WHAT IS THIS THING CALLED LOVE?

He'd killed her in a fit of rage and now he was driving to the desert to get as far away from the bloody scene as he could, but his mind was a mess and felt just like a capsized boat that couldn't keep out the memories of her butchered body from flooding in. Every time he tried to think of anything else but Annie, he'd soon see her face instantly flash before him like a jagged razor cut.

As the night winds roared louder than the engine of his car, Jim felt as heavy as a rock. He sensed he'd upset the balance of the universe and couldn't help but become hyper-aware of the sheer enormity of his crime that permeated every feature of the surrounding landscape that rushed past him. The dark, ominous mountains cast in shadow appeared to judge him as did the moon that shone down on him like one of those interrogation lamps in those crime films he'd wasted so many afternoons watching at the movie palace with Annie. Now he was living his very own version of those types of movies and all because he couldn't control the  lava-like jealousy exploding inside of him just like some cheap-suited Othello.

Eventually, with his mind racing faster than the Dual-Ghia he was driving Jim pulled over and left his vehicle to roam the desert which was as still and unperturbed as a millpond; every footprint he depressed into the smooth sand felt like a confession and a useful trail for any law to find him. An innocent man simply wouldn't wander like this without any sense of where he was headed in such a hostile environment.  But with no clear idea of where he was going or what exactly to do next, Jim kept on trudging through the Mesquite dunes of Death Valley like a directionless nomad.

And then, just to further add to his clammy paranoia, Jim remembered the song Annie had sung that first night he saw her in the club with that small jazz outfit. Taking a brief rest to recover his breath from his long, aimless night trek, Jim leaned back against the bank of sand and gazed up towards the twinkling stars that also seemed only too well all-knowing about what heinous crime he'd just committed.

And still, she kept singing, her angelic voice carried on the cold night wind of summer.

What is this thing called love?
This funny thing called love
Just who can solve its mystery?
Why should it make a fool of me?

Even covering his ears with his blood-stained hands, Jim couldn't get Annie's voice singing that damn song out of his brain-wrecked mind.  It was as if his first memory of seeing her sing it all those years ago was a portent of the tragedy that had just befallen her at his own murderous hands.

The grim irony was inescapable, in killing his lover, she had only become more omnipresent in his mind and now she would possess him for the rest of his life just like a ghost in a haunted house.

And so Jim thought, the only logical step was for him to burn it down.

Following his own trail of footprints back to his lonely vehicle, Jim smoked one final cigarette and drained his hip flask of whiskey before throwing his lighter inside the fuel tank. Sitting behind the wheel of his car he waited for the flames to engulf him so he would no longer have the torment of her memory that had driven him to now take his own life.  

I saw you there one wonderful day
You took my heart and threw it away
That's why I ask the lord in Heaven above
What is this thing called love?