It wasn’t a hit and run. I reversed too.

I’m wearing the wrong suit. This one has a hole in the back. I forgot my phone charger at home, but it’s too late now. I shouldn’t have packed so much — I won’t have time to check my bag. I never should have booked such an early flight in the first place. And I REALLY shouldn’t have hit that pedestrian.

It all happened so fast. Accelerating through the blind corner in the pre-dawn twilight, I congratulated myself on beating the light. I didn’t see him until I was a few feet away. I still didn’t know what happened until I heard the crack and lurched from impact. He disappeared under the hood of my car and I slammed on the breaks, but it was too little and way too late. The car skidded to a stop about a dozen feet past where he went down.

The flight didn’t exist anymore. My job didn’t exist. Only my breathing did — great heaving gasps that I had to consciously force to keep myself from passing out. I could see his crumpled body in my rear view mirror, but I was too scared to even get out of the car. I must have sat there for at least a minute, just staring at the smeared trail of blood. The unnatural angle of his right knee — the shoulder that flopped uselessly out of its socket — and finally the twitch of movement as he began to crawl.

I wish I could tell you I was too numb to know what I was doing, but I was thinking very clearly when I threw my car into reverse. It wasn’t about missing the flight anymore. It wasn’t just the insurance, or the medical bills, or the court cases that would come of this. My whole life was balanced on the edge of a knife, and a mistake like this was all it would take to ruin me.

I wish I didn’t catch his eyes in the rear view mirror when I hit him again. It wasn’t surprise, or pleading, or even fear I saw there — just raw accusation. He knew he wasn’t going to walk away from this. He knew exactly what I was thinking — exactly how selfish and cowardly I was. In that moment, I think he knew me more truly than my parents or my closest friends. The rest of my entire life didn’t matter, because the person who hit him a second time was who I really was.

And the third time. And a fourth. And the fifth. Back and forth over the body. It was almost light now, but it was still early enough for the street to be deserted. I pulled into an automated car wash at the end of the street. I ordered deluxe. That’s where the numbness came — I didn’t think a single thought as I sat in my car and watched the water jets and soap bubbles. Then I drove off, swearing to myself that nothing ever happened.

I still made my flight (miraculously). I had to run through the whole airport. My heart was beating so fast when the security looked at me, although of course it was absurd to think they knew what happened. The whole regimented travel routine coaxed me back into the illusion of normalcy though, and by the time I reached my boarding gate I’d half convinced myself that it never happened at all. I was just stressed and worrying about nothing. It was just a bad dream, but now I’ve woken up and it was time to go on with the rest of my life.

It still felt like I was dreaming though. I didn’t walk, I drifted. Finding my window seat, I stared at the runway and marveled how surreal it looked. Airplanes defy all natural instincts for what is possible. All our technology does.

“Mind switching seats? You can have a window,” I heard from the aisle. I was lost in thought though, oblivious to the outside world.

“Thanks a bunch. I just wanted to sit with my friend.”

The shuffling of bodies, all moving in an ordered fashion. No-one batted an eye at the absurdity of the whole show. Any kid can get behind the wheel of a five thousand pound unstoppable killing machine. If someone saw that hurtling toward them a few hundred years ago, they would have thought it was a demon straight from hell.

The sound of folding paper. “You keep up with the news?” the man next to me asked. I shrugged and kept staring out the window. Intrusive images of that unnaturally angled knee kept bursting into my mind, but I forced it out again. What if there was still blood on my car? I didn’t have time to check that thoroughly.

“These politicians,” my neighbor continued. “Absolute disgrace. Even the good ones — they don’t care about who they’re hurting. They’re just afraid of being caught.”

That made me look. Twice. And a third time. The man I’d hit this morning wasn’t looking at me though. He was just calmly reading the paper. Now I know what you’re thinking already — that it was my guilt making me see his face on this unrelated stranger. It wasn’t just a passing similarity though. No wounds, no blood, no dislocated arm, but it was him alright. And when he looked up at me and smiled, it was the eyes I’d seen in my rear view mirror.

The plane lurched and I gave a little gasp. We were moving. Taking off. I unbuckled my seatbelt and started to stand, but the stewardess was quick to scold me back down. I couldn’t think of an adequate reason for why I had to get out of there, so I just sat back down instead. That was stupid of me. I should have made up a medical condition or something, but I guess I was still in shock. It wasn’t long before we were in the air and it was too late anyway.

“That’s the worst thing about it for me,” the person I killed this morning said. “Lack of conscious. If you’re going to do someone in, at least show some respect. Say a prayer or something. But just doing it cold like that —” he gestured at his paper, but I didn’t look. “It really boils the blood, know?”

“Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” I started to stand again, but he grabbed my arm and dragged me back down to my seat.

“Seat belt sign is on. You’re a grown man. Show some self-control.”

I nodded, numbly buckling myself back in.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Go on. Say it.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I could muster up.

“No you’re not. You’re just like the people in the news. You’re only sorry you got caught. How long do you suppose this flight is?”

“Um, about 3 hours.”

“That’s plenty. You’ve got three hours to finish me off.” He was looking me dead in the eye.

“Or…?”

“Or it’ll be my turn. And one man to another, you have my word,” he leaned in real close here, “I’ll get it right the first time and won’t need to back up.”

“What the hell are you?”

He just grinned. The seatbelt sign went off, and he stood up to stretch. As he did so, something fell out of his sleeve and onto his vacated seat. I reached out and picked it up — a sharpened plastic shiv. He winked.

“I’ve got to use the bathroom. You take care now.”

It took to the time he reached the end of the aisle to process everything. He wanted me to try and kill him again. Why? It didn’t matter. Was he bluffing? I don’t have much experience with immortal zombies, but my guess is they can do pretty much anything they set their mind to. It was one thing on a dark road without any witnesses, but on a secure and crowded flight without any escape?

But he’d given me the shiv, and he was alone in the bathroom right now. That couldn’t be a coincidence. This was my one shot, and I was going to take it. Concealing the weapon, I moved to the bathroom at the end of the aisle. All those eyes on me — they’re just passively tracking movement. They don’t know. No-one suspects anything. Then to the bathroom door — it was unlocked. I took a deep breath and opened it.

He was sitting on the toilet, his pants around his ankles, grinning up at me. When I was in the car it took me a long time to work up the nerve to back up. This time I didn’t even hesitate. I lunged at him, driving the plastic straight into his heart.

He barely flinched. I let go of the shiv, horrified to see it buried in his chest, even more horrified to see myself doing it. He calmly wiped his ass and pulled up his pants while I watched. Then he pushed past me, moving to exit the bathroom. I couldn’t let him get away. I grabbed the shiv and stabbed him again, but he wrapped his arms around me and locked me against his body.

“Good luck turning your back on this one,” he grunted as I struggled against the implacable grip. Together we tumbled out into the aisle — and this time all those eyes really were on me.

“Help!” the man screamed, appearing to notice his injury for the first time. “This man’s trying to kill me!”

My hand on the shiv, the wound in his chest — there’s no playing innocent there. I dropped my weapon and put my hands in the air. The man writhed on the ground, screaming and carrying on even though I knew he was fine.

“You’re a liar!” I shouted as someone grabbed me from behind. “It’s just an act! Can’t you see he’s faking?”

I swear I saw the man wink as they wrestled me to the ground, but I didn’t fight back. But how the hell am I supposed to explain that in court?

Attempted murder. That’s what I’m on trial for. As part of my guilty plea, my attorney advised me to tell a full account of what happened. That’s what I’m doing, because I know it’s still less than I deserve.