It was raining, the night was miserable. It was better this way. The foul weather meant that less people would be around, everyone eager to be home, cosying up with their families.
She felt no urge to be at home, her determination had set within her, dulling all external considerations. The night lamented, but she did not share its lachrymosity, she was but a vessel, her purpose greater than her.
She dragged the body out of the rear of her car and hauled it over the bridge. As it descended into the black river, she suddenly longed for her bed.