll go with Phil. You’ll go up the stands and take some circuit snapshots from above and then curve number six. Then come back here”

  “No problem” Isabella had nodded.

  “Good. That is, if it doesn’t rain”

  That was just the thing about schedules. You always had to have a plan B, when plan A didn’t quite work out properly.

  That was when the system failed and Isabella couldn’t help but wonder, what was the whole point of having bullet points and a very strict order of things, if you had to reschedule everything along the way?

  As it happened, It did start raining ten laps into the race.

  At first it was a very thin, very light sort of rain.

  Very much London style, Isabella had noticed.

  The frenzy in the box was understandable.

  Both Noah and Christopher were on a two stop strategy for the tires but rain, rain changed everything. It was that variable that threw schedules outside the window.

  More like outside the boxes.

  When Isabella returned to the boxes with Phil, the rain had stopped and started again three times already.

  She sat at her work station, her headphones on and listening to the race, but her mind kept going back to what had happened just a few hours before.

  It wasn’t just about what that crazy man had said- his words so obscene, her brain almost refused to process them- it was more about Christopher’s reaction, his upset voice, his dark face.

  Come one Chris, she thought and closed her eyes for a second, when his voice sounded on the radio.

  “Twelve seconds ahead of driver number two, Noah” Robert said.

  Christopher passed the straight sector and realized the fans on the higher stands were jumping up and down, holding up a British Flag. Under the helmet, his lips curled into a smile.

  Racing is everything, it gives me that spark I need in my life.

  Curb one, he cut in just like he was supposed to, like a robot.

  He had done it hundreds of times on the simulator, he had done it so many times that weekend.

  It looked like a straight forward corner, but the secret was to put your foot down on the throttle as soon as you drove into it. That was the only way to keep the car on the right trajectory and head out of the curb, directly into the second corner.

  The car ran so smooth on the track, he felt like flying. He was flying, the car hitting three hundred kilometers per hour.

  “Thirteen seconds ahead of driver number two, Noah” Robert’s voice sounded in his ear at the end of lap number twenty-two.

  Perfect, he thought.

  Small drops of rain hit his visor and then quickly sizzled off, leaving a long stray of water across it. It was raining, as expected during the German race.

  “Three cars have gone in to change tires, switching to wet tires” Robert’s voice sounded again.

  “The track isn’t that wet yet. It might stop” Christopher said.

  “Noah is coming back in, next lap”

  “Can I stay out for another lap?” Christopher asked.

  “Tires look good, you are still fast” Robert confirmed.

  “I’m staying out, it will stop” he pressed gear number six on the straight sector and then pushed hard on the break, turning into curb number seven.

  By the time Christopher finished his lap, the rain had stopped, the tarmac was hardly wet. It was still feasible to stay out, especially now that the rain had stopped.

  “Good call” Robert said, once he had informed him of his time in the first sector. Christopher was still the fastest one on track.

  “You just ran the fastest lap on track today”

  Christopher smiled under his helmet and kept his eyes on the next curb. He focused on the exit, the tires gripped on the tarmac.

  “Twenty seven seconds ahead of driver number two Noah” Robert told him, fifteen laps to go to the end of the race.

  It was only when Christopher had started lap number fifty, that the rain started falling down again and this time it was anything but a drizzle.

  The tarmac was wet through within seconds. Christopher passed the box entrance and for the first time felt the car a little unsteady. It almost did a half spin.

  “Box, box, box Christopher, box next lap” Robert told him.

  “Okay” he said and kept his eyes ahead.

  The rain was falling harder on his helmet, he felt his arms heavier as his tracksuit soaked.

  The car sped past the boxes, the screaming fans welcoming Christopher’s car.

  “Foot off the gas, tarmac is wet. Watch out turn five, dirty on the outside” Robert announced.

  “Got it” Christopher turned left, then right again and thought about his time.

  There was a good twenty seven seconds gap between him and Noah. He could still change tires, head out of the boxes and still lead the race.

  “Noah just did his fastest lap with wet tires” Robert said.

  Christopher passed turn number five, keeping as far as possible from the outer part of the curb, were the tarmac was wetter – just like Robert had instructed him- and pushed hard on the throttle just as the car exited curb number six.

  “Excellent job” Robert said, seei
ng how Christopher had handled the car in a tricky turn.

  Christopher smiled to himself, the grip on his wheel tightened.

  The tires weren’t gripping on the ground like before, the tarmac was too slippery now for soft ones. He had to box, as soon as possible.

  Five more turns to go, he thought.

  Just as he sped near the stands in the third sector, those terrible, knife cutting words and the sick smile on the man’s face came back to him.

  “…If you die like your father…”

  Fucking idiot, he thought. Isabella’s worried eyes came back to him too and so did his anger, his outrage.

  The car hit a puddle of water then and the car slid forward.

  “Shit!” he shouted and he heard Robert’s voice immediately after his.

  “Hold it, hold it”

  The car was flying, off the curb, out of control, the tires blocked and unable to grip on the tarmac, finding only water underneath them. Christopher arms crossed over, as he tried to steady the wheel, but the car wasn’t responding as it should have.

  As he had learned to do so many times, Christopher took his foot off the gas and avoided the brake. It was useless, it didn’t work in aquaplaning.

  All he could do was guide the car out of the curb, hoping that the energy he put on the wheel would be enough not to crash.

  The car kept going straight.

  Turn, turn, turn. He seemed to order his car, but it kept its pace, in a straight line, fast as bullet. His fingers pressed quickly on the yellow button, to reduce the gear.

  Fifth, fourth, third…come on, come on, he willed the car to slow down.

  He heard Robert’s voice in the background then, but it sounded far away.

  His eyes locked on the wall, on the barriers before him.

  I am going to hit them.

  As instructed by the safety regulations, Christopher took his hands off the wheel and crossed his arms over his chest- to save his wrists. His fingers dug hard into his tracksuit, while he mentally prepared his body for the impact.

  He knew exactly what it would feel like, to hit the barriers at that speed- hard and violent.

  Christopher didn’t close his eyes, he kept them wide open.

  He had to see it happen, see what was going to happen and then see his way out of the car, as quickly as possible. He breathed in and out slowly, as slowly as he could, trying to relax his body for what was to come.

  The sound of metal bending and twisting filled his ears. It was the sound of a bomb exploding, the impact running so violently through his bones, it felt like the barriers were ripping his limbs apart.

  The car hit the front and then twirled and hit the back too, and it almost flipped upside down.

  Christopher’s eyes closed and it all became dark and quiet.

  He was out.

  Isabella stood up from her stool immediately, at the sound of loud gasps and screams from the other side of the box.

  For an instant, she just stared ahead, while people in MB uniform walked past her in a haste, running towards the big screen set, right where the mechanics sat and waited before pit stops. Only nobody was actually sitting, they were all standing, a look of astonishment and worry on their faces.

  Hillary was there, her hands covered her eyes at first and then slowly slid down to her mouth. Her eyes locked on Isabella, when she made her way to the screen.

  As she got closer to the TV, her eyes registered that one of the MB cars was out of the track. It was badly damaged and missing two tires.

  My headphones, she plugged them back in her radio and then in her ears – she had taken them off, while listening to the podcast she had put on the blog moments before- and could now hear the radio communication of the team.

  “Christopher?” she heard Robert call out his name.

  Oh my God, she felt her legs go soft.

  “Christopher, can you hear me?” Robert repeated.

  Isabella’s stare went to the screen, where the helicopter footage was showing the car against the barriers, the front of it bent in an eerie way, like it had been snapped off and couldn’t possibly fit back into place, for how damaged it was.

  A small trace of smoke –probably heat- floated above it.

  She covered her mouth, when the camera closed in on the helmet of the driver.

  British flag, Isabella gasped for air.

  Within seconds security marshals surrounded the car, as the rain fell hard on their heads.

  One of the security marshals was holding a fire extinguisher and another leaned forward to quickly inspect Christopher, making sure not to touch him. He turned and started waving maniacally towards the paramedics.

  He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t responding to their call.

  The paramedics were fast to intervene. They quickly secured Christopher to a support and then lifted him out of the car, only to lay him back on the ground on a stretcher.

  Christopher was still, his arms limp, as the paramedics worked fast to get him safely off the track.

  “Oh my God” Hillary cried out.

  “Oh God…” Isabella tried to say, but a gasp escaped from her mouth.

  The air, where was the air? She couldn’t breathe.

  “He’s breathing” said Robert, as he passed by.

  He had left his control station and had joined the rest of the group in front of the screen. “I heard him breathing” Robert almost whispered, like it was more his hope speaking, like he wasn’t sure himself what to think.

  Robert went quiet then and nobody said a thing, whilst the paramedics were still securing a disturbingly still Christopher on a stretcher.

  “Where is Aaron, I have to speak to him…” Hillary scanned the box, hoping to see where Aaron Johnson was standing. It was hard, everyone was wearing the same uniform and it had become very crowded in front of the screen.

  “Where are they taking him?” Isabella asked, her face pale, her skin cold as ice.

  “He’s not moving…” Hillary mumbled to herself incredulous and shook her head.

  “Where, Hillary?” this time Isabella touched Hillary’s arm and turned to look at her “Please, tell me, where are they taking him?” she said, her voice shaky.

  Her manager stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to think of Isabella’s voice, of her worried eyes.

  They were wide and watery, like she was about to break into sobs any moment. It was more than apprehension for a colleague, it was desperation. It was pain.

  “Please tell me” she pleaded. “Please”

  “Medical center, sector B of the circuit” Hillary told her.

  “I have to go” Isabella said and moved quickly towards the exit, without saying another word, leaving Hillary speechless.

  She pushed out of the way everyone and everything that she came across, uncaring of their words, of their protests.

  Isabella walked fast, past the railings that divided the sectors of the track, past the security marshals, holding on tight to her pass, her ‘get in safe’ card.

  Let him be okay, let him be okay, she silently prayed.

  It was the group of journalists, standing in front of a white and red building - eager to find out about Christopher’s conditions- that told Isabella where exactly was the Medical center.

  Three security guards stood up front, their arms open, ordering everyone to take a step back and wait for paramedics to give out information.

  With her heart pounding in her throat, Isabella shoved everyone to the side and made her way through the crowd in a haste, ignoring people’s moans.

  “I have to go through. I am his press agent” she held out her badge in front of one of the security guards and pushed through without bothering to wait for consent.

  “I’m sorry but I haven’t got any permission to let you in” he said without even looking at her, his hand pushing her back into the crowd.

  “I have to go through” she raised her voice a little this time, only it came out wrong, broken “Please, It’s
important”

  The man eyed her, but ignored her words. He admonished a journalist who was trying to stand on a railing to peek inside.

  “Let me see that badge again” he said and gave it a good look. Isabella raised it up to the man’s face “Okay, go”

  Isabella entered the room and ignored one of the receptionists that asked her to stop.

  Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?

  She turned left and then right into the corridor, picking up her pace as she sensed a couple of people following her down the building.

  Let him be okay, let him be okay, where is he, where is he? she repeated in her head. “He’s breathing” Robert had said.

  Her hands closed into fists and Isabella did all she could to fight back the tears.

  She passed room after room, her heart pounding in her chest.

  When she saw the familiar colors of his MB tracksuit on a stretcher, Isabella stopped immediately. She walked inside the room and her legs began to shake.

  It must have been the relief of seeing him in front of her, the relief of having found him, but Isabella felt her head spin.

  He was there, laying on the stretcher, his tattooed chest naked, his suit tore down the front, surrounded by paramedics. One was inserting a needle in his arm.

  Christopher recognized Isabella the moment she stepped into the room, despite the amount of people around him.

  His head was still, his neck was firmly wrapped in a white collar to the stretcher, but his eyes were open and he was looking at her.

  “I am okay” he said, his eyes meeting hers.

  He’s awake, he’s talking, he’s conscious.

  Isabella sank to the floor.

  She cried and breathed- really breathed, like she had been holding her breath forever- her sobs almost hysterical.

  “I am okay” he repeated and tried to sit up.

  “Hold still” one of the paramedics said in English and Christopher froze into place.

  Isabella stood up quickly and walked towards him. There was a little space on his right hand side and she squeezed in, trying not to disturb the paramedics at work.

  “I’m sorry…” he cringed, as one of the paramedics touched his chest.