021 - make one

"Havilland, pull your goddamn face out of the toilet!" she yelled as she kicked down the bathroom door. He opened his eyes, and immediately the water began to sting at them ever so gently. He still didn't quite know where he was. The water was cold, and it smelled.

"They're here, they're fucking here!" she was shouting. He slowly pulled his head from the bowl, regaining the tiniest sense of orientation. Upon sitting up completely, he suddenly remembered how his head had ended up in the toilet in the first place. Intense nausea overtook him. As disgusting toilet water slowly dripped off his face onto the yellow floor, he fought the urge to return his head to the throne and instead struggled to get up.

She was in the bedroom, furiously shoving money and jewelry into suitcases and handbags of various sizes. Upon seeing his body struggling against the frame of the bathroom door, she turned and continued her verbal berating. "I fucking TOLD you, Havilland, I told you they'd find us here!" With her attention turned to him, she had failed to notice the shotgun lying on the floor, and tripped over it. Money came spilling out of the handbag she had been holding.

If he hadn't been in the state he was in, he would have found the situation comical, and he would have laughed at her trip to the ground. Instead, he struggled to steady himself while her rage built on the floor. She turned red and shouted at the top of her lungs, "HAVILLAND GET THE GODDAMN MONEY WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

That voice shook and rattled his mind clean. The haze of the night before was gone, and just like that he was lucid, and he looked around the situation developing in this motel room. There was loot everywhere. It was a mess. The phone was off the hook.

He rushed to her and helped her up. They started to scoop up the money surrounding them into the bags. He remembered that yesterday, it had all been so neatly organized, all of the money and jewelry in their own little containers. Everything fit. Now it was overwhelming, there was too much, and it was too much of a mess. It was going to be impossible to get it all, he decided. He just didn't remember how it all had gotten to be like this.

In the near distance, he heard sirens. They were approaching fast.

She looked up at him, face still red, tears in her eyes. "I told you! I told you this would never work, and now they're here Havilland!" Her shouts were still loud, but now they were more tinged with fear than anger.

"All that's done is done," he thought. He picked the shotgun up off the floor.

"You grab the stuff. I'll drive."