Chapter Three

(The driver's pov?) 

I didn’t see her until it was too late.

One second I was cursing the world, gripping the steering wheel too tight, and the next bam! She ran out into the road like a ghost. No warning. No time to swerve. Just a flash of a face soaked in tears, eyes wide with devastation, and then the sickening thud of her body hitting the hood and tumbling lifelessly onto the pavement.

I slam on the brakes so hard my chest slams into the steering wheel. Tires scream. My heart is pounding, my mouth dry, my palms slick with panic.

“Oh God,” I gasp, flinging the door open and stumbling out into the night.

She’s lying there. Motionless. Her dark hair fanned around her head like a halo. Her skin pale beneath the streetlamp’s glow. Her coat twisted around her body like it’s trying to shield her from what just happened.

I kneel beside her, trembling.

“Hey… hey!” I whisper, reaching out to shake her shoulder. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

There is no response or movement.

I press my fingers to her neck, hoping, begging to feel something.

But there’s no pulse.

A sob punches its way out of my throat.

“No. No, no, no…”

I look around.

The street is empty. Not a single car. Not a single person.

Just me, and the body of a stranger I’ve just killed.

“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, choking on the words.

God, I didn’t mean to. She just ran out. I didn’t even have time to think. I wasn’t speeding. I wasn’t drunk. But none of that will matter. Not to the police. Not to a judge.

They’ll say I left the scene.

They’ll ask why I didn’t call it in.

Because I’ve been in trouble before. Because I can’t afford to go back. Because this is the final straw and I know how the system works for people like me.

My eyes dart to her again.

She’s young. Pretty. She was probably someone’s wife. Someone’s daughter. God maybe even a mother.

And now she’s gone.

Because of me.

I stagger backward, dragging my hands down my face, breathing hard. Think. Think, damn it. Do something.

I pop the trunk. My hands shake as I open it. There’s an old tarp I use for groceries when it rains. A hoodie. Some rope. I grab the tarp, my mind moving faster than my conscience. This can’t be happening. This cannot be my life.

I return to her body, swallowing back bile as I wrap her in the tarp, careful not to look at her face. I can’t look. I won’t. If I look, I’ll see the person. And if I see the person, I’ll break.

I lift her into my arms. She’s heavier than she looks, limp and soft and still warm. It makes it worse somehow. The warmth. Like her soul is still lingering nearby, watching me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I lower her into the trunk, trying to close the lid without slamming it.

I get back into the driver’s seat, my breath coming in ragged bursts.

My hands are on the wheel again, but this time they feel foreign. Detached. Like they belong to someone else entirely. The air in the car is heavy. Too heavy. Her scent is everywhere soft perfume, shampoo, maybe something floral.

I drive.

I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to get away. Far away. I can’t be caught with her. I can’t explain this. No one would believe me.

Then, like a whisper from the universe, I remember the river. It runs through the woods, just past the highway, maybe fifteen minutes out. Quiet. Hidden. No lights. No cameras.

No witnesses.

The tires crunch against gravel as I pull off the main road and follow the winding dirt trail down toward the embankment. The moon is high now, casting silver ripples across the water. The river rushes with a steady, cold sound. It’s peaceful. Almost beautiful. And it makes my stomach twist.

I park beneath the trees and cut the engine.

It’s now or never.

I open the trunk. She’s still there. Still wrapped.

Still dead.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. I don’t get to cry. Not when I’m about to do what I’m about to do.

I slide my arms beneath her again and lift.

Her body slumps against my chest like a doll’s, her head resting near my shoulder. I try not to think about how her hair brushes against my jaw. Or how her face turns slightly, as if she’s going to wake up and look at me.

I stumble down the slope, feet slipping on the mossy rocks, the sound of the rushing river louder now. Hungry.

The bank is muddy. Slippery. My boots sink into it, but I keep going.

One more step.

Then another.

I reach the edge.

The river glistens under the moonlight, wild and cold and endless.

And I let her go.

She slips from my arms and into the water with barely a splash. The tarp sinks slowly at first, then faster as the current catches it. Her shape disappears beneath the surface, swallowed by the darkness.

Gone.

I fall to my knees, gasping. Shaking.