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| "Would you like more coffee?" Liberty asked waddling to the coffee pot with an oversized jelly donut tucked inside the pocket of her housecoat.
"No thanks, sweetie, I haven't got time." Lauren grabbed her purse and smiled. "Can you believe it? Just two weeks left," Liberty said, pointing to her pregnant belly. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it, but it's too far off for the way you look. You look ready to pop." "Uh-uh. No way. It can't happen until the rain stops!" "Tell me that when you're on a gurney pushing seven pounds of flesh and bone through a knothole," Lauren laughed nervously. "Later, Gator. Got to run." "Be careful of the roads. They're pretty slick, especially if you're not used to them. People like you don't know how crazy we are out here. Most people drive like they do when the roads are dry. "Okay. Will do." It was exactly eight o'clock when Lauren Simms left the apartment. Normally Lauren left at eight-thirty, but today with the rain gushing pools of water onto the black top, dodging puddles made for wasted time and energy, particularly when she had no idea where she'd left the car last night. Once she located it, Lauren got in, opened the window, adjusted the mirror and began to comb her hair. Seconds later something sharp pierced her neck, and a second after that her head fell to the steering wheel, forcing a solitary tear to trickle down her face. At noon, people driving in and out of the complex drove past the lifeless brunette slumped over the wheel with what appeared to be an ice pick in her neck. Alarmed by the grizzly scene, someone called the police. Ten minutes later, an ambulance and two police cars blocked the entrance to the complex, first to check out the report, and second, to take Lauren Simms to the hospital where she would be pronounced dead and later taken to the morgue. The two officers at the scene inquired where they might get additional information about Lauren Simms. The answer was from her roommate at 116. |
| The Bastard's Mother J.C. Nicholson |
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