There comes a moment before many seemingly split-second events where anyone involved can see the future. Can predict the path of events. Can recognize the inevitable, and, hopefully, do whatever they can to prepare for it.

And then the car crashes.

The driver sits motionless in his seat, his brain and lungs desperately trying to catch up to the broken glass and crumpled metal surrounding him, not quite remembering the actual moment that he had seen so clearly just seconds before it had happened.

And then he hears crunching footsteps on gravel and a pale face appears at his window, backlit by the starry night.

"Come on," she says. "We don't have much time."

And he looks at her without questioning, and suddenly it makes sense. She helps him climb out the window and brushes him off, laughing. He looks over briefly at the other car and the sick feeling from just before the crash comes back.

She follows his glance. And keeps smiling.

"She's fine," she says, and takes his hand. "Come on."

Comforted, he allows himself to be led away at a run. They dodge rocks and trees and curious rabbits, she keeping herself always one step ahead, looking back at him often and laughing.

"We're almost there," she says.

And finally they reach the car, glowing white like her skin, a beacon in the dark. It's still idling as she jumps over the driver's door to take the wheel and he climbs into the passenger's seat.

Still laughing, she pulls away and they speed down the black road to no place he knows. Now that they themselves are still, he can admire her confident youth better, how she handles the car fearlessly and how her lightheartedness puts him at ease. Her hair reminds him of paprika but smells only of fresh air as it blows in wild curls around her face, and he catches one and wraps it around his finger. She turns and smiles, warming him from the inside as they race on through the night.

Too soon, sleep starts to come upon him. She notices, and for the first time her face creases, not in worry, but in disappointment.

"You're leaving me?" she says, as he leans heavily into her and nods. She sighs softly, and her flowing hair loses the breeze, only to fall, gentle and silky, around him.

"I'll miss you," she says, this wild, beautiful stranger. And then the last thing he hears, in that moment before sleep catches him off-guard, is her voice caressing him.

"Maybe we'll meet again someday."

The next thing he is vaguely aware of before waking are voices louder and harsher than hers. Rough hands under his arms drag him from the car as broken glass snags at his clothes.

"He's a lucky one," they say, as they load him into an ambulance.

But as someone moves to shut the doors, a car races past, starlight catching in the paint.

"Idiot!" someone yells.

He moans and people rush to his side. But before they close in around them, he catches one last glimpse of the car speeding away to no place he knows, its taillights illuminating the scene in front of him. And under a white sheet, a snarled lock of hair the colour of paprika.