The skies are dark, and even with the assistance of lights, planes still have a hard time landing. No doubt the runway is getting slicker, either. Even though planes are sprayed with de-icing, fewer and fewer land and take off. My flight is still on time, sitting in the terminal getting cleaned and refueled. Everyone around me is getting more anxious, shaking their legs or frequently checking the time on their phone. To no surprise, the ticket checking lady makes the dreaded announcement - the flight’s been canceled. I sigh and start looking for a hotel to book. I’ll schedule a new flight in the morning. Luckily, there’s a Hilton that miraculously has rooms left for being the holidays.

I head down to security, pass through to baggage claim, and wait outside for an Uber. The next one that pulls up is sleek and black, definitely a newer car.

 The driver comes out and greets me, “Hi!” She seems sweet. Kind of cute too, honestly, with her little bob and bangs. Her smile, though, seems a little forced. I pay no mind to it and load my bag into the trunk with her help. The warm car is a nice change from the freezing blizzard outside, I start to feel a sweat coming on so I take off my scarf and coat.

“So, uh, where are we headed?” she asked.

“The Hilton on Andreson Ave.”

“Must be lucky to find an open room, I’m gonna guess the weather’s canceled most of the flights.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed.

The snow begins to build up, and so does the traffic. It’s a beautiful sight, but I can tell we’ll be here for a while. This could turn out to be a pricey Uber ride - not just more money, but more unnecessary socializing. I’ll just ignore her the most I can…

“Crazy weather,” she remarked. No shit Sherlock.

“Yeah,” I hid my annoyance.

She paused for a moment thinking about what to say, “Sooo, where are you from?”

Of course, more small talk, “Washington. I’m on my way back.”

“Oh, my parents moved there a few years ago, beautiful place,” she commented. I didn’t respond, and the silence seemed to make her anxious - she started to pick at the steering wheel with her thumb, almost not seeing the car in front of us move. I gazed out the window into the pure whiteness, trying to make it clear I didn’t want to talk. 

“You ever… find yourself in a sticky situation?” she asked. Now, this is odd, usually you don’t ask strangers something like that. She seemed to get antsier as she picked harder at the wheel.

“Uh, how do you mean?” I asked. This could be interesting…

“Like… just… you know, a complicated situation.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.” The bouncing of her leg began and then intensified quickly, she was near frantic, and she started to check her mirrors anxiously, darting her eyes left, right, side to side - even though we’re barely moving.

“I…” she stubbled, but stopped. “I, uh, may have, uhm, accidentally killed someone?” How do you accidentally kill someone? Is she just overreacting or trying to get attention? I entertain the idea, maybe she… did do something?

“Uhm…” I didn’t know what to say, my mind was racing to conclusions; she’s just playing, no, she’s, uh, lying? Uhm maybe a white lie, like yeah she killed someone but it was in a video game or something.

“It was an accident, okay? I didn’t mean to-” tears started cascading out of her eyes. I couldn’t help but feel the need to comfort her, even if she’s not telling the truth.

“It’s going to be alright,” I consoled, “what even happened, anyway?”

“Well,” she sniffled, “I got angry at my now-ex boyfriend.”

“Why?”

“He broke up with me, what do you think?” she snapped. “I got angry at him, and pushed him...” she trailed off for a moment and sniffled, “the stairs were behind him.” That couldn’t have killed someone, I think. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Listen, you can’t hide from it, you can’t run from it,” I told her, “someone... Someone is going to notice sooner or later, and you’ll be who they suspect.” She sighed and stopped crying. A moment passed and we crept a little farther forward in this nightmarish traffic. 

Suddenly, she got a strange look in her eyes. A determined, sharp stare. She looked up at me, “Not if no one finds out.” Oh, great, did she just threaten me? 

“That’ll make matters worse, trust me,” I reasoned.

“How would you know?” she started to get a bit defensive. I glanced out the window, there’s no escape to this. Risk being murdered by an Uber driver, or risk catching hypothermia or something worse. 

I sighed, “It’s just more that’ll point the blame at you; first the ex-boyfriend, and then the customer that you opened up to, whose next? A family friend?”

“No, oh no, the family friend came before the customer,” she glared. She started to consider what I said, though, and some common sense seemed to come over her, “maybe you’re right.” She turned back and looked at the road, staring ominously into the traffic. We’re not getting out of here anytime soon. Stuck in a blizzard with a killer - sounds like some horror story. We started driving over a bridge, and looking over the waves of the water helps calm some of my personal tension. The car started to turn into the emergency lane.

“What are you doing?!” I frantically questioned, “Isn’t this illegal?” She didn’t respond, she just… smiled. We started speeding up, and up, directly towards a concrete overpass…

And there she lay, the car crumpled and crinkled, with lights flashing everywhere. The sounds of sirens become clearer, I can feel something running down my face. Firetrucks, ambulances, police cars… I shake the driver’s shoulder, “are you okay?” it feels cold, like ice. I shouldn’t have pressured her, I shouldn’t have dug deeper. This is all my fault…