Roger Collins, terror rampaging through his entire body, tried to control the car down the steep hill leading from Collinwood, but to no avail. He had no brakes at all. At the next hairpin turn, he realized he didn't have steering capabilities, either. With a wailing howl of terror, Roger's Mustang toppled over the cliff. It spun around and around, falling down with increasing speed, finally landing with a terrifying crash on the beach. The engine burst into flames that hungrily licked their way up the length of the car. Roger, unconscious in the car, was swiftly engulfed in the searing tongues of fire, and died never knowing what had happened.

In his room, David wickedly contemplated the bleeder valve he had removed from his father's car. Serve him right, the nasty bastard! He deserved to die! He had sent David's mother away and treated him like shit!

In her room, Vicki smugly contemplated the steering fluid she had drained from Roger's Mustang. He had come to her room and scared her nearly to death. She knew what he was after, and she wasn't going to give up her virginity to a smarmy prick like him!

In her room, Liz Stoddard contemplated the wire cutters she had used to cut Roger's brake lines. "He comes back here, lives off a job I give him, sticks me with his murdering son after pissing away his inheritance? I don't think so!"

Love, RobinV