The bartender changes the channel to another sports related report. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses fill the room again. In a quick toss back, I gulp down the rest of the alcohol and stand to leave. There was no need to pay since the owner was a friend to my father. Well, more so a business partner.
Outside, the air is colder than I expect. The streets glisten with recent rain, neon reflections bleeding into the puddles at my feet. I forgot my coat at home, so here I was in just a white dress and my heels clicking against the concrete.
It is too late to still be out. But I needed the noise, the distraction. Anything to drown out the static of my own thoughts.
As I walk to my car, my thoughts randomly drift back to the missing girl. The idea puts me on edge, feeling as if any and all eyes are watching me. Not that they are of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still feel this way.
Finally, I reach my vehicle and quickly unlock the doors, scurrying into the drivers seat. The only thing I can think of to settle my nerves about possibly being followed is to dial my brother’s number.
Once my seatbelt is firmly strapped across my chest, I turn over the engine and drive away from the parking spot, listening as the phone rings on.
“Pick up, Viktor. Pick up.”
My voice trembles with panic, but I force it down the best I can. The line rings until his familiar, soulless voice begins his message. Once the beep sounds, I speak.
“I’m about to lose my shit, just call me back.”
I kill the call and continue to drive. Traffic burns at my nerves like acid. I want to scream, to slam the steering wheel until my hands bleed. But I swallow it, controlling the emotion, just as he taught me.
I glance in the rearview.
Bright headlights shine into my car. It was the same truck that followed me all the way to the bar earlier this evening.
Professor Google said to take three lefts, and if they followed, it wasn’t a coincidence.
Of course, with my luck, they followed at every left. Fuck.
I could’ve gone to a police station and found help. But that’s not how he wired me.
With that, I slam on the brakes as hard as I can.
With the seatbelt holding me to my seat, my body whips forward in place. My breath leaves my lungs and everything seems to go quiet for a moment as I wait for the crash from behind me.
But it didn’t come.
How in the hell did they manage that shit?
I blink, feeling dazed and dizzy. The burn from the belt travels up my chest toward my neck.
I begin to look around to take in my surroundings. The neighborhood looks dead. Boarded-up windows and the stench of hopelessness lurked. Shadows linger, watching from doorways. I was sure no one would help here, they had their own depressing shit to deal with.
I gaze upward into the rearview to check to see if the stalkers had moved from behind me. No driver and absolutely zero movement.
My fingers tighten on the wheel as realization hits me in the face.
I then hear a scuffing noise to my left. My breath hitches as I turn to face the direction the sound came from.
Two men stand inches from the window. I don’t even have time to scream before the glass explodes, shards being thrown in every direction. The door flies open and a rough hand plunges into my hair, yanking me out like I weigh nothing.
I scream toward the lingering shadows. “Fucking help me, you cowards!”
No one moves, just as predicted. I was officially on my own, but I guess I always was.
Tape then smothers my mouth. My yelling now cut to nothing. The second man seizes my wrists, cinching zip ties so tight I can feel my pulse beating against the plastic.
I thrash around desperately hoping to get away.
Thankfully, one lucky wild swing catches someone in the face.
