Everything was black, but she was still conscious. And she was still standing, although unsteadily. Then she realized what was going on.
Her head had fallen over backwards. With probably all the major muscles on the front side of her neck severed, there was nothing to keep her head upright.
Alison used her free hand—the one not holding her intestines—to pull her head forward, and her vision returned. At least temporarily. As she struggled forward, her sight would fade in and out. She fell many times, but somehow managed to get up again.
At last, after what felt like an eternity, she saw the road. Somehow, she had managed to get there. She was exhilarated.
Lying down next to Marine Drive would do no good. The first driver to come along needed to see her. She was close to a curve and had to lurch further to a safer spot. And then, finally, she could lie down and let her drained body rest. Lying across the center of the road, it would be impossible for anyone not to see her.
Now she had to wait. And pray that someone would come along this silent stretch of tar.
Eventually, someone did. The car stopped, its lights washing over her. But no door opened. Alison stuck up her hand and waved. Nothing. For a moment she thought that it was Frans and Theuns who had returned to kill her. But then the car moved around her and drove off.
"Elation" turned to "panic," flowed into "sadness," and settled into "loneliness."
While she was still speculating that it might have been a woman who was frightened to get out, sound erupted around her. There were cars stopping, doors opening, people talking and shouting. A woman screamed.
And then a man knelt down beside her, gently taking her hand. He was young, but spoke calmly. When she tried to respond, there was no sound. He told her to relax.
Although Alison didn't know this at the time, an hour and a half had passed since Frans had entered her car. It was 2:45 a.m.
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