Stage One: "Denial"

Eileen Draper grabbed hold of the door handle and braced herself as Tony Brooks shot into the intersection against the light, screaming as there was a sickening thud that jerked her hard against her seatbelt to the chorus of whining metal, the noise almost drowned out by the Tony's frantic honking of the horn. Her eyes closed against the lights as her head jerked back hard against the cushioned seat, leaving her slightly dazed and with an instant headache. Almost immediately her eyes opened and she looked over to her companion, heart thudding heavily in her chest as she took in Tony's form slumped over the steering wheel and the broken glass.

"Tony? Tony!" She reached out and touched his shoulder, eyes drifting closed in relief for a brief second as he groaned and lifted his head. "Oh, God, are you all right?"

He lifted one hand to his throbbing forehead and then pulled it away, inspecting the red blood with blinking eyes. "I feel like I've been hit by a Mack truck," he joked. "Am I close?"

Eileen shook her head slightly and touched the side of his face that wasn't covered in blood form the bleeding scalp wound. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? We need to get you out of here."

Tony looked around the car in confusion. "Out of here?" He nodded once, decisively, and began fumbling with his seatbelt ineffectively until Eileen sighed and reached over to undo it.

She quickly got out of the car on her side and walked around to help Tony out of the driver's side, steadying him in case of any dizziness. He seemed all right, so Eileen stepped back and pulled out her cell phone. Fingers shaking slightly, she dialed the three digits that everyone hoped not to: 911. "I'd like to report an accident," she said when the operator picked up, going on to give the place and number of vehicles involved. Hanging up, she looked over to where Tony was now sitting on the concrete, peering at the car that they'd hit. As Eileen walked over to him, he looked up and blinked owlishly.

"That doesn't look like no Mack truck," he slurred, the phrase barely intelligible.

Eileen sighed and, realizing there was no way Tony could talk to the cops that night, once again dialed her phone, this time the number for a taxi company that she often used when she didn't feel like driving. Arranging a pick-up a few blocks away from the crash site, she helped Tony up and began walking him in that direction, telling him to keep walking until he reached a certain store, and then went back to the crash, hoping that he remembered it.

Standing close to the light blue car, she absently thought about what she had already halfway planned before getting out of the car, she waited for the police, ambulance, and fire trucks to arrive. They did in short order, lights and sirens blazing through the night. Eileen was immediately pulled further away from the light blue car and checked over by a paramedic, who was surprised by the fact that Eileen didn't have a scratch on her.

As rescuers helped the driver of the other car, a police officer took a preliminary statement from Eileen, getting her name and number. Not correcting his assumption that Eileen was the driver of the other car for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that not only was it her car but that she'd sent Tony off, she gave the needed information but spun it in such a way that it was the other driver's fault.

'No, sir, the car came out of nowhere. There wasn't time to stop. Yes, sir, I did have a glass of champagne earlier. Of course I'm willing to submit to a test for you to check my blood alcohol level.'

On and on it went, until both Eileen and the police officer looked over as the rescuers pulled the other driver out of the car, a brunette female about Eileen's own age. She was covered in blood from scratches that occurred when the window shattered and the force of impact from Eileen's car had shoved the driver's side door in. The frenzy abruptly slowed, the rescuers and paramedics no longer hurried before they moved the body into a brightly colored bag and zipped it up, a time-weary gesture that made Eileen's stomach twist and her face drain of color, a fine trembling beginning in her hands, which she clasped together on front of her.

For the first time that night, she thought of the other person: not just as an anonymous driver, but a young woman. Did she have a family? Would she be missed?

The police officer reached out and gently touched her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, noticing how shaken she was. Deciding that the woman had been through enough for one day, he asked if there had been any witnesses.

Eileen kept her focus on the body bag as she reeled off the names and numbers for both Tony Brooks and Ray Ramirez, a man she knew would back up any story she spun. As her car was being towed that night, the officer offered to drive her home, an offer that she gratefully accepted. Begging a few moments to make a phone call, she walked out of casual hearing and once again dialed her phone number, calling Ray Ramirez to tell him that she'd given his name to the police and that, if he cooperated, his debts to her would be forgiven. Confident that he would, as he was unable to pay off his debts in the foreseeable future, she hung up and gave a shaky smile to the waiting officer. Sliding into the backseat of the squad car, she took a deep breath and averted her eyes from outside, something made hard by the still flashing lights.

They pulled up outside Eileen's house, a trip made in the blink of an eye, it seemed to Eileen. Thanking but declining the officers' offer to go inside with her, Eileen made her way to the front door on slightly shaking legs, shock and reaction finally setting in.

What had she done? Lied to the police, blamed some innocent woman for her own death simply to save her own skin?

Had Eileen Boutwell Draper sunk so low that she would do that?

The answer, which brought a quick rush of nausea and clamminess to her skin, was simple: yes.

No! She hadn't caused the accident; she hadn't been in either driver's seat, she hadn't been driving drunk, and she hadn't been the person who ran the red light. It wasn't her fault. Even lying to the police was understandable: she could lose everything if Charles found out about her and Tony. She had to protect herself. Didn't everyone say that it was a dog-eat-dog world and only the fittest survive? Eileen survived the car crash; that woman didn't. Eileen was the fittest and she would ensure her survival. Right?

"Yes!"

The single word echoed through the tiled foyer, causing a passing maid to jump slightly before looking at her mistress in concern. Knowing that her concern would not be appreciated, she hurried to take Eileen's coat and inquire as to whether she had a nice time at the wedding.

Eileen's affirmative answer, half mumbled, did nothing to ease the maid's concerns, and she quickly hung up the coat and left the foyer as Eileen, who had seemed rooted to the spot just inside the door, stumbled into the parlor and her husband's fully stocked bar. She skipped her usual glass of white wine and went straight for her husband's beverage of choice: single malt scotch. She poured herself a glass and drank it quickly, gagging at the taste before relishing the burn that trailed its' way down her throat to her stomach. She quickly poured a second glass and knocked it back before turning and stumbling back to the foyer and the stairs that would take her to her bedroom, suddenly feeling horribly filthy and in desperate need of a shower or long bath.

She continued her forward movement even as the phone rang, knowing that someone else would answer it. Sure enough, a maid did before coming to find her.

"Mrs. Draper?" came the hesitant question.

Eileen turned extremely carefully so as not to lose her balance and looked at the young blonde. "Yes?"

"It's your husband, ma'am," she offered.

Eileen sighed and descended the few stairs she had taken. "I'll answer it in here. Thank you, Gretchen."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Draper." Gretchen made her escape quickly and was out of sight as Eileen lifted the phone to her ear.

"Hello, Charles."

"How was the wedding, dear? I hope that you gave my regards to the bride and groom," came the cheerful voice from the other side of the continental United States.

"Of course I did," she answered quietly, the tremor in her body relating to the one in her voice as everything that she had done that night hit her full-force.

"Did something happen, Eileen?"

"Oh, um," she paused, not wanting to get into it but knowing that she had to, "I'm just a little shaken up, Charles. I was in a car accident earlier."

"Were you injured?" was the immediate question.

"Not even a scratch, Charles. I promise."

Charles expressed his relief and they chatted for a few more minutes, much of it Charles' offering to fly home immediately and Eileen assuring him that it wasn't necessary, Eileen eventually begging off to take her shower and promising to call him in the morning.

Eileen hung the ivory-colored phone up carefully before clasping her trembling hands together in front of her and stared sightlessly at them for several long moments before she leant back, relishing the feel of the cool wall against her over-heated body. The tears that she had valiantly tried to hold back through the long interview at the crime scene and the phone calls she had both made and received that evening began their silent trek down her pale cheeks as Eileen slid down the wall to sit on the bottom step. There was the barest moment before she buried her face in her hands and her slim shoulders began to shake with her silent sobs.

TBC in Stage 2: Anger