When she awoke she thought she had had a terrible nightmare, she sat up and looked around her small cosy room. Everything looked normal. She glanced down at the work clothes she still wore, then at the coat that lay by her side. "Shit!" She got up, showered and changed into her comfortable clothes. After all why did she need to dress up it's not like she had a job to go to was it? She ate breakfast, tried listening to the early morning radio shows, even tried watching good morning Southport on local T.V. but the combination of Kip Flounder's cheesy grin and the headache that was beginning to pound behind her eyes proved too much to take so she swallowed a couple of aspirin and switched of the T.V. She tried everything to keep her mind occupied but as was inevitable it wondered back to the events of the day before with every available opportunity. "I need to do something," she told herself, forcing her voice to sound cheerful. Then she remembered her box. It was still out in the car and it needed sorting. She smiled half heartedly and strolled outside and retrieved it, sitting on the sofa and placing it before her. The first thing she saw was the picture of Mark she had kept on her desk, she picked it up and looked at it. His stupid grin, even cheesier than Kip Flounder's if that was possible, his ridiculous haircut that made him look like a military man when the only thing that connected him to anything army-like was Swiss-army knife he had hanging from his key's. She remembered the day the photo had been taken, it was on their trip to Hawaii, he had insisted on wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt he could find and as she looked at it behind the little square piece of glass she found herself starting to laugh. "You're such a loser," she said to the grinning face in the frame, "That bitch is welcome to you," She threw the picture aside and delved deeper into the box, her seven years working for Gibson hadn't amounted to much, she had a few little plastic toys that used to sit on her computer monitor, a couple of magazines that she used to read when she got bored and a pot plant that was long past dead. She lifted the empty box and stood up looking into it and sighing. The suddenly something hit her. Like someone had punched her in the face and stomach at the same time. She fell back onto the sofa, her pulse speeding up dramatically. Her phone was missing. Her mind flashed back to the day before and she suddenly knew exactly where it was. She had put it on the wall and on the wall was where it was now, unless the ambulance people had found it, then they would find out it was hers and she may as well confess to everything. She began to shake again. Her mind raced. She had to go back and get it, had to make sure no one knew she had been there, make sure no one knew that she had caused the accident. [It wasn't my fault] She jumped up and ran out of the house, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. She left her front door ajar as she leapt into her car and tried to start the engine, it spluttered once then fell quiet. "Oh don't do this to me," she begged, she tried again and this time the engine purred to life. She sighed relieved, perhaps she had hit the car harder than she thought and had damaged hers in some way. "Calm down, Sandy," she told herself as she began to drive, "Panicking will only get you into even more trouble," The sound of her own voice was somewhat comforting, and after a few thousand deep cleansing breaths she felt almost like she wasn't a killer returning to the scene of the crime. Almost. She drove too fast and too carelessly, swerving more than once to avoid an accident, and she received more than one horn honk and several hand gestures and harsh words, but she paid no mind to any of it. She was a woman on a mission. It took her less than half of the usual hour to reach the road than ran parallel to Partridge Canyon, and the fact that some parts of the road had a central reservation meant that she would have to drive all the way to the end go around and come back down the others side. It was early, but she knew she had missed most of the early morning traffic that usually ran into the city. If she was lucky, and lucky was something she was not feeling at all, she could drive around, find her phone (please God) and be back home by lunch time. She tried to keep her eyes on the road ahead of her but they kept sweeping the Canyon wall, like a spotlight looking for an escaping prisoner. There was no Police tape or crime scene type paraphernalia that she could see, but she wasn't experienced in the art or criminal activity so she didn't really know what to look for, but still it seemed too clean somehow, too undisturbed. She ignored her concerns and kept driving until she was finally able to turn around and go back down the side of the road she had been on the day before. The moment her front wheels crossed from DeLancey Street to Canyon Road she slowed down, until she was almost crawling. She peered across the passenger seat and into what she could see of the Canyon. "Geez," she muttered, "That's a long way down," She shuddered and pulled back, not allowing herself to think about it too much. "What's done is done," she told herself again, but she knew it wouldn't go away, she was subconsciously preparing herself for the many nightmares she figured were to come if she were to get away with it at all. She slowed even more as she neared the spot she thought it had happened, but there was still nothing. No tyre marks, no break in the small wall. She frowned as she continued to peer out at the old bricks that stood at around three feet high and didn't hear the engine behind her at first but when the distinctive melody of a mobile phone began to echo out into the Canyon she froze in her seat. "No way!" she whispered, "What are the odds?" She glanced back and her heart stopped for a split second as the mint green Jeep moved closer. The driver honked their horn. "You gotta be kidding me," she said looking back at the road ahead then the Canyon to her right, "What is this the frickin Twilight Zone?" The horn sounded again behind her and this time she honked back then a voice was audible behind her and she began to shake for the third time. She knew the voice. She knew the car. She knew what was coming next. She braced herself as the car's met and jerked forward, her seatbelt pulling tight across her shoulder. "Oh shit," she said a phrase she had used far too often over the past twenty-four hours. She half turned in her seat and tried to wave at the driver behind her, but she knew it was pointless, she just had to try and control the car but the engine suddenly creaked and spluttered. "Please no!" she whispered, and tried to speed up but it wouldn't have it. Then the car behind made contact again and she was again thrown forward with a sudden jolt that hurt her neck. She grabbed the steering wheel and held it tightly, trying desperately to keep the wheels facing the road ahead. She was tempted to close her eyes, hoping if she did when she opened them she would be asleep in her office in the Milton Building taking one of her mid afternoon naps, but she didn't she kept her eyes trained on the road. The car edged closer again and this time the contact was a little harder, her car swerved for a second then steadied and for a second she thought it was going to be alright but then a loud pop sounded ahead of her and her car took a severe turn to the right. "NO!" she screamed as her car met the wall and kept going, she glance back briefly, just in time to see her car come to a screeching stop on the road above, then she looked at the Canyon that she was about to get to know personally. "Shit," she said, "I've heard of people killing themselves but
this is ridiculous,"
Then everything went black.
The End
I Thank You.
HC.
