della inserts the key and turns it in the lock. the car sputters in defiance against the cold night.
she slows down, rolls down her window and swipes a chub card against the security panel. the gates slowly open. she drives through. the gates close behind her. she rolls the window up and makes a left turn onto.
della smiles mysteriously, reaches into the glove compartment with her free hand. she pushes aside a bunch of car papers, a flare, pulls out a check wallet hidden underneath - her secret hiding place for:
for a second, della contemplates turning around and leaving.
it dawns on her that parking up close to the entrance just isn't going to happen. she takes the last puff from the cigarette burning out in the ashtray.
della whips the car into the first one. she sighs with relief as she straightens the car up into the spot. she sits for a second trying to calm herself down but it isn't working. she reaches for another cigarette, then, talks herself out of it.
della turns the key in the ignition and presses in the lighter. she lights a cigarette and inhales as she lets the car warm up for 30 seconds.
della flinches but no bullet tears through the back of her skull. she slams into the driver's seat and punches the door lock switch. she hits the four wheel drive button and presses the accelerator pedal to the metal.
she shakes the cell phone trying to revive its dead battery. types 911 in anyway. no connection. no response. she shakes it some more. gives up.
another flash and della's left side mirror shatters.
right or left, della? make a choice.
close to screaming now she speeds up.
hope. she pulls in and dims her lights, drives right up to the kiosk door.
her wipers struggle to cope. she can hardly see through the front window.
she steers the ford blindly.
she guns the engine and ducks sideways as her car plows into the barrier.
della tries to sit upright but the auto's spinning too fast.
the car stalls out. silence. a prolonged moment.
della turns the key. it barely even groans this time. just a faint gurgle. then gone.
she punches the accelerator, drives just over the speed limit.
she hears the siren before she sees the police car.
of course. how long has it been? that poor security guard.
at sixty-five she races across the railway track. she slows down to just above speed limit when she sees a car ahead on the adjoining road.
she applies some lipstick to her cheeks to give her some color. but she just looks odd. she ends up wiping it away with the back of her hand.