The humiliation at her defenselessness was overwhelming. Waffling between seething anger, fear, knowledge of certain death and despair, Lauren kept her eyes on Frank as he handled her like an object. A piece of meat. Two-and-a-half grand piece of meat. He didn’t even look at her other than to admire his work.<br/><br/>The back of the car was full of stuff and he kept her in there, amongst the other items, because that’s where<i>things</i>went. So she ended up facing her suitcase, and her make up case was near her head, at her feet was another bag. His, she thought. She hoped her makeup case had hairspray. His lighter, her hair spray and she’d roast him like wiener. What was puzzling was why he bothered bringing her things. It made no sense. Dead people didn’t need stuff. Maybe he was going to sell it later, who knew.<br/><br/>Eventually Frank pulled over after mumbling something and left the car. Then she heard him open something and but remained out of sight until a while later when he opened the door and asked if she wanted a water break. She ignored him, didn’t t even look at him. What was the point? She was going to die anyway. Lauren closed her eyes.