Disclaimer: Jack Bristow does not belong to me. Please don't sue.
Waking or sleeping, Jack keeps seeing it. At night, he turns over until the sheets are twisted, and during the day ... there's nothing to do in here but think, except more push ups.
He can picture the car plunging into the river, the water pouring in. It must have been dark down there, freezing. He's not sure why people say that drowning is an easy death. That doesn't mean he can't think of a thousand more difficult ones.
What he can't think of is anything more frustrating than sitting in solitary, imagining ways to kill a woman who's already dead.
The End