hanging on the wall are a couple of framed photographs of marty and abby, taken a long time ago.
a picture of abby and marty standing together on a gulf beach. marty is wearing a long velour beach robe, abby is in a swimming suit. ray's hand enters frame. he traces a finger down her leg.
as he flips through the papers; bills, receipts, no money.
light is spilling out from under the door to marty's office.
there is a dark pool of blood under marty's chair.
there is a glinting silver circle in the darkness under the safe. it is the business end of the revolver that ray half- stumbled over, half-kicked.
the incinerator belching fire and smoke. we hear its distant roar over the bar song. we hear the car door slam.
marty is lying inert.
marty is crawling up the road on his hands and knees, leaving a trail of blood. the headlights of ray's car give a fantastically long shadow.
marty, crawling.
headlight beams, although not yet the headlights themselves, are visible a long way down the road.
the car is closer. it's headlights wink again.
the headlights of an approaching car materialize in the fog. the car passes with a roar.
another car is stopped just behind him, the fog floating up past its headlights. the headlights halate in the fog; none of the rest of the car is visible.
the light is just turning from red to green.
the headlights of the other car remain motionless behind him. the car makes no move to pass.
green fog floats past the green light.
the other car is still motionless. we hear the muted rumble of its engine.
the other car remains still for a moment. white fog floats up beyond the red fog created by ray's brake lights.
as the car pulls out into the light from the intersection and ray's headlights, we see that it is a battered green volkswagon. first the car itself, and then its red tail lights, disappear into the fog.
as he flips through the photographs. the first four are ray and abby in the motel room bed. the last is a mounted 8 x 10: abby and marty on a gulf beach.
his and abby's corpses.