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“No. I’m stopped on the road.” My eyes haven’t left the rearview mirror as I continue to look at the guy with the motorcycle. He’s tall, with dark hair, wearing a white button-up shirt and light-colored pants. People around here wear worn jeans and faded t-shirts, or flannel shirts if the weather’s cold. This guy looks like he just walked out of a frat house at some Ivy League college.
“Get out of there,” Nina says. “Go home.”
“What about the guy? Maybe he needs help.”
“Or maybe he’s a psychopathic serial killer on the run. Or maybe he just escaped from prison with a stolen motorcycle and now he—”
“He doesn’t look like a serial killer,” I say, as I watch him get closer. He’s still a ways from my car but he has to know I’m here, so why isn’t he looking up?
“And what exactly does a serial killer look like?” Nina asks.
“I don’t know, but this guy doesn’t even seem interested that I’ve stopped so I doubt he plans to kill me.”
“Not yet. But wait until—”
“I’m gonna go ask him what he’s doing.”
“What?” Nina yells through the phone. “Sage, no! You don’t even know this guy and you’re on a deserted road.”
“With my friend on the phone.” I slowly back up the car. “If you hear me screaming for my life, call the cops.”
“Would you please just go to your house and forget this guy? I don’t want to listen to him kill you.”
“He’s not going to kill me.” I back up until I’m just in front of him, then put the car in park. I undo my seatbelt and reach over to the passenger’s side door. I check that it’s locked as I roll the window down. “Hey!” I yell out the window as the guy walks up beside the car.
He says nothing, his head still down. Is he deaf? Even a deaf person would look up when a car stopped beside him.
“Hey!” I yell again.
He continues to ignore me and keeps walking. As he passes by the front of my car, I see his shirt is soaked with sweat. He must be dying in this heat, pushing that heavy motorcycle. There’s a large green duffle bag strapped to the seat, which also looks heavy.
“Hey, wait!” I say, getting out of the car. I go around it and meet up with him as he walks. “You need some help?”
He ignores me. What iswiththis guy? Maybe he IS a serial killer, in which case I shouldn’t have gotten out of my car. And left my cell phone in it. Shit.
I’m about to go get it but then the guy finally speaks.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, his head still down.
“Your motorcycle broke down?” I ask.
He says nothing and keeps walking.
I look back at my car, which is now several feet away. Part of me wants to keep following this guy to figure out what his story is, but the other part of me wants to get the hell out of here. I don’t see any weapons on him but he could be hiding one in his duffle bag.
I run back to my car and grab my phone from the seat.
“Sage?” I hear Nina say. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“What happened?”
“He won’t talk to me.”
“So you’re going home?”
“Not yet.” I rush to catch up with the guy.
