More time passed. Neither hide nor hair was seen of Ingrid. This bliss continued for four weeks, until one fateful day...
Grace was at home by herself. The other girls were moving some cattle, and Marcus would be arriving soon. She hummed as she chopped vegetables, and when she turned around to put them into the pot, she was brought face to face with Ingrid.
"Hello, Grace." Ingrid was unwashed and filthy, her clothes were ratty and her hair was a solid mass. "So nice of you to be here." Ingrid held a knife to Grace's throat. "Get into the car."
Grace had no choice. Ingrid prodded her knife into the small of Grace's back.
"Now."
Ingrid drove, blabbering about Marcus, how Grace had stole him, and that she had been grossly misunderstood. "Never meant to hurt Regan" she mumbled. "Regan was in the way." Finally, they reached where Ingrid's twisted mind had been taking them. Grace's heart froze. It was the cliff where her cousin, Claire McLeod, had died so many years ago. A small tree grew beside the chasm, which had a plaque attached. Grace could make out the words "taken before her time", and wondered of that was her fate. Ingrid walked her to the edge of the cliff.
"Jump."
Grace shook her head. "No."
Ingrid laughed hysterically. "No? You will jump. No-"
Grace stumbled backwards past Ingrid, landing on her bottom and falling flat on her back, as Ingrid's knife flashed where her neck had been moments before. Grace, while Ingrid was still recovering from her failed knife attack, launched herself forward, and head butted her in the stomach. Ingrid fell backwards, and windmilling, stumbled over the edge. Grace crawled to edge of the cliff – there, lying spread eagled on the rusted wreckage of the first Drovers Run ute, was Ingrid. Her neck had been broken on impact.
"Goodbye, Ingrid Marr. Go to hell." Grace struggled upwards and got into the stolen car, and drove back home.