"Goodbye everybody, I've got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.

Mama, ooh I don't wanna die.
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all." Queen

The word ‘mistake’ was defined as an act or judgement that is misguided or wrong.

As Anna listened to her benefactor drone on about how sending the letter had been a ‘mistake’, she had to fight the urge to argue.

She did not make mistakes. Ever.

Every move she made was thought out, calculated and planned. She had sent the letter for a very specific reason. It was not ‘misguided’ or ‘wrong’. It was a smart decision she made after careful thought.

He, however, disagreed and harped on about the fact that two detectives were looking for her. He had wondered how they had found out about her so quickly. When she revealed the fact that she had sent a letter to Michael Ray Stevens, her benefactor had gone through the roof, swearing and cursing.

She did not appreciate his use of profanities.

Instead of rising to his level of anger, she answered him calmly and rationally. One of them had to remain sane, she had known from the start it would have to be her.

“What the hell were you thinking? They're going to find us now!" She could hear the scowl in his voice through the phone.

“No they won’t. How would they?”

“How could you be so stupid?" At these words, from him of all people, she felt her calmness slowly slipping into anger. She had never been called stupid before. She was the furthest thing from it.

“Sending the letter was not stupid. In fact, it was a carefully concocted plan. I wouldn’t expect you to grasp how important those words were.”

“Anna, you are becoming reckless.”

And you are becoming a liability.

“Think what you will. We both know the truth.” She answered, instead of goading him further.

The line went silent as he contemplated how to respond to her. “The truth is, this was a bad idea. I should never have agreed to it.”

“It’s too late now. You’re in this as much as I am. I wouldn’t let it worry you though. This is a good thing. Can’t you see that we’re going to change the world?”

She hated sharing the glory but unfortunately right now she needed to appease him. Once this was over, she would toss him to the side like a sack of potatoes and claim all the credit for herself.

“I hope you’re right. Just because we share blood, doesn’t mean we are family. I won’t hesitate to throw you under the bus if shit goes south. My loyalty only stretches so far.”

The threat hung in the air between them and for a moment Anna felt something close to nervousness. She shook it off quickly and managed to keep her voice level as she responded.

“You’re in this just as much as I am,” she repeated. “We go down together. I’ve made sure of that.”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he hung up the phone, although she didn’t miss the muttered “crazy bitch” as he did so.

But she was not ‘crazy’. She was more sane than anyone she knew. Her ability to think logically and not let her emotions get in the way was something she prided herself on.

He was determined to panic. And that kind of behaviour could ruin everything. Either he needed to calm down and accept that Phobia was going to make them both legends, or she would have to silence him for good.

She hoped for the former, if only to escape her new found father’s wrath.

Ryder needed to piss so bad it was starting to leak out of his eyes.

At least, that's what he told himself, so that he could pretend that he wasn't crying. Deep down, he felt a terror so intense it was like hot molten lava was burning through his stomach lining as he stared at the girl sitting in front of him.

The girl he had killed.

"No. No. No. No." He repeated the word over and over, continuously blinking his eyes as if his denial could chase away the apparition from his past.

"Look out!" She screeched, but it was too late. he didn't have time to swerve to avoid the young girl crossing the street.

He felt the impact all the way down to the tips of his toes. His head slammed forward so fast that he clamped his teeth together, biting his tongue. The metallic taste of blood coated his mouth as his seat belt tightened, throwing him back in his chair.

He heard the crunch of metal and the shattering of glass. The unmistakable sound of a body slamming into his car and being thrown over the top of it.

But it was nothing compared to the crimson that covered his windscreen. The glass was completely splintered, spider web cracks reaching to every corner.

"Fuck!"

Savannah was still screaming. A relentless wail that invaded his every thought as he attempted to get his seat belt off and jump out of the car.

He ran towards the back where a broken body lay on the road. There was no mistaking it. She was dead, her head split open, spilling crimson blood and grey matter onto the black tar.

He raced back to the car like the coward he was, starting the ignition and driving away. He ignored Savannah's pleas to turn around. To help the girl.

He and Savannah had never spoken about that night again, but he would never forget the face of the dead girl. It haunted his dreams every night. The article that came out in the Redstone Register put a name to the face, making it all the more real.

He shook his head as if he could erase the memory from it. As if it was that easy to forget the worst thing you had ever done.

For months, he had tortured himself, staring at her picture for hours on end. Re-reading the article repeatedly to remind himself what he had stolen from her.

And here she was. Her tiny body sitting on the chair across from him, her long sandy hair bedraggled and greasy. Her blue eyes wide and scared, her skin as white as marble.

Poppy Cartwright.

"Please, please stop,” she whimpered. He had never heard her voice before, but it was truly chilling. Ice began to creep it's way through his body. "You're going to kill me.”

At her words, he finally felt his bladder give out, soaking the front of his jeans. The unpleasant stench of urine invaded his nostrils, reminding him that this was really happening.

"I didn't mean to." He had no excuse for the tears falling down his face now.

"Please stop!"

But he couldn't, he had been driving too fast, too recklessly.

"PLEASE!"

He couldn't take it anymore, collapsing to his knees in front of her as though he was ready to beg for forgiveness.  She gave him one last look, her eyes filled with fear, before falling forward, her body slumping to the floor like a sack of flour. Her head hit the concrete with a loud crack.

He crawled to her and turned her over, holding her in his arms. But the look on her face had morphed from terror to pure hatred.

"You killed me Ryder."

"I didn't mean to."

"You left my body to rot like roadkill."

"I’m sorry!"

"MURDERER!"

"NO! NO I’m sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Murderer! Murd-," but Ryder needed her to stop. Each word felt like a machete slicing through him. He lifted her head and brought it down on the concrete, slamming as hard as he could.

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” She had to be silenced, he couldn’t stand what she was calling him. It had been an accident, one he regretted to this day. One he would regret forever.

When she continued to scream at him, he did it again and again, until the girls shouts were replaced with the cracking of bone and her skull shattered against the cold concrete.

Along with any chance of Ryder's redemption.

Ryder realised what he had done too late. Blood and brain covered the floor and his black t-shirt. His hands were coated in crimson as he picked the girl up and cradled her limp body, rocking back and forth, apologising over and over again.

But, apologies mean nothing to someone who's already dead.