Cheryl was your mother. She had killed twenty men and the one who was to be her twenty-first victim had escaped, not that you knew any of that, so, she went to your aunt's where you'd been staying, and got you in the car, where you were now driving to god knows where. As far as you knew, this was just some spontaneous road trip.

"You have a wonderful singing voice," Cheryl complimented, patting your head. You'd just sung along to Under Pressure on the radio. While your mother was stressed about the police finding her, you were none the wiser.