November Rain

Prologue

"Could this night get any worse?" 

Mitch held the wheel of his 2005 Ford Thunderbird with his left hand and reached to clear the windshield with his right. The defogger had quit working two weeks ago, and now he regretted not taking in to get it fixed. He had fidgeted with it earlier, and it ran intermittently.  He knew better. He had given tickets before to drivers for obstructed driving. The country road was dark, and the blackened sky made it harder to see. 

He leaned closer, peering at the rain soaked road. This was more like a spring storm, rather than early October. The rain had been coming down for seventeen straight hours, and there was no sign of it letting up. Fall in the Midwest. Unpredictable. The weathermen had reported yesterday that there would be wide-spread flooding, and Mitch just wanted to get home. This was one of those times he regretted the long private drive to his cabin he sometimes called home.  He kept the apartment in the city for when he needed to get a few hours of sleep, but the log home in the woods was home. The road occasionally flooded out, leaving him on the outside for hours, while his Great Pyrenees, Bacchus, roamed the house and randomly peed on the cedar flooring. He had a doggie door that he sometimes refused to use, especially if it was raining. That dog was maddening, but Mitch loved him. He was his family. 

The cabin was his refuge from the city. He didn't mind the hour it took him to get to work. Working as a detective in St. Louis, Mitch saw the raw side of humanity, and the cabin in the middle of no where was the only way he could keep his sanity some days. 

As he turned onto his lane, Mitch turned down the radio. The wind was howling as it swirled the early fallen leaves. Branches littered the road, and he swerved to avoid a limb he guessed was at least ten inches circumference. Tomorrow, he was going to have to clear the road of all of the debris. His only day off this week, and he was not looking forward to yard work. He would rather spend it on the couch watching football and drinking a beer. 

He cleared the swollen creek, noticing that in another hour, it would be flooded. Water brimmed the edges of the road, and even as the rain poured down, he could tell that the rush was flowing beneath him as he crossed the small bridge. 

"What the hell?" Mitch slammed on his brakes, sending the Thunderbird fishtailing. He was trained to know how to drive in inclement weather, but the image on the road threw him. 

She was facing him, left cheek on the wet pavement. Her left arm was over her head. Her eyes were open, mouth slightly agape. She had on a yellow raincoat that was fanned around her. The car headlight illuminated her pale face. Mitch couldn't tell how old she was. 

He could tell . . . She was dead.