“We’ve got to stop,” she said. “I know,” he said, but both of them knew it would happen again. The urge bewitched them, sucked dry what little willpower either one still had. The more they succumbed, the greater their need. There would always be a Next Time.

They hopped into his old Chevy and sped off, leaving the lifeless body at the side of the road, to the delight of a murder of crows.

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