The silence before the accident's impact is the quietest silence to exist.
That silence that rings through the split second before the sickening crunch of metal and rubber.
The sharp, unyielding rain of glass spraying across the vehicle, and the warm wet explosion of blood and tears among the screams of mercy and the screech of the rubber tires against the wet asphalt.
The second quietest moment is the moment when it all stops.
The tires stop their sickening screech, and the last of the glass twinkles in the streetlights, fallen haphazardly across the wreckage like tears of a thousand angels.
Smoke rises from the now silent vehicles, and a deadly peace surrounds the scene, as the patter of rain hitting the remains of once moving piles of twisted metal and plastic lie in wait.
The silence is broken by distant shouts, muffled by the sound of the hissing engines, and the pounding of feet on the asphalt. Darkness had swallowed her, and her body lay crushed against the door. Her side burning, her face sliced and bleeding from the impact of the window. Liquid poured between her legs, and the taste of blood was in her mouth.
Movement was only slight, but her hand found its way to her swollen belly, slammed between the dashboard and whatever was crushing her ankle. She felt the faint movement of the child in her womb, fluttering against her hand for just a moment, then it stopped. Her voice found no outlet to scream, and dizziness quickly swallowed her, as the sound of Booth's voice invaded her ears, and her eyes saw only the darkness of death and the beckoning whisper of its voice as she reluctantly found peace in its cold embrace.