4. Can you handle a gun?

“Calm down, there's a car following us,” he said. I canceled my intention to look back when he piped up again, “Don’t turn around! Just check the side mirror. I can’t drop you off at the hotel—they’d find you there.”

"Who the hell are they? Why are they following us?" I asked, my voice shaking with panic. My heart was racing, and I was gasping for air like I’d just run a marathon.

"Relax! Just think of them as people who don’t like me,” he replied quickly. He steered the car into a fairly quiet lane. I saw from the rearview mirror that the black sedan was still following this car. 

"What the he—AHHH!" I screamed as a bullet smashed into the back window, the sharp sound of glass shattering cutting through the air.

"Unbuckle your seatbelt!" he ordered.

"For what?!"

"Drive the car!"

"I can’t drive with one hand!"

"Can you handle a gun?"

"What?! Hell no!"

"Then drive—"

Crack!

"Now!"

With shaking hands, I unbuckled my seatbelt, and he did the same. We clumsily switched seats as the car swerved dangerously left and right. I ignored the pain in my shoulder and and grabbed the wheel, driving without buckling up again.

The guy opened the dashboard compartment, pulling out a revolver. He rolled down the window and stuck his head out.  A shot rang out from his gun. I jumped a little. I’d already been grazed by a bullet, and now I had to brace for more. Fantastic. Definitely not on my bucket list when I got in a taxi earlier. 

A gun battle ensued. I ducked several times to avoid the bullets. The windshield was shattered. One shot hit one of the rear tires, making me lose control for a moment. I reached over and grabbed his coat, yanking him back inside just as he was about to fall out of the window. 

"Shit! I’m out of ammo!" He slumped back into his seat. "Looks like they’re out too."

The gunfire stopped. Relief washed over me for a brief second, but then my stomach sank as I spotted a huge truck barreling around the corner ahead.

"There’s a truck!" I shouted.

"Don’t stop! Keep going straight!" he barked.

"Are you crazy?! We’ll die!" I screamed, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might explode.

"Trust me! You can do this!"

I didn't have a choice, because I was sure that my life wouldn't be guaranteed either if that damn chasing car caught us. Taking a deep breath, I floored the gas pedal and prayed we’d make it.

"Come on! Come on! You can do this!"

I screamed as the car came to the end of the intersection, passing it just before the giant truck reached the center of the intersection. There was a deafening sound from behind. The car chasing us had crashed into the truck. 

I eased off the gas, bringing the car to a shaky stop, my breath ragged and uneven. Finally, I exhaled and turned to him, my body trembling.

Tears spilled from my eyes. "I—I just killed people. I killed them."

"No, no. Don’t cry. Please..."

"I KILLED THEM!" I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. "I’m a killer."

I felt his arms around me as he lifted me onto his lap. He held me close, his voice soft. "No, you’re not. Please, stop crying."

I clung to his coat, trying to channel the pain from my throbbing shoulder and the weight crushing my chest. Fear and relief swirled together—relief from his comforting embrace, and fear from what just happened. Oh God, I’d taken lives.

His hand stroked my hair, and slowly, my breathing steadied. My grip on his coat slackened, my hands resting lightly on it.

"Feeling better?" he asked softly. I nodded twice, my forehead against his chest.

"Good."

He gently set me back in the passenger seat and got out, walking around to take the wheel. 

He drove the car slowly away from this place, shuffling as one of the tires was hit by a bullet. I didn’t dare look back. I couldn’t. It would only make everything worse.

He pulled into an alley between two old, empty buildings and stopped the car.

"Why are we here?" I asked hesitantly. My previous assumption that he was some kind of Prince Charming was long gone. I knew now that his life wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. But even with that, I didn’t think he’d hurt me. At least, not yet. 

"We can’t be seen near the scene with the car in this condition," he explained. I avoided looking at him. "I’ll call a friend to help us out."

I stayed silent. He pulled out his phone and typed something, then pressed it to his ear. It took several tries—and a lot of cursing—before he got through to whoever he was calling.

"Isaac, where the hell have you been? I need help—my car’s trashed. Get here now!" Isaac. That was the name he’d mentioned earlier.

"..."

"At our old hideout from the D-3A incident."

"..."

"Yeah, she’s with me."

I bet he was talking about me.

"..."

"Shut up. It’s not like that. Just get here, or I’ll have Brigitte kick your ass!"

He ended the call and turned to me. "You should call your sister so she doesn’t freak out."

My sister? Oh, right—Kim. Because of this incident I had forgotten about her. I took the phone he handed me and dialed her number, which I knew by heart. 

Kim answered on the first ring, which was crazy. "Hello?"

"Kim, I..."

"Leanne? Is that you?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to—"

"Oh my God, Leanne! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick. I heard about the commotion at the café earlier, and when I went to look for you, you were gone. All I found was your bag and notebook. I’ve been imagining the worst!"

"Calm down, Kim. I’m fine."

"Tell me, where are you now! I almost went crazy looking for you! Mandy must be worried about you too."

I glared. "You told my mom?" Kim knew all too well how over-the-top my mom would get if she knew the slightest bad thing had happened to me.

"Almost, if you hadn't called me first."

I let out a shaky sigh of relief. That was close. One more second, and she would’ve sent out a 911 alert for a missing daughter. "Whose phone are you using, anyway?"

"I can’t explain right now, Kim. I just wanted to let you know I’m okay and heading home soon."

"Good. Leanne, you’re driving me insane."

"Cut me some slack, Kim. I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back. Don’t worry. Bye."

I hung up before she could launch into another rant. Handing the phone back to its owner, I mumbled, "Thanks."

He nodded silently. I sank back into my seat, fiddling with my fingers, battling the storm of thoughts in my head.

"I need answers," I whispered. I finally looked at him as he turned to face me. "Tell me what’s really going on."

***

Edited.

190125, Anne Joyce