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“Bitch!” He lunged for me, but I spun, taking off into the darkest part of the parking lot, down the hill, and beyond, where a road lay teeming with cars.
I heard him pounding after me. Heard his labored breaths. Probably a smoker.
But when the road came into view, I didn’t stop. Tires squealed and horns blared as I blasted through the traffic, not caring if a car hit me. At this point, I’d take whatever fate was due to me.
When I reached the other side, my chest heaved with jagged breaths. Somehow, I’d managed to keep the blanket around me. But I no longer felt the cold.
Soon I would, however.
With a deep, steadying breath, I looked back at the parking lot, knowing my car was long gone. My feet carried me automatically, taking me into a nearby park. It was probably only ten o’clock, but the exhaustion came back like a rising tsunami preparing to crash into me. To wash me away in it.
A single stone bench sat beneath a quint lamp. Few insects swarmed its light, and I could almost imagine they flocked to it as a beacon of warmth and survival, though it would provide neither.
I sat down, feeling the handle of my switchblade dig into my hip. It was clipped to the inside of my pocket. I never went anywhere without it, and tonight I was especially thankful for its comfort.
Resting my arm over the back of the bench, I listened for the occasional sound that penetrated the near silence.
A cricket’s rhythmic chirps.
Faint coyote howls.
A semitruck blasting past on the road in the distance.
Despite the effort I put into keeping my eyes open, they soon shut, and sleep swallowed me whole.
* * *
When I awoke, birds sang, and buttery sunlight coated my face. I looked around, taking in the morning, and trying to figure out what time it was. Without my phone, I could only guess that it was somewhere around nine.
I stood and stretched, feeling the familiar pooling of dread in my gut.
My car was impounded.
I had no money.
No cellphone.
Walking back to the mall, I decided I’d ask the management who to contact about getting my car out, but when the rapidly filling parking lot came into view my brows darted together.
There, outside Jean’s Shoes and Repairs, was my pathetic little Toyota Corolla. I ran full speed toward it, convinced it was a trick somehow—or maybe a dream. Stopping outside the car, I scanned the interior, finding it much the same as I had last seen it.
I frowned and pulled the door handle. It was locked.
I swore under my breath—the keys weren’t in the center tray where I had left them. A spark of hope fluttered like butterfly wings in my chest as I rounded to the passenger’s side, reaching for the magnetic canister. The clink of metal inside sent a swooping sensation through me, and I smiled wide.
The keys were inside.
Whoever had left the car here had somehow known to leave the keys in the canister. To my knowledge, only Arie knew about that.
I opened the car door and sat in the driver’s seat, pulling the visor down, only to have a fat envelope fall into my lap.
My eyes stared at it like it might bite me, but when nothing happened I picked it up. It was unmarked, and unsealed.
Pulling the flap free, I saw the stack of bills and froze.
There has to be a few hundred dollars in here.
I pulled out the money and counted it aloud, choking when I reached a thousand dollars.
