Jack left early the next morning for work, leaving the two women alone in the house. Kate slept in late. When she finally got up, she saw that he had put all of her clothes back on and smiled at his thoughtfulness. She knew now what she had to do as she dressed. It was nearing two in the afternoon, and if she waited, she might never get another chance. She took all of the sheets from the bed and folded them up, placing them in the dresser. When the police came, they wouldn't think anything of the empty guest room and the bed with no sheets. She didn't worry about fingerprints. She had long ago learned that they were a hindrance. Her fingers left no marks.

Kate grabbed her bag, making her way quietly down the stairs and found Elaine reclining in the living room, reading a magazine. Kate rubbed her hands against the back of her jeans.

"I'm sorry," Kate whispered. Elaine turned to look at her.

"What?"

"He's mine," Kate continued. "He doesn't love you. He's never loved you. But he won't divorce you because he's too much of a gentleman to hurt your feelings. I have to do this, and I hope you'll understand. I love him too much to lose him now. I'm sorry."

She had time to register the woman's stunned look as she pulled the .9 millimeter from the back of her jeans. Kate aimed for the woman's heart and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore into her chest and Elaine screamed in pain. Kate fired again, ripping a hole in her throat. The third bullet narrowly missed her, and Kate cursed. Kate moved over to gaze down at the body. She was still alive, though her breathing was labored, and she was struggling. Kate aimed the gun at Elaine's head, looking into the woman's eyes, full of fear. She wondered if Jack had taught her to count to five. It didn't matter now, and the irony amused her.

"Sorry,"

She pulled the trigger.

---
She let the police come and question him while she watched from the park across the street. When his house was once again quiet, she knocked on the front door. She expected him to pull her into an embrace, tell her how much he missed her, and now that his wife was out of the way, they could have something again. Sensible doctor that he was, she should have known better.

His eyes were red from crying, and there were new lines on his face she hadn't seen before. She tried to put her arms around him, not in a romantic hug, but for some comfort. He backed away from her, breathing heavily and staring. She stood in the door frame, her arms still outstretched, stunned.

"Why did you kill her, Kate?" His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been yelling. She opened her mouth, a lie already forming, but he held up a hand.

"Don't," he said angrily. "You don't get to make excuses for yourself. You don't get to come here and ruin my life. You killed someone I loved!"

"You told me you didn't love her!" Kate said, moving into the house and shutting the door behind her. "You told me you didn't want a trophy wife!"

"No," he shook his head, backing up to sit on his couch. She followed, shutting the door behind her. "You don't understand. She wasn't just any woman. She wasn't like you. She was different, and you wouldn't understand. I could have talked to her."

"That's not what you told me, Jack." She yelled, balling up her fists. "You told me you wanted to get rid of her!"

"I didn't mean for her to die. That wasn't supposed to happen. I was going to talk to her, make her understand. She would understand. She was like that."

"It was the only way." Kate said, trying to convince herself as much as him. She didn't need to die, but it was the easiest solution, in her eyes.

Jack slumped in his seat, not looking up at her. "The night you showed up she told me she had a surprise for me. When you came, I thought it was you. That wasn't it. She told me that night, after we." He paused, a broken sob escaping his lips. "She was pregnant, Kate. Two months pregnant with my child."

All at once, a roar filled her ears and she squeezed her eyes shut. Pregnant?

"Why didn't you–" He kneaded his forehead with his fingers, still not looking at her. "I waited two years for you and you never came. None of this would have happened. It wasn't supposed to happen."

"I thought you wanted me," she said, enraged.

"I was tired of waiting for you. It's why we waited so long to have children. I thought you might come back, and I thought I might have the courage to leave her. When she told me that we were going to have a baby–I couldn't leave her. And you killed her. You killed them both."

She looked up at him, tears spilling from her eyes. "I didn't know,"

"Would it have made any difference if you had?"

When Kate didn't reply, Jack stood. "You have to leave. I can't look at you, I can't be in the same room as you anymore."

She got to her feet, and picked up her bag. "I am sorry."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too."

She made her way to the front door, and stopped before pulling it open, to turn and look back at him. He looked so vulnerable, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "I love you," she muttered, watching his response.

"Yeah." He said stonily. "I wish you'd realized it sooner. It's too late now."

"Can I have an hour?"

"For what?"

"A head-start. You're going to tell the police I was here. Let me have an hour."

"I didn't tell them. I'm not going to tell them. Just go, before they come back."

She stared at him for a moment, then pulled open the door and disappeared into the night. When she turned one last time to look at his house, she saw him standing in the doorway, watching after her. She took a deep breath. And ran.

She hitched rides through the States and by the year's end, reached Alaska, the one state she'd never visited. She crossed into Russia undetected on a small tramp steamer and made her way across the vast Siberian tundra, haggling with old Russian peasant women for a warm fur coat. She assimilated herself as she made her way into the European Russia, and traveled through Scandinavia: Finland she stayed only two days, she spent a week in Norway, and another in Sweden, crossing into Denmark. From Denmark, she made her way to Belgium, then into France. She visited Normandy and the cemetery there, wondering. She traveled to Calais, then took the Chunnel into England, hoping to rest. It was June again. She'd been running for a year.