As much as I hate to say it, it really was a dark and stormy night. As I struggled to bike through the muddy terrain on the side of the road, I cursed myself again for forgetting to check the weather before I’d gone to work that morning. I lived in a rural enough area that there were no streetlights, and with the storm blocking out the moonlight, it was almost impossible to see. Lightning flashed, and for a second, I could see the slick asphalt road twisting into the distance, obscured by trees waving in the wind.
At least I’d be home soon, I told myself. I could make a cup of tea and curl up by the fire and take a nice warm bath. I entertained myself with fantasies of exactly how comfy I’d be once I got home, even as rain soaked me to the bone, wind whipping at my clothes.
Another flash of lightning. There was another biker up ahead. They were swallowed by darkness almost as quickly as they’d appeared, and in that brief moment of light, all I noticed was that their bike was blue, like mine. I couldn’t fathom anyone choosing to go for a ride this late, in this weather, so they must have made the same mistake I had. I felt a small sliver of pity for this other biker — but not as much pity as I felt for myself.
The rain relented for a brief, wonderful moment as I passed beneath a broad oak. As alien as the landscape had become in the rain and darkness, I knew I was getting closer to home. Just a few more minutes.
Lightning streaked across the sky. The other biker was nowhere to be seen. Up ahead, a small tree had fallen, lying parallel to the road, half-submerged in mud. Its branches splayed across the road like the reaching fingers of a dying man. As the lightning faded, the tree disappeared again into that all-encompassing dark abyss.
The fallen tree slowly came into view as I biked closer. I paused, squinting through the rain. The tree completely blocked the narrow roadside path I’d been taking — on one side was the wet asphalt road, and on the other was a narrow ditch, filled with rushing water at least two feet deep.
I prepared to turn into the road when something caught my eye. Something dark and solid lay on the path, half-obscured by the tree’s tangled limbs. In another flash of lightning, I saw it — gleaming blue, a slowly-rotating wheel, splayed fingers, a stained coat. The light faded before I could fully piece the scattered images together.
I dropped my bike in the mud, scrambling over the tree. They lay facedown, caught in the branches of the tree like a fish in a net. Dark liquid stained the mud below them, and one leg was bent in the wrong direction. Their bike lay broken and dented beside them.
I turned the biker over, scrambling through my coat pocket for my phone. I pressed my hands to their coat, trying to feel for breathing. As I looked up at their face, my phone slipped from my hand. Mud splattered across the both of us as it hit the ground.
Though there was an ugly gash across his cheek, though mud caked his hair, I recognized that face. I saw it every day when I looked in the mirror.
I stumbled to my feet. He wore my clothes, he had my bike, he had my face. As I tried to rationalize, light flooded the road.
It wasn’t lightning. A car careened down the slick asphalt, tires half-turned away, spraying water high into the air as it skidded downward. The tree’s branches snapped, launched skyward as the car smashed through them.
When I looked back down, the biker was gone. I, the other me, was gone, like he’d never been there in the first place. I took a long few moments to steady myself, to control my breathing, to assure myself, convince myself, that I hadn’t seen anything.
I made it home without incident, after that. But all I could think about, all night, was just one thing. If I hadn’t seen the other biker, if I hadn’t stopped to try to help, I would have rode out into the road to go around the tree. I would have been in the middle of the road when that car came flying by. I would have ended up like — I would have been — whatever it was that I saw that night.