I've always liked driving. The feeling of solitude is outstanding. Just you and an open road. But I can't help but feel miffed in regards to Greenlee's comments. Did I really drive more slowly than a seventy-five year old man? I hit the gas a little harder.

When I dropped her off I had to will myself not to go upstairs with her. I had to fight my doctoral urges that wanted desperately to fix that bandage on her forehead. It was applied terribly. But I knew that it would be pushing things too much, even more than showing up at the restaurant had. I could see the relief in her eyes when I hailed a taxi, and it was like a punch in the gut, even though I knew it was coming. But I've come to the conclusion that I can't force her to love me or, hell, to even want me. That's one thing I've managed to learn over the years, in spite of myself.

So right now I'm trying my damndest to push Greenlee out of my thoughts, into the dark recesses if my mind where I put all those remnants of Anna and Leora, and, even farther back, where my mother and father are kept. She'll be in fine company.

It starts to rain, the weather reflecting my mood pretty accurately, for once. But what starts out as a fine drizzle soon develops into a full-on storm, with the rain pounding so hard against my windshield that I fear it will break. Visibility's turned to shit and I consider pulling off the road. Which is exactly what a seventy-five year old man would do in a similar situation, so I continue driving, this time with renewed determination. I'm thirty-eight. I'm entitled to some recklessness.

Fuuuuuuhhhhhhcccckkkk-

I narrowly avoid the figure that suddenly appears in front of my car, swerving to the right and hitting the brakes. I sit there for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to understand what just happened.

David, you almost killed someone.

I get out of the car, shielding my eyes from the onslaught of water. This person, this girl, is standing on the sidewalk a few feet away, not moving. I call out to her but it's impossible to hear. So I grab her arm, wrench open the car door, and motion her inside. Should it worry me that she only hesitates for a moment before getting in? What's become of our distrustful society? But really, the rain is painful, beating into my back like a drum. Who wouldn't want to escape it? Unwillingly I'm reminded of Greenlee's words in the car.

Who wouldn't want to just escape?