Page 42 of Kill Your Darlings

Seeming to reach a decision, the burly figure turned back to the Cadillac, his shadow looming grotesquely against the tree trunks.He ducked into the driver’s seat, pulled the door shut.The car’s engine revved once, then it rolled forward, tires crunching stone and dirt, bouncing back onto the highway, picking up speed.

The red taillights vanished into the mist.

For a second or two I remained crouched and stricken as darkness reclaimed the road.The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and my own shaky breaths.

But there was no time to waste.He’d find out soon enough that I wasn’t walking along the road hoping for a ride or trying for a cellphone signal.

I hopped up, sprinted back to the rental, fumbling open the lid to the trunk.To my relief, there was a spare in the back.A jack and lug wrench were nestled in the wheel well.

Hands shaking, I hauled the spare tire out.

Hurry.For God’s sake, hurry.

I struggled to fit the jack beneath the car.Struggled to remember how this worked.

Is this right?

The jack was heavier than I remembered.Awkward and unwieldy.I pinched my hand as I worked to fit it beneath the frame, tore fingernails.I cursed softly, fervently as I pumped the handle.

All the while, I was thinking,This can’t be happening.

But itwashappening, and with every passing minute I was running out of time.

It was just hard to understand what had just happened.What was still happening.What did that guy want with me?What would have happened if I’d waited by the car?

If that blowout had happened on the coast road…

I could have had an accident.

I could have been killed.

I listened numbly to the echo of that thought.I could have been killed.

The car creaked and groaned as I slowly jacked it up and off the ground, each pump of the jack handle sending a sharp, metallic click echoing into the dense, breathless quiet of the woods.

My pulse raced, my breath coming in short, ragged gulps as I yanked the lug wrench from the tire well, fingers clumsy as I fumbled it into position.The darkness seemed to press closer with every second.

My ears strained for the sound of a returning engine as I knelt, breath misting in the cool, damp air, and began loosening the lug nuts.They resisted at first, the metal creaking under my weight as I leaned into the wrench.I could feel the strain in my shoulder muscles.My cell phone, positioned unhelpfully on the dirt, threw my distorted silhouette against the wall of trees.

How long before he realizes the truth?How long before he swings the Cadillac around and heads back?

“Focus,” I panted.

Sweat trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes.My fingers kept slipping on the cold metal as I worked.Finally, finally, I cracked the last lug nut loose, the sudden, satisfying give of the metal momentarily breaking the oppressive silence.

Silence?The night was not silent.It was alive with alarming and alien sounds.Rustling leaves.Insects.The eerie cry of an owl hunting.

Somewhere in the distance, beyond the dense line of redwoods, came the muffled pound of the surf, the sound carried up the coastal cliffs on the cold, salt-tinged wind, mingling with the sharp rustle of dry leaves and the slow, creaking sway of the trees.Occasionally, a sharper crack echoed through the darkness as a branch snapped, the sound sending my heart skittering against my ribs in terror.

“Comeon….”

I yanked the ruined tire free, the shredded rubber sagging in my grip like dead flesh.I stared at it.Even in the uncertain moonlight I could see that the sidewall was clearly, unmistakably slashed—a long, deliberate gash that curved like a scythe blade.

Since this was the very thing I suspected, I’m not sure why it was such a shock.

Maybe because it made no sense.

When had it happened?At the gas station?When I’d gone inside.