Red Tide Before my stomach conveniently decided to be sick on the rear bumper of the car, all I really had time to glimpse was her face. It looked as neutral and silent as it had a few hours earlier. Her face, yes, and the blood. Forcing some composure, I chansed another glance. The sight was appalling. Her light gown had been forced up to her waist, and her legs lay bared, unnaturally twisted, smeared with blood. Several stab-wounds and a few slashes was visible on her torso. The mess of blood and fabric, gave no hint what so ever to what beauty and frailty she had so recently represented. Despite the it all - rain, blood, dead dame, and the taste of vomit - I somehow registered that she was still wearing my jacket - drenched in blood. This was not, how should I say, an ideal situation. Not at all. Fighting of panic as best I could, I swung around and rushed into the diner, with the intention of opening the man with the briefcase's skull on the counter. The waitress's dropped a pot of joe on the floor as I barged through the door like a madman. He was not there. The few customers still lingering at this late hour glared as I ran for the restroom. Not there either. The man was gone. Ignoring the waitress's agitated inquiry's I headed back out to the parking lot. I curse this day. Nothing was going for me. How could I forget to close the lid? She practically radiated from there, and the officer had hardly needed to illuminate her with his flashlight to see what this was about. Damn those ignorant, thick headed coppers! Never around for weeks on end. Then, now, at the worst possible moment they crawl out of nowhere. Thinking that a confrontation with a policeman, and possible interrogation back at the station was not what I longed for just now. I reared around, and made off in the opposite direction.