The traffic was moderate where in a couple of hours it would be bumper-to-bumper with homeward bound commuters. He turned east on the San Bernardino Freeway. Ironically, the sun chose that moment to break through the overcast and shine down benevolently to mock his mood. Once they had made it past San Bernardino Kyle floored the accelerator and the Jeep flew over the long straight stretches of Interstate 15 through the California desert, barely slowing down as he bypassed Victorville and Barstow. He had no fear of being stopped by the California Highway Patrol. A speeding ticket would be a minor irritation compared to his larger troubles. He kept the windows all the way down and his eyes straight ahead. He tuned the radio to whatever heavy rock station was receivable and cranked the volume to the max to blast unwelcome images out of his head. At Baker he pulled into a Chevron station for gas and to use the rest room. He bought a billed cap with a Marlboro logo to cover the ugly hole in the back of Marianne’s head.
