"Nothing wrong with her asshole, either."

Nancy, hearing them, got in her car. Her lovely young face was crimson as she stared straight ahead and drove off the tree lined estate to turn onto one of the many highways leading into Chicago.

Only when she was several miles from Fred Hartman's place could she heave a weary sigh of relaxation. She settled back in her seat, driving easily with one hand while she lighted herself a cigarette with the other. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette, feeling it relax her. Her body was sore all over, and she was so tired she worried about keeping awake and driving until she got home. Driving along the highway, she looked like a lovely young woman, completely composed, on her way to some early morning errand.

But she was far from composed.

In the past three months, her life had changed so much that even she couldn't believe it. It seemed unreal to her… as if it were happening to someone else. Three months ago she didn't know Fred Hartman… or Tom Nelson. Three months ago Rita Nelson was her old friend who was newly married to Tom and drinking too much. Three months ago she, herself, seldom drank. Now… the first thing she would do upon getting home was to have a few stiff ones.

It would be a few drinks just to loosen up. And later… it would be quite a few drinks in order to get to sleep.

Nancy drove fast, smoking quickly and lighting another cigarette after stubbing the first one out. Vaguely, uneasily, she thought of committing suicide. She didn't like to think too much about it or openly admit it to herself, for she was afraid she might do it. She was afraid that she was going to take her own life. She even had a secret supply of sleeping pills stocked up. She had them in a little plastic bottle and, after she had drunk enough, she would find them, take them out, look at them and rattle them in the bottle.