"She looked at dad, and said "I flamed them all. Then I used the vacuum cleaner to get the little piles of ashes up. That was all there was left of them. I mixed them with used coffee grounds, and threw them in the trash. I almost went crazy. I mean, I had only lit candles and stuff before that, and I go and turn four people into little piles of ash! I think it was because I was so mad. Anyway, I wiped the prints off of car they came in, and parked it in a grocery store lot up the street. They had the money with them, in a briefcase. There was fake I.D. for me, too. I paid cash for the Beetle, and used the name they had made up. It said I was Chloe Wilson, and I was nineteen. That was in San Francisco, and it was the last time I used it."Mom asked what made her come to South Dakota, of all places, and she shook her head. "I have no idea", she admitted. "I just wanted to get away from there. I didn't pay any attention to where I was headed for a long time. When I started to, I didn't. Just seeing you will help me get better all by itself."She smiled, then bent and kissed me again. "I hope you'll still feel that way when you've recovered."I learned it was Friday and I'd been in the ICU ward since Monday afternoon. I had a concussion, cuts on my face and eyelids, four cracked ribs, one of which had poked into my lung, deep bruises on my hip and thigh, but luckily, no broken bones. I was going to be very sore for a while, but I would make a full recovery.They had wrapped the ribs and drained the partially collapsed lung. The bandage on my eyes was to allow the cuts from broken glass to heal on my eyelids. Luckily, there was no damage to my eyes. I must have had them closed when I crashed into a large mirror standing upright in the rack.I had assorted other bruises on my shoulders, arms and hands from becoming a human projectile. I had no recollection of any of this after seeing the oncoming forklift and its load heading inevitably toward me. Shit! I survive eight.
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