Fragmented

Chapter Twelve

I bounded down the stairs of my apartment complex, too impatient to wait for the elevator. I was meeting up with Raleigh at her aunt's house after babysitting, and I was eager to see her outside of the classroom again. The sun hadn't yet set, so I slipped my sunglasses on when I got outside and looked both ways down the street, trying to remember where I'd last parked my car. I didn't often drive because mass transportation was so convenient, but I liked knowing I had a car if I ever needed to leave the city.

I began walking in the direction of my parked car and dug around in the bottom of my purse to make sure I had everything I needed: phone, wallet, keys, two chlorzipan that had become dirty after years of being at the bottom of my bag.

A familiar sound tugged my attention away from the contents of my purse. The rumble of the candy red muscle car vibrated in my ears and rattled my teeth. Even the ground felt like it was shaking. Like before, the car idled in place in the middle of the street, refusing to pass me. It was a one-way street with little traffic, so there were no cars behind the stalled vehicle waiting impatiently or honking for traffic to move.

I continued to walk towards my car, but I lengthened my stride to hasten my step. I flicked glances over my shoulder now and again to keep tabs on the car. Its driver kept just far enough away that I couldn't make out any faces or even see if the driver was alone. I knew what Jenn would have done in this situation. She would have turned around and walked toward the car instead of away from it. But I was nowhere as foolish as my ex-girlfriend, so I continued walking at a brisk pace, and I found my key ring to put individual keys between the gaps of my fingers like they'd taught us to do in self-defense class during my freshman year.

The red sports car continued to coast down the street, not speeding up or slowing down. My brain shuffled through a series of reasonable scenarios. Maybe the car couldn't go any faster than that without the engine blowing up because it was an auto show car and not meant for the streets. Or maybe the driver was lost and trying to get directions on his or her phone while the car rolled down the residential street. They could be visiting someone, I thought to myself, but they'd never been to the other person's apartment, so they drove slowly as they peered at the address numbers on the walkups and apartment buildings.

When I'd exhausted the rational reasons the car continued to move at a snail's pace behind me, my imagination took over. Maybe I was being stalked. Maybe this was the party responsible for the pumpkin picture and the text message. And if I didn't run away right now, someone was going to leap from the moving car and shove me into the trunk. With no parents and no money, there would be no one to pay my ransom, so my kidnappers would sell me to the highest bidder, probably to someone who hated Americans or girls with poorly hidden southern accents.

Since I didn't want to be sold abroad to an investment capitalist with bad breath, I did what I thought was my only viable option. I stabilized my purse so the strap crisscrossed my chest, and I ran.

My feet pounded on the pavement beneath me, and my arms pumped at my sides. I ran right past my car and turned down a street where city workers were filling potholes. The sidewalks were clear, but the street itself was blocked by a giant truck that heated up and rolled over piles of asphalt that the road crew shoveled out.

None of the workers gave me a second glance even though I wasn't wearing clothes or shoes conducive to jogging. That was one thing I'd noticed about this city when I'd first moved here. Despite being in the Midwest, Chicago was a shy city and people kept to themselves.

I slowed my run, confident that the driver wouldn't be able to follow me through the construction. The only problem was that my car wasn't parked on this street. I'd have to backtrack in order to retrieve my vehicle.