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“Call Brynn,” I command the in-dash Bluetooth service in my car.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Shit.
The car pulls into the lane beside me, but it’s too dark to see inside. He moves closer, almost bumping my side mirror. I’m too busy trying to make out a profile to notice my lane has merged, and I’m about to run straight up on the sidewalk and into a covered bus stop. Reflexes send me turning sharp to my right, down an alley. One look at the parked cars and I realize I am heading the wrong way down a one-way street, with cars on either side of me. There is no good way for this to end. Please don’t let anyone come this way. I silently pray for a safe exit at the next block and thank God when it is answered.
I whip into the next gas station I see and thank the heavens it’s heavily occupied. I must have walked each of the three snack-filled aisles at least a dozen times when I finally grab a Snapple from the refrigerated section. The clerk has been eyeballing me for the past five minutes like I’m one of those people who makes Slurpees then drinks them without paying. Trust me buddy, I wish that’s what I was doing here.
I glance past the Powerball posters and into the parking lot as I slowly approach the counter. No one has followed me inside, and I don’t see anything suspicious outside. Maybe I lost him. Or maybe you were just being paranoid, I tell myself.
I shift my feet side-to-side on the plain white floor while the clerk takes his time cashing me out.
He’s stalling. Great. So, he does think I was stealing.
“Don’t go to your car,” he warns as he hands me some change.
My blood freezes in my veins and words escape me. I don’t need to ask why he said what he said. I already know.
He continues anyway. “There’s a man in your back seat. I watched him get in. Do you need me to call the police?”
Do you need me to call the police?
Those words echo in my mind for what seems like hours before I make a decision. The ice turns to fire and soon, my blood is boiling. This is it. This is the moment. Two years in the making. This is my chance for answers.
Call the police? What are they going to do? The law has proven itself helpful so far. If the police had shown up earlier the night Reid was stabbed, he might have made it out of the hospital alive. I have no faith in police right now.
I reach into my pocket for my pepper spray then take a deep breath. “No. I can handle it, thank you,” I tell him, my voice stern, and my eyes full of savage determination. I’m done with running scared. Now I’m running on pure adrenaline.
Snapple in one hand, pepper spray in the other, I pull on the door handle of the rear passenger door, ready for whatever awaits.
Nothing.
No one.
My pulse is pounding in my temples, my hands are shaking, and my skin feels like it’s on fire, then… nothing. I close my eyes tightly only to reopen them to the same scene. I look back into the store curiously at the cashier who is just as confused as I am. He shrugs, and I shove the pepper spray back into my pocket and walk around the car. Relief washes over me as I plop down in the driver’s seat and lean my head back against the head rest.
How stupid can I be? Reid was a Marine, trained to kill. Did I really think I could confront the guy who killed him? If it even was that guy. Who knows? In this city, it could have been anyone. He must have sensed the clerk tipping me off and jumped out. Surely, he didn’t just vanish into thin air.
Once the relief begins to fade, I take another quick glance around my car before getting ready to leave. A stout cocktail of fear and panic takes over me the moment I spot a polaroid picture, a roll of twine, and a roll of shiny silver duct tape placed neatly in the passenger seat of my car.
The picture is simple. It shows a lone wooden chair in an empty room. Simple, maybe. But the message is clear. There’s something written on the tape, but fear has my vision blurred and I can’t take my eyes off the photo. I carefully reach for the tape and hold it up in the light shining from the parking lot in through the window.
“Karma’s a bitch.”
