I tried to muffle my sobs by placing a towel against my face. My shoulders shook as I sat on the toilet and cried. Was there no part of my life, other than what I did in bed, which I was in control of? I kept messing up and in my heart I knew that I'd just messed up again by having sex with Michael - however good it had been.
My father had warned me to lay low - use the time by myself to think things through - not to complicate the situation further. But with an hour or so of him leaving, I'd gone and had sex with the one person who knew that the death of those poor people hadn't been a simple accident. It had happened because I was trying to run from a situation I should've never been in while on duty. I'd been speeding and not concentrating on the road. I'd been looking for chewing gum to try and mask the fact I'd been drinking. Why couldn't I just listen to my father?
But maybe that was the point? Perhaps I was so sick and tired of listening to him - trying to please him and make him happy, that I seized every opportunity that came along to disappoint him. Why did he have to be so controlling - why couldn't he let me make my own mistakes? But he was a good man, wasn't he? After all, wasn't he just looking out for me? What would I have done without him yesterday? But I knew in my heart why I had gone back to the farm while on duty, why I'd had sex with Michael just moments ago. Because it was something I could chose or chose not to do. Maybe Michael was right? Perhaps I was crazy and had issues.
Michael must have heard me sobbing, because there was a gentle knock at the bathroom door. "Hey, Sydney, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I lied, sniffing back my tears behind the towel.
"Look, I didn't mean to upset you," he said.
"You didn't upset me."
"Why are you crying then?" he pushed gently.
Wiping the tears away with the towel, I went to the door and opened it. Michael had put on his jeans. As I went to brush past him, he took me in his arms. "I didn't mean to hurt you when I said I thought you had issues," he said, looking down into my bloodshot eyes.
"It wasn't that which upset me," I said, slipping from his arms and going to the living room. I stood by the window and looked out onto the empty street and the sea in the distance.
"What is it, then?" he asked, standing behind me, but keeping a respectful distance.
"Everything, I guess," I whispered. "I killed four people yesterday."
"That was an accident," he said.
"Was it?"
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Nothing," I quickly said. Turning to face him, I added, "Have you told anyone what happened between us yesterday?"
No," he said right back. "Who would I tell?"
"Your father?"
"Hey, dad, while you were out today, me and that pretty-looking cop drank some of your whiskey and then got it on across your kitchen table. I don't think so, do you?" he said, cocking his eyebrow at me. "Anyway, that wasn't what caused the accident."
"I killed them," I whispered.
"That cart and horse was a menace. The whole family were," Michael said.
"Did you know them then?" I asked.
"No, not really," Michael said, turning away, picking up his shirt from the floor and putting it on. "The old guy was as crazy as a loon. He talked kinda strange."
I wanted to tell Michael how the old man had called me a witch, but Woody had said we all needed to be singing from the same hymn sheet, so I pushed the thought away, knowing I shouldn't discuss what happened out on the road. I just wanted to satisfy myself that Michael would keep our secret.
"I had a nightmare about that old man last night," I whispered, turning to look out of the window again. The sea was glistening beneath the pale afternoon sun. "I dreamt about all of them."
"What happened is going to play on your mind for a while," he said.
"They were chasing me and I fell down a well and couldn't get out," I explained, suddenly feeling cold. I wrapped my arms about me.
"A well?" Michael asked, sounding confused.
"Yes," I said thoughtfully, staring out at the sea. "I guess it symbolises me falling into the massive hole I've dug for myself."
"I guess," he said.
"My father saved me, though, like he always does," I said, not knowing if I was still talking to Michael or just talking out loud in an attempt to explain it all to myself. "Maybe my father's right and all I need is some rest?"
"Look, if it would make you feel better, I could always stay with you tonight," Michael said.
"Thanks," I said, turning to smile at him. "But I'll be okay. I just want a day or two to myself. Perhaps what we did today wasn't such a good idea after all."
"Do you regret it?" he asked, looking a little confused.
"I don't know what I feel anymore," I said.
Michael came towards me, and stroking the fringe off of my forehead, he said, "Why don't you get some rest over the next couple of days and then give me a call - if you want to, that is."
"Why did you really come looking for me today?" I asked him, looking up into his eyes.
"Like I said, I can't get you out of my head, Officer Sydney Hart. I've never met anyone like you before - you're kinda intense."
"Is that a good thing?" I asked him.
"I'm not sure, but I'll let you know," he said, smiling. He kissed me gently on the forehead and headed for the door.
With his back to me, I said, "Where did you go?"
"Sorry?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.
"You said you left town ten years ago," I reminded him. "Where did you go?"
"Into the Army. But I had enough of that life and thought it was time to come home." Looking me up and down, Michael added, "And I'm so glad I did. Call me."
Then he was gone. I looked back out of the window and watched him disappear up the road. It was only when he was out of sight I realised I didn't have his number. Maybe that was for the best, I thought, and turned away.
