Marina thought back to that fateful night three years ago. A night that had simultaneously almost ruined her, yet saved her life as well. The night she met Francesca.

THREE YEARS AGO . . .

Marina screamed in horror, hitting the brakes too late. She brought the car to a belated halt, leaving tire tracks on the road behind her.

Throwing open the door and literally falling out to her knees, she stared down at the broken, lifeless body lying prone in the street, with her tire tracks marring its clothing.

Marina wailed, still on her knees, hearing the clink as the empty vodka bottle rolled out of the seat behind her, falling to the blacktop of the deserted country road. The crack pipe was still visible in the seat where shed left it.

Frantically, suddenly sobering up, Marina searched the still body for a pulse. Not finding one, she began to panic. My God, Ive killed a man, she thought in horror. This man could have a wife and children somewhere that cared about him, and shed run him over as if he were litter in her drug and alcohol-induced haze.

Through her tears, Marina noticed a figure step out of the shadows. There stood a tall, blond, imposing stranger: the woman shed later come to know as Francesca.

I saw what happened, the woman said softly, staring down at Marina with a face that showed no emotion.

What am I going to do? Do you have a cell phone? I need to call the police, Marina sobbed.

The woman looked at her silently. Do you really think thats a good idea? she asked after a moment.

What do you mean? Marina questioned, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

Youre drunk as *****. I see drugs in your car. You call the police, you go to jail.

Marina stared at her. What was this strange woman going to suggest?

The woman knelt down beside her, holding Marinas eyes with an intense gaze. He obviously looks like a homeless man or something. No one knows about this but the two of us. I propose we bury his body out here. Its the middle of nowhere; no one will ever find him. Then you wont be arrested.