It’s nearly midnight by the time I get back to the city.
In stark contrast to the bumper-to-bumper traffic when I first left, the streets are deserted, and even when I’m slow to go through a green light, nobody honks at me. Nobody is out at midnight on a Wednesday night.
Happy Car Rental will charge me for an extra day if I return the car after midnight, so I’ve got to get to the rental location in time. When I pull into their lot, it’s five minutes to midnight. They better not give me a hard time.
There is a boy at the counter at the car rental place who looks about as alert and enthusiastic as the boy at the motel three hours earlier. I drop the keys to the Hyundai on the counter and push them toward him.
“It’s before midnight,” I inform him. “So it’s just one day.”
I brace myself for an argument, but the boy just shrugs and accepts the keys. “Okay,” he says.
I let out a yawn. I’ve been driving for nearly eight straight hours, and it hits me how tired I am. I can’t wait to crawl into my bed. Fortunately, I don’t have class tomorrow so I can sleep in. And my cleaning job obviously no longer exists.
Except the second I step back out on the streets, I question the wisdom of returning the car at midnight. Now I have to get back to the South Bronx, and I have no car. Even though I feel confident I can protect myself, I’m still not sure the subway is a good idea at this hour. Maybe on a weekend, but on Wednesday night, it’s going to be just me and the muggers and rapists.
But I can’t afford an Uber right now. I don’t even have a job anymore.
As I stand at the street corner down the block from Happy Car Rental, weighing my options, a set of headlights illuminate the street. I swivel my head, just in time to catch sight of a car drawing closer to me. A black sedan with the Mazda logo on the front grill.
And a cracked right headlight.
Before I even get a good look at the license plate, I know it’s the same car that’s been following me the last couple of months. The same one that was behind me this afternoon when I was driving with Wendy. And now they have caught me alone. On a deserted street corner. In the middle of the night.
The Mazda pulls over to the side of the road. I can just barely make out the silhouette of a man in the driver’s seat. The engine shuts off, but he leaves the headlights shining in my direction, bright enough that I need to turn away.
And then the door to the car swings open.
