It was just like any other Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, parents were chasing their children at the park, dogs were barking. Nothing makes for a perfect day than spending the whole day out shopping.  It was a wonderful day. Until it wasn’t anymore. It was a normal drive back home when suddenly things started to change. The sun stopped shining and the sound of the birds chirping started to fade to silence. All there was for me to see were the dark and gloomy clouds rolling in. The scent of rain filling the air and the soft sounds of the raindrops hitting my windows getting louder and louder as I continue to drive. This rain turned into a downpour, a rainstorm. It wasn’t the sound of rain that I like to describe as nature’s song, it wasn’t the peaceful sounding rain to fall asleep too. No, this rain was worse than I have seen in a long time. Hail was now hitting my windshield, and I was having a hard time seeing where I am going. I was now serving.

It all happened too quickly. I didn’t notice the man that was trying to run through the crosswalk to the other side of the street. It was too late. I didn’t step on the breaks fast enough. I ran over him like he was a speedbump. I nearly crashed into a tree as I tried to slow down and pull over on the side of the road. Once I stopped, I was trying to calm down my breathing. But, my breathing only quickened when I realized exactly what just happened. I just hit a person with my car! “What do I do now?” I asked myself. Oh, right, maybe I should go check up on him to make sure he isn’t dead. Getting out of the car, I slowly begin to make my way over to where the man is lying in the road. I reach him and as I lower myself down to get a closer look at him, I can see that his eyes are closed and he is barely breathing. “Oh God I killed him!” As I stood in the middle of the road panicking, I didn’t notice the man open his eyes and begin to stir. 

“Help me…” he groans out in pain and agony. I jump in fear at the sound of his voice. Thank goodness, he’s not dead. I walk over to him, and now, once again lowering myself closer to him, I can see more of his body and the aftermath of what I had done to him. Blood was everywhere. It was forming a circle under him and all around him staining the road with a gruesome red. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you walking across the road through the rain” “It’s alright young lady, it wasn’t your fault, I should’ve let you drive by me first before walking across, I thought I would have enough time to make it to the other side. I guess an old man like me can’t run like I used to,” he chuckles and then cries out in pain right after. I tell him that I’m going to take him to the hospital so he can get help. I look around and notice that his belongings are scattered on the road. I thought to myself, “did I really hit him that hard that his stuff fell out of his pockets?” I guess so considering that he is literally bleeding out in front of me right now. Oh God, this isn’t good.

I begin to prepare myself to bring the man to my car. I first pick up his phone and wallet and shove them into my jacket pockets. As I am about to pick the man up, I notice something in the distance: headlights. Another car is driving their way over here to the scene of the accident. Now is not the time for anyone else to be here. “Shit…what do I do now?” To my left, the man is slowly bleeding to death, and to my right, there is another car coming my way. My anxiety is getting to me and I’m now having a full blown anxiety attack. This doesn’t make the situation any better because now I can’t think straight. My vision is blurry. My mind is racing. I act on adrenaline and start dragging the man across the street to the woods, struggling to keep a grip on him, as I keep tripping over my own feet. I go to my car to search for something that could help me. I found a shovel from my trunk. I don’t even know why I have one in there in the first place. 

We make it far enough into the woods without being seen by the other car. I guess they didn’t care about all the blood in the street as they just kept on driving and not bothering to stop. Talk about minding your own business. 

I start to dig. And I dug until the hole was big enough. Giving one last look at the hole I just made, I walk behind the man and roll him. The sound of his ear-piercing scream of pain never leaving my mind as I begin to refill the hole with the ruined dirt. I collapse to the ground once I’m all finished. I couldn’t move. It’s like my body went paralyzed. It was getting darker out now, and the rain was still happening. I look down at myself; I’m soaking wet, covered in mud, and the man’s blood. All I wanted to do was erase this from my memory, and forget this all happened. But, that’ll never happen. I get back into my now dented car and drive back home.

Home. It was such a bittersweet place to be. As I got older, I noticed just how empty my house really was. I’m an only child so I didn’t have any siblings to come home to and hang out with. Yeah, I have friends who come over sometimes, but they only agree to come over because of how big my house is, which consists of having an indoor and outdoor pool. Sure, it’s fun when they come over, but sometimes I feel left out, even in my own house. Growing up, I always dealt with having social anxiety, so I was never the best at making friends. I was also homeschooled all my life because my parents thought it would be best if I stayed home and traveled with them to all their business meetings, instead of having a nanny to take care of me. I never liked going on these business trips because of my anxiety. Being in front of thousands of people scared the shit of me. There was only one person who made me feel better about myself, and who would also reassure me that everything would be alright: my father.

My father was my best friend. We did everything together. He was the only person who understood my struggles with anxiety. He was the owner of his own therapy center. He was the one who diagnosed me with anxiety. He started his own business when he graduated from college. Then, he married my mother, Heather, when they were 24 years old. They met in college in one of their psychology classes. A year later they had me. Right from the start my father became my go to person. He would be the only person I would want to be around. I was never that close to my mother growing up. I think she resented having me, but she never said that out loud to me, but I just have a feeling she does. She would never tell me that she loved me or asked me how my day was, never caring about me. Unlike my father who made sure I was his first priority before he did anything. Now, it’s just me and my mother. My father was the one who supported my decision to attend college. I wanted to be just like him, so I went in with a major in psychology, hoping to one day be the owner of his business. Three months into the semester, I got one of the few phone calls from my mother to come home immediately, that my father had passed away in his sleep.

I dropped out of college after the funeral. I fell into a hole of depression. My best friend was gone. He was gone for good and I would never see him again. I would never get to hear his voice again telling me everything was going to be alright. I wish he was here right now as I desperately need him here with me to help me through the situation that happened earlier today. I just need to hear his voice telling me I will be okay, and hold me while I cry in his arms. I could never have this type of relationship with my mother. She would just turn me into the police, not caring that she’s throwing her only daughter in jail. She always thought I was a disappointment. Always thought that I was faking my anxiety for attention. She’s the one who is also seeking attention everywhere she goes. She only ever cared about my father’s money after he became successful. I swear she’s the fakest person I know. She’s who I would call a disappointment. 

Being in my thoughts all drive home, I didn’t notice that I had made it home. Great. She’s having one of her many parties she likes to host. I guess she needs to continue to keep up her appearance. I hate when she throws these parties because I am expected to attend them all. If not, she will tell me I’m such an embarrassment to the family name. I was having the greatest day and now I’m having the worst day, second to my father’s funeral. The last thing I wanted to deal with right now was my mother and her “friends.” Well, I can’t stand outside forever. I slowly make my way up the porch stairs and open the door as quietly as I can without trying to gain any attention towards me. I guess no amount of luck is on my side today.

“Hi Samantha!” Someone from the crowd yells. Oh great, here comes my mother. I hate people.

“Samantha! Where have you been? You have been gone all day long. Do you realize what time it is? You missed the entire party! Do you not understand how important it is that you attend such events?” 

“Yes mother, I was out shopping.” “Shopping doesn’t take all day, I told you the party started at 3. It is now 8,” my mother said, reminding me of the time. “I just got lost in my thoughts during the day and lost track of the time. I’m sorry it won’t happen again,” I said. “It better not happen again.” God I hate this woman.

“Why are you covered in mud?” the same person from earlier shouted, gaining the attention of everyone else in the room to look towards the door where I stood with my mother. I can hear the whispers started to be said around the living room, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as they talk. This makes me anxious. I can sense the glare my mother is throwing my way. I hate confrontation, so what do I do? I run. I ran out of the living room and into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. As I run up the stairs, I can hear my mother telling the guests that the party is over and they need to leave. I wait anxiously in anticipation for my mother to come up and lecture me about what an embarrassment and disappointment I am. I can hear faint footsteps proceeding up the stairs. But nothing. She never came in. She must have gone to her bedroom instead. 

I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I look down at clothes and notice that all the mud is completely dried, same with the blood. Throwing the clothes off my body, I hop in the shower to rid the dirtiness of what this day has become. 

I don’t know how long I was in the shower for, but it is now 10:30 at night. I look at the floor and spot my clothes that I threw in the corner. Something sticking out of my jacket pocket caught my eye: a wallet. I forgot that I had shoved the man’s wallet and phone into my pockets. I guess I was hiding the evidence. Curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the wallet. I took out the man’s drivers license first to see who he was.

Name: Jason Connors

Age: 70

I noticed a picture on the side. It was a picture of his family: him, his wife, and his three children. The reality of it all is finally catching up to me. I break down in tears. It’s all I can find myself doing at the moment. There was nothing else that I could do. So, I just cried. I ripped the man’s life away from his family. Oh God, they must be worried about where he is, and why he never returned home. I could only imagine what they must be thinking. They must be thinking the worst possible thing. And, they’re right, the worst possible thing did happen all because of me.

All night I kept tossing and turning. I couldn’t get myself to fall asleep. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get my eyes to stay shut. Everytime I would try to sleep, all I could see was the man. A man that became a speed bump the second I lost sight of the road in that rainstorm. I can hear it clearly, the sound of the man’s scream when he rolled over the top of the car, before hitting the pavement. I can picture his face. He had the eyes of pure pain and agony. Behind his eyes of pain are eyes of fear. Fear of what just happened, fear of what is going to happen. The memory of his blood all over the road reminds me of one of those ink blots my dad used on his patients. Blood splattered. 

Even after my shower I can still feel his blood on me. On my hands from when I dragged him into the woods. I can barely remember what happened after we got to the woods. The only things I remember from that moment was his scream of pain as I rolled him into the hole, and the eyes of no longer fear, but the eyes of now terror as he realized what I was about to do.

Tiredness must have taken over my body at some point at night as I woke up with sweat dripping down my face. One in the afternoon read the clock. It was only Sunday, meaning my mother would be home. She hasn’t spoken to me since yesterday when I came home. Dreadfully, I got out of bed and got ready for the day. Quietly, I walk down the stairs. I see my mother in the kitchen making lunch. 

“Good afternoon, Samantha. Sleep well?” She is never this cordial towards me. “Hello mother. I slept well, thank you for asking.” “That’s good. Come sit, I made us some lunch to eat together.” Oh this isn’t good. 

Awkward is the only word I can use to describe how this situation is. Neither of us has said a single word. All that can be heard is the sound of us eating. I’m about to take a bite of my food when I notice her sitting upright staring at me. “Tell me Samantha, why did you come to the party late?” “I told you last night that I lost track of time while out shopping.” “Mhm, yes I remember you saying that. But that doesn’t explain why you were covered in mud.” “Oh yes, the mud. I was walking down a hill while it was raining and I slipped and fell down it.” I hope she believes it. “I see. You were always clumsy.” She gets up from the table and goes back to the kitchen. Thank goodness that conversation is over. 

*****

It is now Saturday. A whole week since the incident happened. I haven’t left the house since that day. I would usually be out doing my shopping trips, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving and driving down that road again. My mother hasn’t talked to me since the day she cooked us lunch. That’s nothing new, but, what is new is that she hasn’t had another party here at the house. I heard her on the phone the other day, I guess talking to a friend or someone, that there was no party scheduled for this weekend. Speaking of her, she is coming into the kitchen where I am seated. 

“Don’t you usually go out on Saturdays?” my mother asked. “I do, but I didn’t feel like leaving.” “You haven’t left the house all week.” “Why do you even care? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to have one of your parties?” Rolling her eyes, my mother angrily says to me, “thanks to you and what you did last week, no one wants to come over.” 

Standing up, I turn to her, “Me? What did I even do?” “Don’t play stupid with me Samantha! You showed up late, and covered in mud! Do you know how embarrassing it was having everyone ask me what was wrong with you?” “Sorry I’m such a disappointment to you mother.” Before either of us could speak again, there was a knock on the door. 

My mother opens the front door to reveal a police officer. Seeing our shocked faces, he tells us, “Sorry to bother you ladies, but we are asking everyone for any information they know  about the whereabouts of our missing person.” Holding up a poster with his face, hoping we would recognize the man. “No officer, I have no idea who he is. I’ve never seen him before” my mother tells him honestly. Turning their attention to me I say the same thing as my mother. I felt guilty for lying to the police, but I wasn’t going to tell the truth of what happened. Finishing up their routine of questions regarding the case, they proceed to tell us that this has now moved from a missing person case to a homicide. I stand there frozen. Scared of what was going to be said next. “I would advise you ladies to be cautious whenever you leave the house. The killer could still be out there, waiting for their next victim.” 

We said our goodbyes to the officer. Before leaving, he turned back to us and asked, “who does the silver Jeep belong to?”  I responded that’s mine while panicking on the inside. He asks what happened to it because he noticed the dent. While panicking internally, I told him that I hit a deer a few weeks ago. The officer just nods his head and leaves and tells me to be careful next time. 

I waited until I saw the police cars drive away before I ran upstairs and into my bedroom. My mother follows behind me yelling at me that we aren’t done with our conversation before we were interrupted. I was on the verge of tears. Before my mother could get a word out asking me why I was about to cry, a phone started ringing. Noting that it wasn’t my mothers phone nor my phone, we followed the noise to the corner of the room, where my muddy clothes still lay.