New York

Heather hurriedly went out of Wal-Mart, clutching a packet of Haribo Starmixes as she made a quickstep towards her Mercedes SUV. She smiled happily at a stranger, and opened her car door as she was singing with a happy tune.

Well, for Heather, it was truly the best day ever. She was very happy to hear Naya's voice, plus she felt really good about telling Naya she's expecting her first baby.

She wished that she would have blonde hair like hers. She'll call on Naya so that she can meet her Auntie Naya when she's born.

It was perfect for Heather. Or so she thought. She passed along the redwood trees which were lined in the roadsides. She wanted call Taylor but she remembered his last call.

Don't call me again. I can't talk much, but I will try to get back as soon as I can.

She carefully made a right turn towards Essex and drove through the not so busy road, still humming to herself and went into thinking of a new name.

Santana. She'll name her Santana.

The thought came to Heather. It was already getting dark, the grey clouds were also aiding in making the surroundings a bit darker than they should be. Heather was not that worried, though. The road wasn't all that congested. She fumbled for her phone, which she had put on the passenger's side. She's going to call Naya and tell her of the baby's name.

Suddenly, it all happened too fast. There was a silver-grey wall that seemed to scrape Heather's chest, then a flash of blinding light. It was a fraction of a second too late, a speed a fraction of a power too strong. It was the hundredth of an angle in the wrong turn. There was steel wrapped around steel, broken glass on the blacktop, twisted metal spun around metal and blood.

Four minutes passed. There was a blinding light of red and blue as paramedics hustled along the collision of a Hummer and a Mercedes SUV.

"Oh my God, Will, is she dead?" a female paramedic asked as she saw the beaten-dead Mercedes.

"Probably. Emma. Her chances are thin."

"Damn! I can't open her fucking door!" a man was in his paramedic uniform, crouched on the crumbled car, trying to reach the driver.

"I'll go get an axe or a hammer!" another yelled and ran back instantly, bringing a red-headed axe. He handed it to Blaine, who just moved towards the front of the car and swung the axe, breaking the windshield of the car.

"I can't reach her," the man called Will said, desperately moving to take the blonde's blood-soaked head and hands.

"Move a little," the guy who took a hammer was now holding the hydraulic pipe and he clamped it to the door, which he pulled out, exposing the miserable individual who was pushed deep down under the sideboard of the Mercedes.

"She's dead?"

"Barely breathing."

"Will she be able to make it?

"Hardly, but let's give it a shot."

The paramedic team carefully got the bloody Heather out of the car and transferred her to a waiting gurney. They wrapped bandages in her wounds, especially on her head. Just to stop the bleeding.

"Shit. She's stopped breathing! Quick, let's bag her."

The two paramedics hovered over Heather, pumping her chest in hopes that she might breath again. "Damn it, what's the ETA?"

"1 to Presbyterian." The ambulance's low wail pierced through the night, with Heather Morris inside it, drenched in her own blood.

Presbyterian was just around the block and it took no less than a minute to reach the hospital. Heather was directed readily to the ER and doctors went shuffling about, trying to give everyone a room whilst at the same time, trying to be at their best in saving the blonde's fleeting life. The doctors hummed about her chances to live.

"I need a milligram of morphine."

"She had lost too much blood, I don't think she'd live through it."

"The fact that she had lost her child during the bleeding won't confirm her survival either."

"She might have brain impairment."

"She might never be able to wake up again."

"Let's try our best and if she won't, then that's it."

"Another dose of morphine!"

"Slow it down."

"Her heart rate is dropping!"

"BP is up to 35, goddamn, this is bad!"

"Quick, give her a CPR!"

The shouts and warnings were continuous as Heather's lifeline hung on a fragile thread.