Lonely Roads, chapter 7

John made it to his car and surprised himself by not looking at the woman's body. What he did do, though, was open his car door, get inside, and start it.

John had to look at her body, though, and scooted over into the passenger seat and looked down at her lifeless form, lying there on the grass by the side of the road . . . With her eyes still open. Damn it! John winced, as if in pain. You never closed her eyes! You did run her over, but you didn't close her damn eyes! And if nobody else comes for a while, bugs do tend to eat the wettest part of the human body first . . .

John opened the passenger door and stepped back outside, into what seemed like an endless night. "I'm gonna feel like an idiot in the morning," He said aloud. Or a killer. Which I am.

John stepped to her body and kneeled beside it. He put his hand over the woman's pale face, then quickly retreated it back to his side. You wuss! He screamed at himself, then looked back. John held his breath, put his hand over her eyes, quickly closed them, and let his breath out.

Then, a different thought had occured to John: I need to bury her. God-damn it, but I need to bury her.