K7: Killer, or "The Mixing Bowl Guilt Creeps In"

From J7...
"Bec?" He felt his own chest starting to heave and a painful shove of tears into his eyes, "Becca, what's going on?"

"Oh, Danny, Roddy's dead."

"Becca... What? How?" Another thunk to his chest. He tik-tocked an awkward pirouette, staring up at the sky.

"He was driving home last night, on that stretch of 95 where all the roads get all twisted up, you know, just before D.C., where the -"

"The mixing bowl," Danny supplied, feeling a folding in his chest. The mixing bowl was a killer - the junction of multiple highways, and Roddy had been drinking yesterday afternoon. Danny knew that much about his boyfr- his now-dead boyfriend, at least. He felt ashamed, flushed with guilt. He yanked at his scarf.

"Yeah, the mixing bowl." She sniffed and he heard her move her lips very close to the phone. "Danny, were you guys fighting this weekend?" Her whisper reminded Danny how young she was. "He just seemed really upset when I talked to him last night."

With the words "last night," she tripped into sobbing again, and Danny leaned into the glass front of his cold building and listened as she cried. He was grateful she was crying so hard so he wouldn't have to answer her. Yes, he'd sent a broken-hearted Roddy away.