She watched the line reach the last name and hover. The camera shook once—a tremor. Then the line went through it.
At dawn she woke with the taste of metal in her mouth. The room was empty. The door was ajar. On the bed, a slip of cardboard trembled as if recently removed from a stack. The cardboard read, in her handwriting she didn't remember making: Index Of Final Destination 4--------. Index Of Final Destination 4--------