Loss, a paranormal thriller by Glen Krisch Page B

what she had done, what she had allowed to enter her body...
    "Paul," she sighed, her temples throbbing with a budding migraine.  "What's happening to me?"
    A car rushed by, its side view mirror dangerously close to clipping her own.
    "Am I going crazy?  Are you haunting me?"
    The car was silent.  No answers were forthcoming.
     
     
    Angie pulled herself together.  She would never make it in to work, let alone through an entire eight hour day, in her current state.  She wondered if she ever would.
    When she'd pulled the Accord around, heading for home, and the broken teeth in the wounded mouth that represented the ending of her former life drifted from sight within the rearview mirror, the tightness in her chest began to ease.  As it did, she felt an almost unbearable fatigue settle over her muscles.  It felt like she had been holding her breath ever since Nathan and Macy brought her home from the hospital, and that she was finally able to exhale.  She had been holding her breath, waiting for the world to decide what to do with her.
    She approached Chase's Pitstop.  She felt like pulling over and storming inside to chastise Chase for leaving that goddamn sign on every hour of the day.  Didn't he know how ignorant that made him look?
    She was nearly pastthe gas station when she slammed on the brakes and pulled into the parking lot.  She parked near the door, grabbed her purse, and stormed inside.
    Her mouth watered, sour and sweet at the same time, the craving of wine pushing aside all other thoughts.  The watering of her mouth was followed by the haunting metallic tang of Vicodin in her nostrils.  So the world had decided what to do with Angie Chandler, and what it wanted of her was oblivion.
     
     
    "That asshole!"  Angie slammed her palm against the steering wheel, a short sharp pain in her wrist reminding her that it was still in the process of healing.  She'd left Chase's with a case of wine and a spur-of-the-moment pint of Jack Daniel's.  "Who gives a condescending look like that?  Like I'm a crazed lunatic or something." 
    Her voice felt hoarse, but her anger had begun to ebb.  She wasn't mad at Chase.  Not really.  So, he'd given her a dirty look because of her purchase.  For all she knew, he figured she'd been drunk at the time of the car accident.  A dozen rumors were probably making the rounds around Grand View about what really happened that night.  Even the facts would seem like rumor to Angie, since she didn't fully remember what had happened, either.
    Sure, she shouldn't be mad at Chase, but rather, at herself.
    Angie twisted off the pint's cap and downed half of it before the burning could register.  She coughed and sputtered, tears formed and fell from her eyes, she leaned back and stared at the car's gray ceiling.  Only after she had things under control, when she knew she wouldn't vomit up the whiskey, did she consider making sure no one was observing her illicit behavior.  Luckily, Angie had the parking lot at Chase's all to herself.  She hoped the streets would be similarly empty during the remaining drive home.
    A buzz was already building as she pulled back out onto the street.  Without the addition of Vicodin to still her churning thoughts, her mind drifted back to the night of the accident and the memories of traveling this very road and the moment that instantly transformed her from being a devoted wife to forever a widow...
    One oxford shoe tipped on its side on the Pilot's hood...
    Snowflakes falling through the shattered windshield, melting on contact with Paul's fleeting body heat lingering in the upholstery of the passenger seat...
    The man in black standing in the clearing, his feet buried in snow, his shadow falling over her as her body succumbed to shock and the freezing cold...
    "No!  Jesus, stop it, Ang.  Just stop!"
    The Accord slowed as she pulled into the driveway.  The sight of the house was both welcoming and an emotional torture.
    "Living isn't the same