She slid into the passenger seat of Jack's car. He struggled to hold it together, perspiration coated his ashen face. His hand trembled as he put the car into gear. They drove for a few miles, neither saying a word.

As the effects of the drug in her system gradually subsided, she felt the sharp talons of reality. The gut-wrenching experience began to sink in, every sensation heightened. Her nerves crackled with electricity and she could hear an electronic buzzing that faded in and out, interrupting and rerouting her thoughts.

Grisly images played over and over again. Keenan cartwheeling over the hood of the car, his contorted body sprawled on the gravel road, neck broken, arms and legs splayed, dead eyes staring blankly at the inky night sky.

As the farmhouse came into view, Jack steered his car to the side of the road. "I don't think I can go back there," he sighed. "Not yet."

She watched him unravel.

He turned away and looked out the driver's window. He inhaled a deep breath then gave Lyla a penetrating, heartbreaking look. Those warm brown eyes that could melt any female were now glazed, as though what they'd witnessed that night changed the way Jack would forever see the world.

Impulsively, she leaned in her lips mere inches from his. Their eyes met in an intimate embrace. Without saying a word, they both understood. They shared a dark secret that could never be divulged to anyone.

But what Lyla could never express to Jack was that she did not share his grief. This night had torn a hole in his soul and implanted the virus of guilt in his heart but for her, tonight she was freed. As she leaned closer, she surrendered herself to the moment, a moment in which she wished she could live the rest of her life. She was about to kiss the guy who saved her life.

Unfamiliar voices jolted them apart. It took a moment for them to realize that the voices emanated from the radio, a sports talk show.

"That was freaky," he said and turned off the radio.

"Scared me." She clutched her chest.

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