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Distracted driving has never been my vice—trust me, I’ve seen the results. So I take a deep breath and exhale, forcing my eyes on the road. I try to push away all my morbid thoughts, but after about a mile, I feel a gnawing unease.
I peek in my rearview mirror. There’s that fucking car again, stalking my every move.
The window tint is really dark. So dark that the driver should worry about getting a ticket. Who is this freak? And why the hell does he keep following me?
There’s a car between us, which isn’t all that alarming, except they systematically make sure that there is only ever one car between us. A Prius slips in front of the car, and it changes lanes, speeds up, and gets back in front of the Prius.
I refuse to spiral this time. I am not going to freak out because it’s literally a black fucking car. It could be a random car, a chauffeured vehicle, a rideshare, or a new driver.
Hell, it could even be protection from the Reckless Souls. I won’t entertain the idea that it’s one of Tank’s enemies simply because no one knows about me and Tank or the baby. No one but Josie, and she’d die before she’d spill my secrets.
But even as I tell myself those comforting lies, I think about the sedan that tried to run me off the road. I know I can be naïve, but I can’t be stupid. I push the button on the car’s Bluetooth to call Nova. His voicemail picks up, and I leave a message asking if he’s all right and telling him that I’m on my way to the clinic and someone is following me. I focus on breathing deeply so I don’t cause an accident.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
In.
Out.
Okay. Okay, Sophie. You’re good.I can’t go to the clinic, not now. I’m too damn distracted, and with this jerk following me, I’d probably be in the way.
At the next offramp, I act foolishly and cut across three lanes of traffic to exit the freeway before the idiot can follow me down the exit ramp.
Good. He’s gone. After driving around a few blocks to make sure no one is following me, I head home. Once locked inside my apartment, I pull out my phone and text Josie.Feeling tired AF. Gonna nap. Don’t come over today. I’ll text you later.
I turn off my ringer because I know she’ll call and demand an explanation, one that I can’t give her right now—nor do I want to.
The excitement or maybe the terror of the day takes its toll. Soon I’m drifting off to sleep on the sofa, dreams filled with images of Nova and Hannah a mangled, burned mess inside the clinic. It’s horrible, and for some reason, I’m the one identifying the bodies, which makes me sick to my stomach.
I wake up out of breath, a light sheen of sweat covering my forehead as I reach for my phone.I turned the ringer off.
I cringe in hopes that Hannah and Nova have checked in to say they’re all right. I have eight text messages and ten missed calls from Josie, of course, demanding answers. And then a text message from Hannah.
Have you seen the news? OMFG! Are you safe? Hello? Sophie!Despite the urgency in her message, I smile because she’s all right. She’s safe and likely far away from the clinic.
I send a quick text back.Yes, I’m okay.
There’s nothing from Nova, though, and the worry clenching my belly intensifies. I pop off another text to Hannah.
Have you heard from Doc Bishop?
The sun has set, and though I’m fresh from a nap, I’m mentally exhausted and feeling alone and vulnerable, so I grab some seltzer water and go to my room where I plan to curl up in bed for the night.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I risk a look outside my window. I don’t know what I expect to find, but my heart pounds when I see the same black car sitting across the street.
I can’t make out a face or even a gender or general description of the person behind the wheel, but I stare for a few minutes as if sheer will can give me his—or her—identity.Who are you? What do you want?
It can’t be a biker because they would be on a bike, right? It’s ridiculous logic, but it’s all my terrified brain can come up with through the fear.
I leave the window and curl up in bed, watching TV without really seeing anything that’s happening on screen because I can’t stop thinking about that stupid black car and the blue one from earlier today.
“Do something,” I whisper to myself and jump from the bed, creeping into the living room, where I pull at one side of the blinds and snap a few photos of the car, along with an image of the rear license plate. I zoom in to make sure the plate is visible and then send Nova a message with the photos.
Do you have someone watching me?
An hour passes with no response and then another, and another.
