The slight, teeming puttering of the engine as the car was grinding to a halt suggested to Adrianne that her car was out of gas. Gas gauge broke a few days back, but she'd been keeping track. She thought. She didn't have the money to fix the gauge anyway, not right now. With only the light from the headlights of her ancient box on wheels, rusty and worn from decades of overuse and abuse from both driver and terrain, she could only look ahead lest she look into the cold void just decimetres from her left side. It was all just beyond the half-stuck car door. Her jacket was thin, the stuffing compressed by the wheel of time continuously rolling over it, and with her busted car and the temperature outside she was unlikely to survive a night stuck in the woods like this. At least she had managed to stop on the side of the road.
The minutes ticked as thoughts rushed through Adrianne's head. If she would go outside, look for help, what is the worst that could happen? A crazy axe murderer or chainsaw-swinging maniac could come after her, but the odds were low. Considering the humidity and wetland-biome she was driving through, the worst thing that she could run into was a frog. Or several of them.
Frogs are unnerving, she thought to herself. She was perhaps affirming a certain righteousness that might have made her feel more in control. Slimy, green, with bulging eyes of sickly yellow. And what's more, they croak like a robot with vomit halfway up its throat and have a tongue of disgusting shape that catches all the innocent prey around with pinpoint accuracy. For it not to be unnerving to you, you would have to be a psycho, she thought.
The first frog Adrianne had ever seen was dead. She had stepped on it by accident, and by the time the wet crunch had alerted her of its location, its guts were strewn across the mud and the sole of her shoe. She had worn a yellow raincoat, the type all the children at kindergarten wore, and she had been maybe four or five years old. The frog had been as small as a fingertip, so the gruesome details of innards and gore were obfuscated by the limits of human eyesight. But for her aching four-year-old heart, even the mere thought of death was enough to bring forth a mournful wail. Not to worry, however, as Ed took her hand moments after and told her they would dance that night to forget their sorrows. So that she could forget the frog. But, in seeking oblivion, she was only brought closer to the traumatic experience. The dance of oblivion, the dance of forgetting, only reminded her further of the very thing she was trying to forget. But Adrianne, back then, found some comfort in the fact that Ed seemed very pleased with their dance.
She hoped no police officer would come in the night, patrolling this nigh-abandoned road. Then she would have to answer why she was out in the woods, who she was. Show ID. The one thing she didn't want. She would have to tell them her age, and she would be sent straight back. The fear, like frogs crawling across a lick-wet lawn on a rainy afternoon, set in and made her arms and legs shiver and quake. She reached for the nasty, rugged quilt of red, green and yellow that lay beside her on the passenger seat and wrapped herself in it. Turned her head aside. Maybe she wouldn't freeze to death with it on. When she snuggled up, she felt the stench of sweat and beer, as well as a faint smell of iron from the dark spots strewn across it. If she wasn't forced to, she wouldn't have wrapped herself up in it.
Adrianne suddenly realised how exhausted she was. The wear and tear that stress and hours of driving put on her, the emotional exhaustion and the active repression of her memories of frogs was catching up to her. Despite the cold, the fear and the stress, the familiarity of the stenches and her growing exhaustion, she felt her eyelids get heavier. Little by little they sank. No matter how much she struggled.
There was a banging on her car door window that made her jolt awake. The heavy fist of a large man. She looked to her side, fear in her doe-like eyes, as a police officer in a thick jacket and aviators stood just outside. Despite the barrier between them, the image of him standing above her made her knees soften and a stone of lead sink in her stomach. Punishment was due.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" the officer said, his words muffled by the car door window. Adrianne only nodded in response.
"Sorry if I frightened you, ma'am, but it's not safe to sleep in a vehicle like this when it's this cold outside. Has it broken down?" he continued, removing his aviators to show a pair of brown, inquisitive eyes. Adrianne shook her head.
"Is it just out of gas, then? I can get you a ride into town so you can get yourself a place to sleep. I'll call the towing service to get your car there too, if'n you're interested."
Adrianne shook her head. The police officer stomped his feet, hugged himself and patted his arms, letting out some smoke with a light breath.
"Anyhow, it's not safe here, ma'am. I don't like the thought of abandoning a young lady out here. Please come with me." he said, and Adrianne couldn't tell if he was agitated or stressed. She looked into the rearview mirror and saw the police car a rough ten metres behind her. Panic was rising within her chest like pressure in a tank with a broken valve. She could not have the car towed, nor inspected. The panic and guilt must've been visible on her face when she looked back, because the officer suddenly became suspicious.
"Ma'am, are you in trouble?"
Adrianne froze, then opened the door. She had a plan.
"No. Just tired and scared, sir. You startled me, you see." she forced out timidly.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to, ma'am. Just concerned for your safety is all."
"Of course. I'll gladly take the ride, and if you could call the towing service…" she said, awkwardly squirming and looking at her feet.
"No problem. Now, let's get you a warm bed."
Adrianne shut her car door, locked the car and made her way to the car behind the officer. He was shivering and hugged himself again, patting his arms. That's when she sprung into action, grabbing his hands to pin them to his upper arms before kicking the back of his knee with her heel. He fell immediately on the slick road, losing his footing and landing on his ass. Before he could do anything else, she launched a knee at the back of his head. Again and again until he stopped resisting. She then took the holstered gun and put it against his forehead, and after a moment's hesitation she pulled the trigger. With a loud bang, gore was strewn on the rugged road beneath the blown-through head of the officer, and in that flash of light she could see clearly the distraught look of fear and panic in his eyes.
Adrianne heaved the officer's body into her open trunk, squeezed it in there with her little secret. With a longing look, a smile, she closed the trunk with a powerful slam and used the officer's car keys to get into his trunk for some spare gas. He did have a tank. Now she wouldn't be caught, and she could drive her car warm until she arrived at the next town.
The first frog Adrianne had ever seen was dead. She had stepped on it by accident, and by the time the wet crunch had alerted her of its location, its guts were strewn across the mud and the sole of her shoe. She had worn an old jacket, and she had been seventeen years old. The frog had been large and bulbous, so the gruesome details of innards and gore were all there for her to see. But for her hidden seventeen-year-old heart, not even that would bring her to tears or even disgust. Not to worry, however, as she took Ed's hand moments after and told him they would dance that night to forget their sorrows. So that she could forget the frog. But, in seeking oblivion, she was only brought closer to the traumatic experience. The dance of oblivion, the dance of forgetting, only reminded her further of the very thing she was trying to forget. But Adrianne, back then, found some comfort in the fact that Ed seemed very pleased with their dance.