Hit and Run

'Take it easy,' I said. 'Don't move ...'

She rested her head against my shoulder and closed her eyes. I put my hand under her knees and lifted her. She was lighter than I expected her to be. I had no trouble carrying her up the path to the front entrance to the bungalow.

'I'll be all right now,' she said. 'Let me down. I'm sorry. I've never done this before.'

I set her down, holding her against me as I groped for my I found it, opened the door, then I picked her up again and carried her into the lounge. I laid her on the divan by the window.

'Stay quiet,' I said, and leaving her I went back into the hall and shut the front door. Then I came back and turned on the lights in the lounge.

She lay still, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes like holes cut from a sheet.

'I'll get you a drink,' I said. 'I can't say how sorry I am I behaved like this. A drink will pull you together.'

'I don't want one,' she said and covered her face with her hands. She began to cry.

I went over to the liquor cabinet, poured a little brandy into a glass and took it over to her.

'Drink this. It'll pull you together.'

'No, please.' She turned her head away. 'Ches, I'm terribly sorry. I've damaged your car.'

'There's no need to faint about that, and stop crying. You don't have to cry because you've damaged my car.'

She turned on her side and looked up at me. I was startled to see how white she was. There was a scraped bony look about her face that made her eyes look enormous.

'I didn't mean to do it,' she said, the words coming so fast it was difficult for me to follow what she was saying. He came up beside me and shouted at me. I didn't know he was behind me. I lost control of the car. There was an awful bang. There's a big scratch right along the door and the fender's dented.'

Suddenly I felt an icy chill start up my spine.

'What are you trying to tell me? Have you hit someone?'

She looked away from me and stared up at the ceiling. Her hands turned into fists.

'It wasn't my fault. I swear it wasn't. He came up from behind and shouted at me. I didn't even know he was there until he started shouting.'

'Who? Who shouted at you?'

'This policeman. He was on a motor-cycle. He came up beside me and shouted ...'

I put down the glass of brandy and went over to the divan and sat beside her.

'You don't have to be frightened. Just tell me what happened.'

She began to beat her clenched fists together.

'I swerved when he started shouting. The side of the car hit him ...' She broke off and began to cry again.

I put my hands on my knees and squeezed until my knuckles turned white.

'Crying won't help,' I said sharply. 'What happened when you hit him?'

She drew in a long, shuddering breath.

'I don't know. I just kept on. I didn't look.'

I sat for a long moment, motionless, aware that my heart was beating heavily and sluggishly. Then I said: 'You mean you didn't stop?'

'No. I was frightened. I drove straight here.'

'Was he hurt?'

'I don't know.'

'Just where did this happen?'

'On the road leading from the beach.'

'You didn't hear him shout after you?'

'No. There was this awful bang against the side of the car, and that was all. I drove straight here. I've been waiting for you for more than half an hour.'

'Were you driving fast?'

'Yes.'

For a long moment I sat staring at her, then I got up.

'I'll be back in a moment. I want to look at the car.'

I got up and crossed the room to my desk. I took from one of the drawers a powerful flashlight. As I went out of the room, I heard her give a little sighing moan, and that chilled my blood as nothing else had done so far.

I walked down the path to the car. In the light of the moon I could see at once that the on-side front fender had been damaged. When I turned on the flashlight I was able to see just how extensive the damage was.

The front headlamp was smashed and the fender buckled. There was a deep dent in the door panel and a long scar had been ripped into the paintwork. It ran in a jagged line the length of the door.

These details I took in with one brief glance. Then I moved around the car. There was a bright red stain that glistened in the light of my torch on the off-side fender of the rear wheel. The white ring around the off-side tyre was also sticky with the stuff. It didn't take me more than a second or so to accept the fact that this was blood and I stared at it, feeling cold and sick.

It looked as if she had side-swiped the motor-cycle, knocked the driver off, and had run over him with the rear wheel. And she hadn't stopped!

I turned off the flashlight and stepped back. The sweat on my face felt clammy and cold in the hot night air. He was probably in the road bleeding to death at this moment.

I went quickly back to the lounge.

She was still lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her fists clenched and her breath coming

in quick, uneven gasps. She looked pretty bad.

I picked up the glass of brandy and went over to her.

'Here, drink some of this,' I said. 'Come on: it's no use crying.'