Installment 19

Elena pulled over.
"What are you doing?"
"Shhh..."

I did as I was told without question. A few seconds later, I saw the headlights of the other car illuminate the road behind us. I stifled a gasp, but it turned in the other direction and drove away.

"Who was that?" I gasped, trying to regain my breath, and wiping tears from my face.
"Not sure."

Elena started the engine and drove on without another word. I only realised when we reached a car riddled with bullet holes that we'd gone back the way we came. Elena stopped the car and we both got out. She shone a torch into the car. Errol sat in the driving seat and Tim in the passenger seat. Both were unmoving and covered with blood. Their eyes were wide, as if staring at some fierce beast approaching.

"A...are they dead?"
Elena opened the car door and lightly put her fingers on Errol's neck, repeating the same on the other side of the car for Tim.
"They're dead."
"Fuck."
"We should get out of here."
"What? No! We have to call the police or something."
"That's not a good idea, Fi."
"Elena, I just want this to be over. I can't cope. I'll turn myself in here. I don't need to go back to London. I just can't take any more of this."
She turned to me angrily; she seemed to grow taller, but perhaps I was just cowering. I thought I saw a slight glow in her eyes, maybe a glint of red, "Not everything is about you, Fiona."
I stood for a moment, unable to break her gaze. I tried to speak, but found myself unable to even open my mouth. I realised I'd been leaving further away from her, and I stumbled slightly, putting my hand out to break my fall, but the fall didn't come. The moment was gone and Elena had returned to normal.
"Come on, Fi. We need to go."
I followed obiently, saying nothing. We got back in the car and drove on, leaving Errol and Tim staring aimlessly into the night.
"So, on to Brigadoon?" I asked.
"What?"
"Brigadoon? You know, the mystical village? From the film?"
"It's not called Brigadoon. It's called Chapelknowe."
"I... I was just making a joke."
"You have a weird sense of humour."
"I've been told that before."
"Look, Fi, maybe you should just go to sleep or something. I need to concentrate."
"Okay," I said.

I hate silence. I always have. It means I talk too much, because I fill in whenever anyone else isn't. I sat in silence anyway, trying to think of something that would take my mind off what had just happened. I ran through songs in my head, trying not to sing out loud. I tried listing things: chemical elements, US states, people who'd taught me at high school. Eventually I fell asleep.