Another gas station. Connie went in to buy cigarettes. When she got back out, Arnold said, "Fill up the car. I need to piss." He stalked off to the bathroom.

She smiled strangely. A new plan was forming in her mind. She'd thought of killing him at night when he was off his guard, or sleeping. She'd even formed a plan. But she'd scratched it out. It wouldn't work--she'd still be living, and he'd be dead. And she couldn't kill herself. She just couldn't.

This...this was different, yet similar. She'd read something like it in the book, and dismissed the idea as impossible. Arnold wouldn't let her near the tank. Till now. And now...well, the plan worked. Two birds with one stone. Or drop.

She shoved the nozzle into the tank and propped up the handle. Then she stepped back and leaned against the pump, waiting.

The tank filled. Connie waited. It backed up, overflowing. Connie stood stock-still. Finally, Arnold came around the corner from the bathroom. She got out her cigarette pack and her lighter. He was a few yards from the car. She put her cigarette in her mouth and lit it, sucking in and savoring the flavor. Connie saw Arnold quicken his stride. She did nothing, taking long, lazy drags on her cigarette. It was her last.

He was only a few feet away now. She took the cigarette out of her mouth. "You're not supposed to smoke at a gas station," he said.

She smiled and laughed, pointing downwards. There was gas sloshing around their feet, staining his boots. It dripped from the gas nozzle, building the steadily growing lake on the ground. He took a horrified step back.

"Too late," she said, triumph on her face as she dropped her cigarette.

Funny... she thought as her flesh burned, my own plans fail...and yet the ones written by some bored gas station attendant in her spare time...succeed.

She thought nothing else.