Brian was freaking out, looking for a place to bury the body. The night's darkness, the wind, and that heavy, gloomy feel made the Los Angeles woods scary as hell. Having managed to quiet Love, Brian closed the car door very slowly. His daughter had barely fallen asleep; she'd screamed her head off for almost two hours. In that panic, Brian had shoved the man's body into the trunk, gotten in the car, and driven a bit away from the scene until Love calmed down. Once Love fell asleep, he didn't go back to the same spot, but moved somewhere else. He had no shovel or any tool that could help him bury the body. The only thing he had was the pair of pliers he always tossed into the car in the morning on his way to work at the construction site.
"Fuck," he said to himself. "What am I gonna do? What the fuck am I gonna do, man?" He stood there by the trunk in a panic, hands on his head, thinking. Then Brian slowly let himself sink down toward the ground. He dropped to his knees, put his hands on the closed trunk, and rested his head against it. "What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do, fuck, what the hell am I gonna do!?" he said quiet but intense talking to himself out loud, rocking his head back and forth against the trunk.
Then he thought he heard a footstep. He stood up right away; he didn't wanna attract attention in case someone was coming. And hell, someone being in the woods at this hour would draw attention anyway. He grabbed the pliers from the car. Opening and closing them in his hand, he tried to scare off whoever might be watching him or about to attack him. Then there was a rustle in the bushes. Brian walked toward the bushes with slow, careful steps, gripping the pliers tight. But just as he reached them, he heard a gunshot.
"IT'S RUNNING! IT'S RUNNING! IT'S RUNNING!" the shooters yelled. At least three or four people were running in Brian's direction. Brian jumped into the car. Another gunshot rang out; the gun went off again right when Brian opened the door to get in the car, and that blast woke Love. It was a rifle shot. Loud as hell. Brian started the car, and just as he was about to go, another shot was fired. Love started crying again, and Brian was even more panicked. When he turned his head and looked, he saw the men firing the gun had nothing to do with him—they were out hunting, chasing a deer that was running away. He felt a bit of relief, but he still had to get the hell out of the woods fast. Once he got out of the woods and into the city center, he felt kinda relieved. He pulled over and went into a 24/7 market. Inside, it was warm. Brian's whole body was shaking from panic and from the shock someone who had just committed a fresh murder would feel.
"Are you okay, sir?" said an employee. He looked about thirty-five, forty; he wore a red work T-shirt with the company logo on it and plain black pants. He had glasses, and the middle of his head was bald, with a bit of hair left on the sides. After Brian looked him over, he said, "I'm fine, I'm fine, thanks," but his voice still sounded panicked. "Are you sure, sir?" the man probed again. "I said I'm fine!" Brian snapped back in a low but hard tone. "Okay, sir," the man said and went back to mopping the floor. Brian wandered the market aisles, muttering to himself, "What the hell did I come here to buy?" Every time he talked to himself, the mopping guy looked at Brian, but since he was behind him, Brian couldn't see. "Ughhh," Brian grumbled. "Right, I need water." He grabbed water and headed for the register under the man's prying stare. The cashier at the register wasn't much different from the other guy—clearly someone who hated his job, obviously thinking, Who's gonna work all night now, ugh. Brian paid for the water and got right back in the car. Love was awake, focused on the colorful lights from the market sign. Once the car moved, she stopped crying, but she wasn't sleeping. She looked scared too. Brian drank some water first himself, then poured water into Love's empty baby bottle and held it out to his daughter. She didn't want to take it—she didn't wanna let go of the small toy figure she was holding. "Alright, little lady. Lemme help you with that water," Brian said, bringing the bottle to her mouth. He had about thirty minutes of driving left to get home—twenty, twenty-five if he sped up. Then it hit him all at once. "Ah, fuck! Where am I gonna bury the body, how am I gonna get rid of it?" His brain filled with grim thoughts. But at this hour, he had no choice but to go home. He felt terrified, tense as hell. It felt like getting caught could happen any second. He headed straight for home.
When he arrived, it was 2:46 a.m. There was no one on the street, not even a sound. First he took his daughter in and laid her in bed. Then he went back outside and cruised the neighborhood a little; his daughter was awake at home, but Brian had given her his phone with a baby video playing. It would take at least a while before Love felt his absence. He walked past those single-family houses in the neighborhood; he couldn't see anyone. Some houses had their lights off but the TV on. But it wouldn't make sense for a guy to look up and stare out toward Brian's place anyway. Brian went straight to the car. He looked around carefully again and carried the body from the trunk right into the house. He locked the door and then looked outside through the window again. Still no one. He pushed the coffee table sitting in the middle of the rug way to the side and set the body right on the living room rug. Then he ran upstairs to check on his daughter in her crib. Luckily, Love had already fallen asleep; the video on the phone was still playing and she'd passed out. Brian gently pulled a blanket over her, grabbed the phone and turned the video off, and said, "Good night, sweetheart," then went downstairs to take care of the body