Highway To Hell

"Home sweet home," said Clay dismally when he had parked the Jeep in front of his childhood home to drop Marie off.

His mother glanced at the house grimly and then returned her worried gaze to his pale face. "Are you sure you won't stay, sweetheart?" she suggested hopefully.

"I can't," he said softly, staring intently into the rearview mirror to avoid looking at her. In the reflection, he saw that Quinn and Logan were asleep already. Her head pressed against the window, and one arm draped loosely around the eight-year-old lying sprawled across the rest of the back seat with his head on her knees. "It's time to go home; you know that's the only way."

"Promise me you'll call your sister," she urged. "I'll check in with her to find out if you called; you can be sure of that."

"Seriously?" Clay groaned and rolled his eyes at her. "Mom, I can take care of myself, okay?" He reached towards the back seat and gently nudged Logan. "Wake up, Wolverine; it's time to put your seatbelt on."

"Mm-hmm," the sleepy eight-year-old mumbled. But the moment Logan opened his eyes, he jerked upright as rapidly as if he had been electrocuted and sidled away from Quinn quickly. When she didn't stir, the boy let out a sigh of relief and looked up at his father. "Is it time for Nana to go?" he asked sadly.

"I'm afraid so, ducky," Marie sighed and reached back to pull him towards her. "Come here and give me a kiss."

When his mother had exchanged a series of fleeting Eskimo kisses with Logan, Clay raised his eyebrows at his son. "Care to explain why you jerked up so fast back there? Since when does your mom bite?" The little boy tried to shrink back in his seat, but Clay grabbed his hand and held on tightly. "Come on, you can tell me."

Frowning slightly, Logan reached under his seat and pulled out the Christmas angel Lil had let him keep. Hugging it close to his chest, he said softly: "I'm just giving her space…she said she's not my mom this morning."

Clay exchanged a worried look with his mother; the disappointment in his son's voice was like a punch to the gut. "Logan…I told you she didn't mean that, squirt. Hey, I love you, okay? And she does, too, I promise you."

"But it still hurt," Logan pointed out miserably, then fell silent and stared out the window. "Can we please go home now so she'll be happy again? She said Aunt Haley could fix this."

"Oh God," Clay hissed through gritted teeth so his son wouldn't hear. His head bowed so low that it was almost grazing the steering wheel until Marie gripped his shoulders firmly. "Could you tell me again this is all going to turn out okay?" he pleaded wearily. "Because that doesn't feel remotely possible right now."

"You can take care of yourself, baby," she said gently. "I've always known that. If you must know, Logan's the one whose coping I'm worried about. Naturally, healing from this tragedy will be difficult, but I have complete faith in you, alright? Just remember you can call me anytime you want. You'll all be okay if you remember to have patience and a little faith." When she finally pressed a goodbye kiss to his forehead, Clay hugged her so tightly it was as if he was gathering positive energy to face the weeks and months ahead. "I love you," she whispered, carefully shutting the passenger side door behind her, and then it was time to let go.

Two hours later

When Quinn finally stirred, the radio that had been blaring for the better part of their drive was silent, and she found herself alone in the Jeep. Looking out her window, she realized that the car was stationary at a rest stop. Even as she tried to determine where exactly they were, she saw Clay and Logan emerging from the convenience store across the parking lot. The locks chirped mechanically when Clay's car keys were within range, and Quinn watched him in concern as he nudged Logan into the back seat once more and placed their bag of snacks on the passenger seat. "Hey," she said faintly, painfully aware that Logan had positioned himself as far away from her as the bench of the backseat allowed. "You look wiped out, babe."

"Running on caffeine," he said simply, raising the steaming paper cup in her direction before handing her the second one from the cup holder. "I got you one, just in case…I wasn't sure if it was still taboo after what happened this morning."

"Thanks," she said and took the cup gingerly from him as if it could hurt her more than the events of the weekend already had. "That's beside the point," she pointed out then, snapping her gaze back to his tired eyes. "How far are we from Tree Hill now? I can take over, you know. It is technically my car. You look like a zombie or something."

"Zombies are cool," Logan interrupted the exchange, leaning towards the front seat to grab a packet of chips. "They get to eat all kinds of brains. It's gross sometimes, but they must be insanely smart."

"I don't think zombies are all that smart, pal," Clay told him doubtfully. "Brains are all they think about, but that doesn't make them intelligent."

"And they move pretty slowly," Quinn chipped in, glancing sideways at their son, hoping he wouldn't react badly to her input. "Not really scary unless they can catch you, don't you think?"

Logan's hand froze halfway to his mouth with a handful of chips. Quinn met his hopeful gaze over the rim of her coffee cup as she took a hesitant sip of the drink. "Yeah," he admitted slowly. "That's a good point; they are kind of slow."

"And not very smart," Quinn repeated firmly, sharing a tiny smile with Logan before glancing meaningfully at Clay again; "A little bit like your dad right now."

"Hey!" Clay protested, glaring half-heartedly at her through the rearview mirror. "There's no need to be nasty, Q. You don't see me insulting Shutterbug, do you?"

"Well, I kind of hope Sergio would have more sense than you do, Clay. The coffee doesn't seem to have made any difference. Have you seen your face? Please just let me take over," she begged, the light teasing tone falling away to give way to desperation.

"No," he said irritably. "I'm fine, okay? You have more than enough problems to fix back there." He forced a tense smile back onto his face at the sight of Logan's nervous gaze. "We'll be home before you know it; just relax."

A little while later, back in Atlanta, shuffling footsteps on her carpeted bedroom floor roused Amy Miller from a blissful sleep. "Amy," whined her sister's grating voice, holding out her vibrating cell phone to her. "Shut this thing up, would you? I'm hungover, and it freaking hurts my head."

"It's not even ringing, dumbass," Amy pointed out, still half-asleep as she took in her younger sister's tottering figure standing at the foot of the bed. "You shouldn't be drinking so much that a little vibration hurts. Late night again?"

"That's how I roll." Patricia Miller's grin was unapologetic as she steadied herself, clinging to the bedpost with one hand. Her other arm still held the now silent cell phone out to Amy. "But seriously," she added, "it's been vibrating non-stop. Something's up with this thing."

"Sure it is," Amy groaned and sat up, reluctantly taking the phone from her sister. Blinking blearily, she managed to bring the display into focus and grimaced at the ten missed calls flashing on the screen. "What the hell?"

"Told you so," the younger girl said triumphantly, flopping onto her back at the foot of Amy's bed. "It just wouldn't quit, I tell you."

"Patty, shush," Amy hissed, holding the phone up to her ear as soon as she pressed the dial button. Every single call had come from the clinic; something wasn't right.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity before Amy heard her co-worker Charlotte's voice, sounding hassled and frantic. "Amy, thank God! We've been trying to reach you for ages."

"Slow down, Charlie," Amy told her. "What's going on that's so desperate? I was working all day yesterday; nothing seemed so out of the ordinary to me."

"Maybe it wasn't a few hours ago, but it is now," Charlotte insisted. "You know how we let certain patients watch TV during lunch?"

"Yeah," Amy said impatiently. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm not sure, that's the thing," the blonde said, and Amy could picture her youthful face frowning in confusion. "The news was on, and there was a report of a car crash on the outskirts of Tree Hill. I only know that Katie Ryan is going completely mental over here. I'm seriously worried she's going to break out of this joint in a sec if we don't manage to restrain her, it's crazy!"

"Crap," Amy muttered, tossing aside her blankets with one hand and leaping out of bed. "That explains a lot; I was with her last night when she had a bit of a meltdown about not helping her sister escape an abusive husband."

"See, this is the point," Charlotte said. "You know a lot more about the situation than anyone here; people like Katie tend to trust you with this stuff. She's babbling non-stop, but it's not making sense to anyone. You need to get back down here, Amy!"

"I'm on my way," Amy promised, grimacing at her sister, who was still standing at the foot of her bed and ogling unhelpfully. "Do you think she'll talk to me? Maybe I can get her to calm down over the phone. I have a pretty good idea of what she's babbling already."

"Worth a shot," Charlotte said with audible skepticism.

There were a few moments of muffled background noise, and then Amy heard heavy breathing and slightly choked sobs on the other end of the line. "Katie, is that you?" she asked softly. At the murmured affirmative, she continued: "I need you to calm down and try to breathe for me, okay? I'm coming back to the clinic; everything will be okay."

"Kevin can't get to my family before I do," her patient said shrilly. "I promised to keep him safe; I promised…oh God, Bobby!"

The gasping breaths resumed, and Amy grimaced as she charged into the living room to find her car keys. "I know," she said soothingly; "it's going to be okay, Katie, I…" But at the scene playing on the television that Patty had switched on in the living room, she couldn't help but fall silent in awe-struck horror.

"Amy, are you still there?" Charlotte's voice asked urgently, apparently having taken the phone back from Katie.

"Yeah, I'm on my way, okay? Don't let Katie leave!" the redhead said quickly, then ended the call and paced towards her sister. "Oh, dear God, this is bad."

"Ya think?" Patty said sarcastically, turning the volume up so the sound of blaring ambulance sirens filled their living room. "Looks like a total mess. Why do they think you can fix this?"

"I thought you were hungover, missy," Amy said, rolling her eyes without answering the question. "It'll take too long to explain; I have to go." With that, she left Patty, staring transfixed at the chaos of the news report, and charged out the door.

Kevin was packing his things at the police headquarters in Charlotte when his local boss came rushing in as fast as his vast bulk would allow. "Shame that guy got away," he said without looking up. "Back to the dull routine of Tree Hill policing, I go, I suppose."

"Riley," his boss gasped, leaning against the sturdy desk to catch his breath. "You have got to get a look at the TV out there right now!"

"What?" Kevin frowned at the balding man, pointing urgently towards the front room. "What are you on about, Joe?"

"Did your wife ever answer the phone earlier?" Joe asked, leading him towards the entrance hall, where the station had a wall-mounted television. A group of his co-workers was gathered around it, gaping open-mouthed up at the screen. "Oh, for God's sake, you'd think they've never seen a car wreck in their lives. Make way, people!"

The crowd parted, and Kevin stared past the slim brunette reporter at the crash scene in horror. The words coming out of her mouth went right over his head, as he had eyes only for the familiar red Ford, now with the back end crushed into a twisted mass of metal. The front windscreen was cracked and splattered with so much blood; it was hard to see anything else, but Kevin's keen eyesight could make out a figure slumped over the steering wheel. "She never picked up the phone," he murmured, staring at the horrific scene in a daze. "This is not possible."

"That poor kid," one of his female co-workers said sympathetically, and Kevin's gaze shifted for the first time from the wreckage to a paramedic standing off to one side of the screen. She was gently restraining a small figure with Kevin's dark hair, and when the camera angle shifted, he saw the tears streaking down Bobby's face, his mouth wide open in a scream that none of the observers at the police station could hear.

A / N I feel so bad that it's been over a year, but this is what happens when I start writing a long story without every bit planned. Thank you to everyone still following this story, it seriously helped me keep going xx