lExcerpt
By the time Quentin Kingsley turned the bend and saw the parked car, it was too late. He watched, horrified, as his car sent a man's body high into the night air and down the steep jagged cliff. Instinctively, he turned off his headlights.
Gloria Hammer, his 120-pound albatross, went berserk. She threw the door open and went out screaming. "You killed him! You stupid son-of-a-bitch, you killed that guy!" Standing on the protruding roots of a nearby tree, she frantically pulled at her hair, then pounded away at the tree trunk. Her cries became incoherent. Hysterical, her body twisted and circled as though wracked with pain. Except for the moonlight flashing through the leafy branches, darkness blanketed the scene.
Quentin panicked. He had to shut her up. Fear and shock dictated his actions. Petrified that a passing motorist might stop to investigate, or use his cell phone to call for help, Quentin's right hand went over her mouth while his left hand yanked her back towards the car. But Gloria struggled to be free. She pounded his chest screaming muffled profanities through the grip of his fingers, but when her teeth caught his fingertip, she bit down hard. A jolt of pain shot through Quentin's finger. He reacted with a spontaneous slap to her face intended to shut her up, which it did. But Gloria stumbled back a few steps too many. And then she was gone. Only the fading, agonizing sounds of her final screams echoed in the distance. And then they too were gone. Stunned into disbelief, Quentin's entire body numbed. He staggered backwards. This couldn't be happening. It was bizarre. Two lives thrown to certain death, moments apart.
He found himself back behind the wheel of his car. He couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't agreed to see her tonight, this horror would never have happened. He hadn't really wanted to, but when Gloria started pushing, it was easier to give in.
He shook his head as though the last few minutes had been a nightmare he could chase away. But reality set in, plunging his thoughts into action. First, he had to get as far away from the accident scene as possible. I'm no killer, he reasoned with his conscience. There was no malicious intent. He had never meant to kill either one. They were accidents, horrible, tragic accidents. But the courts would surely disagree. The police would undoubtedly detect the three vodka martinis he downed before he left to pick up Gloria.
His foot pressed down on the accelerator just as the sky opened up and poured down its rage.
Quentin concentrated on keeping his speedometer within the legal limit. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over for a speeding ticket. To think that only minutes ago, his biggest problem was how to break off his relationship with Gloria. As an actor with a budding career, getting involved with the producer's wife was as stupid as you can get. Lust was the ruination of many a man. But now, that affair was a miniscule problem compared to the events of these last moments.
* * *
He had a rough time that night. First, he spent more than an hour in his garage carefully inspecting his car. No visible damage. Fortunately, a heavy downpour followed him all the way home, saving him the trouble of hand-washing his car. Hopefully, that eliminated any tire tracks at the scene.
Later, in bed, every sound made him jump. Images of police banging down his door invaded his sleep. By morning, after he'd been through it over and over again, he was finally satisfied that he couldn't be connected to the crime.
He opened his door and reached for the newspaper. He didn’t expect to find anything in it yet, but the article glared up at him. How the hell did they find them so fast? They identified the other victim as thirty-nine-year-old Wayne Bishop, husband and father of two. Quentin let a little remorse slip in, but he soon found himself feeling anger towards the guy. The jerk should have stayed in his car and waited for help. His own impatience had cost him his life, and consequently, Gloria's too. Now I have to live with the guilt and fear of being caught, he thought. All because of his stupidity.
He read the part about Gloria. The reporter made her sound like a saint, a pillar of the community. But Quentin knew better. If he could have known how possessive she would be, their affair would never have started. Yet, sexually she far surpassed all the women he had ever known. A fleeting feeling of relief swept through him. He tried not to acknowledge it, but there it was. All he ever wanted from Gloria was her body, and only until the fire burned out. And he never doubted that it would. But Gloria wouldn't settle for sex alone. She wanted his life. Maybe if she hadn't been nagging him with her demands, he could have kept his eyes on the road. Maybe he could have swerved in time to avoid hitting this young father. Yes, she too had caused his death, and her own, Quentin concluded. He allowed himself to relax a little, convinced that if the police hadn't come for him after all these hours, he was home free.
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