Finn quickly calculated the chance of running the red light compared to the chance of being rear-ended if he hit the brakes. There was really no choice. The fearless woman was driving so close, a collision was inevitable.
He applied a tiny amount of extra pressure to the accelerator. His heart rate quickened. A sound like rushing waters welled up in his ears. His vision sharpened and he watched the road, the changing light and the car behind in microsecond transitions. In his peripheral vision, he saw a family waiting to cross at the intersection. He entered the junction. Stopped breathing. The light was amber. It held, held, held … and changed to red just before he reached the other side.
His head thundered with an explosion of white noise. His lungs ached to bursting point. The car windows pressed in on him and the pressure built as though he was going deeper and deeper into the ocean. Had he killed anyone? Had a child been crossing the road that he didn’t see? He couldn’t think straight. Could only see the child he might have killed.
In his rear-view mirror, cars crossed sedately over the intersection in the other direction. The fearless woman was gone. The family walked across the road.
He pulled over and tried to breathe, but only the top part of his chest would take in any air. Sweat poured into his eyes. He opened the windows and tried to swallow oxygen with great heaving gulps. Tried and tried to force it deep into his lungs. With shaking hands, he gripped the steering wheel, holding on to sanity as though letting go would plunge him into an abyss from which he could never return. He gripped it tighter and tighter until the shaking began to subside and his breathing slowed. The white noise reduced to a steady din and he wiped the sweat from his eyes.
He was ready to confront whatever he had done.
Finn waited for the traffic to clear, pulled out and did a U-turn to take him back through the intersection. He scanned the area for any sign of the accident he had caused by running the light. There was nothing. People continued on their way as though he had done no wrong. He made another U-turn to put him back in the spot where the fearless woman had forced him over the intersection. No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t forced him; he’d chosen to do it. He should have hit the brakes. Should never have crossed when the light was going to change to red. He would have preferred she smash into the back of his car, at least then he would know he hadn’t caused it because he hadn’t done anything wrong. He could’ve answered a police officer’s questions, told the truth in the courtroom. Now, the truth would damn him with every syllable.
Finn took a left turn and drove slowly down the same street the family had crossed into. He spotted them quickly: a mother, father, boy on a scooter and baby in a pram.
Any one of them could be dead now because of you, he thought. He reminded himself by looking at them that they weren’t dead. They were alive and oblivious to the tragedy that lurked so closely behind them. They were alive, but what about the boy on the scooter? What if he had seen Finn cross over when the light was red and remembered it? What if, when he was a young man driving himself, he thought about what Finn had done and modelled his behaviour? What if, because of Finn, that future young man ran down a pregnant mother, killing the woman and her baby? Finn would have two deaths on his hands and a man in prison because of his actions.
The guilt that welled up inside him felt like melted lead filling his veins. It was heavy and slow, pressing his body down into the seat and making every part of him ache with weary desperation.
Finn breathed deeply, calmly. It was done now. He was a killer. He could never take it back. He could never make it better.
It was done. And he deserved the slow and creeping death that overtook his body. Made him numb and unfeeling.
Finn drove slowly home.
Chapter Four
Finn sat on his couch and stared at the blank screen. The television was off and his own image was reflected dimly. He knew now was the time he had to move. Had to act. Otherwise, the all-consuming emptiness would overtake him completely and there would be no turning back. Today, he’d kept it at bay once and succumbed once, but if it took hold now, he wouldn’t be able to stop it.
He looked hard at the man on the screen. The handsome stranger with dark hair, broad shoulders and a hardened jaw. The physical mockery that was his body, hiding a weak and pathetic soul.
Finn changed into his workout clothes, switched off the lights of his luxury apartment and headed to the gym on level three. It was empty save for one woman, Ashley from down the hall. She was standing in front of the mirror doing biceps curls. Her feet were shoulder width apart and her muscular arms flexed with each slow movement, thighs to shoulders and down again. She wore skin-tight black leggings and a matching black crop top. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail that hung to the centre of her back.
Finn traced the shape of her body with his eyes: the hard, round buttocks; the flat stomach; the firm breasts drawn together and lifted high; the muscles of her arms and shoulders that flexed with each biceps curl. Her body was a wonderland of physical perfection.
Finn felt nothing at all.
Ashley finished her set, put down the weights and smiled. ‘Hey, Finn,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Little late on a Friday to be working out, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to party?’
Ashley was twenty-three, only five years younger than Finn, but he felt like there was a lifetime between them. He had wanted to be alone, but now that she was here, he put on the mask that would cover his guilt and shame.
‘I could say the same to you, Ash. I thought Friday was cocktail night?’
Ashley picked up a towel and wiped the back of her neck. Her skin was Mediterranean brown and her hazel eyes glowed from exertion. ‘I wanted to get a session in first. Makes me feel like I’ve earned a drink.’
‘I’m just a loser with nothing else to do on a Friday night,’ Finn said.
Ashley wiped her chest with the towel. ‘Big-shot actor like you? I find that hard to believe.’ She smiled at Finn and the words hung between them like an unopened invitation.
Finn cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to get started so I’m not here all night. Mind if I use the bench?’
Ashley shook her head lightly.
Finn wasn’t stupid; he could see the disappointment in her eyes. But she was twenty-three. What the hell was he going to do with a 23-year-old other than ruin her life?
‘It’s all yours,’ Ashley said. ‘I’m just finishing up. You need a spotter?’
‘Nah, I’m good, thank you.’
