He’s tall. Imposingly high off the ground, but kind of wiry and lean.
There’s something weird and dangerous about him.
I won’t lie.
He scares me.
I feel like I’m seeing something out here I’m not supposed to see.
Time to get out of Dodge.
I take a wary step back, then freeze as my heel comes down on a twig.
And it snaps, the sharp sound as abrupt and harsh as the manic thud of my heart.
His head jerks up immediately.
Now, I’m cursing my love for bright colors. Even through the brush, he spots me instantly.
All I can see are his eyes, but they’re oddly blank.
Strange.
Angry.
And they glaze in the coldest way as he cranes his head slowly to the side, staring dead at me.
Then he’s charging forward, moving like a pouncing cat, from statue stillness to cheetah motion in less than half a second.
I scream and tumble back, scrambling onto my hands and knees with cold slushy snow flouncing up around me, soaking my clothes.
I think it’s only the distance and my head start that saves me.
I barely risk glancing back—he’s too close, this black blur rocketing at me—before I go flying down the slope.
It’s a miracle I don’t break an ankle on the stone steps, racing and tumbling and falling over myself, breathing harshly and painfully as I shove through the trees.
My car. I have to get to my car!
I clamber a few more steps, stealing another glance back.
But he’s gone.
I fling myself onward, pelting down the path.
He might’ve just ducked out of sight, and I can’t dilly-dally. I have to go now.
I can see the bright purple of my rental through the trees, and I dive off the path. Shortest path is best, right?
I’m snatching my keys from my pocket before I’m even at the door, and I nearly drop them as I trip off the edge of the slope, onto the road, and slam right into the side of the car.
Struggling to breathe, ears pricked to a new sound.
I stare blankly through the clouds of my own breath.
An engine comes growling from higher up the slope, around the bend in the road.
Don’t look, I tell myself.
I look. I can’t not.
A big, dark truck comes tearing around the curve, its engine roaring like a hell-beast.
Oh, God, it’s him.
I can barely make him out through the windshield, the outline of his shadowy mask behind the wheel.
And those cold, glassy eyes locked right on me.
That truck is big enough to crush my little car.
Big enough to kill me, swatting me like a gnat.
And it’s bearing down fast.
Ask me later, and I won’t be able to tell you what takes over, what lets me escape.
Animal fight or flight instinct, maybe. Raw survival.
Suddenly, my fumbling fingers pop the door, and I’m behind the wheel.
Car started.
Foot on the gas.
And gone.
I tear off just as the truck comes up on my bumper, almost kissing my car’s butt before I spin away with a little skid on the slick roads.
Oh, crap.
Slick roads!
I clutch the steering wheel hard enough to hurt, holding my breath, pushing the gas pedal harder and harder as I go ripping down that winding road, one eye on the rear-view mirror, one on the road.
Tight spirals of pavement coil every time I careen around, lose him for a second, then see him nosing around the curve seconds later in my mirror.
I’ve never been more thankful for tiny, shitty, cramped rental cars.
Because the truck’s too big.
It tries to take the corners too fast, so I’m gaining ground. I feel an elated spark of hope as I see the break in the trees up ahead that spills out onto the main highway.
It’s my only chance.
Because even if the truck’s too big to take the corners, it’s still faster, more powerful.
Gaining ground.
And coming up on me like he’s about to steamroll me right off the road.
He almost does.
The second the last stretch of road to the highway opens up, I floor it—but so does he, and I feel like I’m being hunted by an angry bull charging down. Fear and adrenaline flare hot in the back of my throat.
I lean my whole weight into the steering wheel like I can make this crappy little snozzberry of a car go faster, faster, faster while he’s racing closer—
And I swerve onto the highway, taking a sharp right, right as he comes slamming up on my bumper.
He clips my rear end, just enough to make me half fishtail.
But I screech and grab the wheel. He goes rocketing across the highway behind me, almost ending up in a field.
He grinds the truck to a halt at the last second, while I wrench myself straight on the road.
I stomp on the gas.
Town’s not far. Charming Inn, even closer.
I just need to get somewhere safe, somewhere around other people, and I’m trying not to cry as I beg the rental car to go a little faster, a little harder, just take me where I need to go, where I need to be, please...
That growl rises behind me again, just as I catch the peaked roof and columns of the inn up ahead.
I dart a desperate look in my mirror.
He’s still there.
Hot on my tail, but...
Is he slowing down?
I can’t.
I can’t slow down on the off chance he might be easing off, so I just keep breaking the speed limit with every hair on my body standing up.
But no—that growl’s slipping now.
He’s falling behind.
When I check the mirror again, he’s even more distant.
I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t want to risk getting close enough to catch his license. It might be my last mistake.
I don’t even know.
I need to be somewhere safe.
And I can’t bring this nut to the Charming Inn with Ms. Wilma and Haley and Warren and their kids.
There’s only one place where I’ll really feel safe.
I don’t even slow as I overshoot the inn and go rabbiting right into town.
Even if I knew subconsciously where I was going, I’m still a little surprised as I pull up in front of Blake’s house.
I don’t think I’ve breathed the whole way here.
Not even when that truck slipped out of sight, and I was back in the middle of a sleepy small town, surrounded by people, buildings, normalcy.
I kill the engine and stare at Blake’s sprawling house.
I’m okay.
But I won’t feel okay until I’m not alone anymore.
It takes more effort than I can believe to peel my clenched fingers off the wheel, my knuckles aching and ligaments sore.
I manage, pushing out of the car. I scramble to the front door, darting nervous looks around, feeling far too exposed in the open.
And I’m grateful when he answers mere seconds after my frantic knock on the door.
Grateful, yet frightened as I look up into his confused frown and blurt out, “Blake, I think I just saw the man who set the clothing shop on fire.”
10
Dance to Your Tune (Blake)
Surprises just keep showing up at my door.
Last time Peace crashed on my doorstep, she showed up with her massage table and soft words threatening to split me open.