Urgency of the professional woman

 Lucy drove her car to the family batch house. I read nervousness in her hands gripping the wheel. Driving slightly out of control. I read fury in her gestures. Taking the corners much too quickly and almost hitting the lamposts closest to the sidewalk gutter.
She looked angry and panicked at the same time. She was going to crash and seemed bent on causing the accident to come. Even though it was a thought inside her head and not outward desire to just crash.
She was going to kill me too. Her side passenger.
We approached the family house and she accelerated toward the house, killing a child who was playing on the front porch.
She ran out of the car as I remained inside the car, bleeding from a head wound and my nose, something was wrong with my leg. Lucy was a maniac and was throwing an incredible tantrum.
The child's mother came running out of the front door and mirrored Lucy's strange emotional appeal and dramatic expression. Screaming and shrieking on the front lawn.
More and more blood poured out over the seat.
"Is this my fault somehow?" I thought to myself.
From the second story another woman in her seventies looked down at the incident. She nodded as if she had been expecting it all.