Page 24 of The Birthday Girl

T he school bell had barely rung before kids spilled onto the sidewalk in a rush of colorful backpacks and chatter. Shanice waited at the curb, her fingers drumming the steering wheel as her gaze jumped from the school entrance to her rearview mirror and back again.

Each afternoon brought the same breathless moment when Kali climbed into the car. “Did you see that woman today?” she’d ask, the question always casual, though there was a tremor beneath.

The sound of branches scraping her windows made her freeze mid-step, and cars slowing down near their apartment made her heart pound against her ribs.

Shanice hadn't fully closed her eyes in nineteen days.

The skin under them had darkened so much they looked bruised, and her once-steady hands now trembled whenever she reached for anything—doorknobs, coffee mugs, her children's small fingers. She was a paranoid mess.

Kali exploded from the school doors, ponytails flying behind her like twin kites as she leapt down the steps three at a time, her overstuffed purple backpack threatening to spill its contents with each bounce.

“Kali!” Her little brother, Tyriq Jr., clapped his sticky hands as he watched his sister run to their car.

A few moments later, Kali yanked open the rear passenger door and climbed in with the kind of energy Shanice wished she still had.

“Mommy, guess what we did today—”

“Seatbelt first,” Shanice cut in, scanning the street again. “Did that lady come back?”

“No, Mommy.” Kali rolled her eyes. “You ask every day. Every day. Every day.” She moved her arms animatedly. “Why?”

“Just asking, baby. What did y’all do today?” Shanice quickly changed the subject so Kali wouldn’t keep going on.”

“Ooh, we had so much fun. My tea—”

Amid Kali's breathless chatter about finger-painting and playground politics, a black sedan with chrome rims slowly eased around the corner.

Shanice's spine stiffened as her attention locked onto the vehicle.

It had the same obsidian paint job, buffed to a mirror shine, with windows tinted so dark that they swallowed light, and it crept at fifteen miles per hour when everyone else moved at thirty.

The Texas license plate came into focus: TFG1093.

Those seven characters were burned into her memory.

Shanice gasped, her stomach twisting into a fist-sized knot as acid climbed her throat and sweat beaded along her hairline.

Visibly trembling, her foot had jammed down on the brake as if an invisible hand had seized her and demanded she not move.

The window on the driver’s side rolled down a fraction, and the barrel of a phone camera poked through. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a flash blinked from inside, once, twice, three times, aimed straight at her and her children.

Nerves shot and heart racing, Shanice mashed the gas pedal. The Honda shot down the street, her tires squealing as she swerved into the next lane. A horn split the air as she cut off a compact car, its driver slamming the brakes so hard the vehicle fishtailed.

She darted back left, nearly clipping a delivery truck. The driver’s furious shout was lost beneath the blast of his horn, but Shanice hardly heard it. Her entire body locked onto survival, her gaze glued to the black SUV in her rearview mirror, trailing them.

Shanice blew through a yellow light that turned red before she cleared the intersection.

Brakes screeched. A pickup skidded sideways, its grill missing her bumper by inches.

She gasped, jerking the wheel so hard her shoulder cracked and the vehicle bounced over the curb before slamming back onto the asphalt.

“Mommy!” Kali shrieked, clutching her seatbelt.

Tyriq Jr. squealed in terrified delight, his small body bouncing with each violent turn. His toy fire truck tumbled from his lap and smacked the floor before rolling under the seat. Tyriq Jr. banged on the window with glee, his sticky fingerprints multiplying across the glass.

“Mommy, I wan a chicken nuggee?” he asked, unaware of the danger riding their tail.

Shanice’s eyes darted from the road to the mirror, her chest aching from the force of her breaths. “Not today, bug,” she barked, her voice raw as she gripped the wheel, making a right turn on two wheels.

Kali groaned, her voice laced with defiance. “But you promised last week!”

Shanice’s throat tightened as she watched the truck gaining on her. “Kali, please, not right now!” The words tore from her mouth, jagged and desperate, her patience unraveling with every swerve of the wheel.

Her mind was tallying escape routes and worst-case scenarios as the black SUV turned left, then right, keeping pace but never overtaking, and never lagging far enough to be mistaken for coincidence.

“But, Mommy!” Kali whined, her voice higher now, shrill with fear.

“Enough, Kali!” Shanice snapped, the panic cutting her words into sharp edges. “Do not talk! Do not say another word! Mommy has to drive!”

Even Tyriq Jr. froze, wide eyes blinking at her reflection in the rearview.

Shanice swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. “I said no nuggets. We have food at home.”

Eyes on the rearview mirror, she cranked a right without signaling, and the tires bit into the asphalt with a high-pitched screech. Behind her, the SUV's turn signal flashed once, then it swung onto the same street.

Shanice's lungs seized mid-breath, and she yanked the wheel left at Maple Drive, then right onto Sycamore Lane, her pulse hammering, and her ribs tightening around a panic so agonizing it hurt to breathe.

From the backseat, Tyriq Jr. squealed in delight, and Kali yelped in fright as their small bodies swayed with each turn. Ignoring them, Shanice pressed on the gas pedal, weaving through the narrow side streets until her block came into view.

By the time she pulled into her apartment complex, the road was empty, the street was quiet, and the vehicle that had haunted her in the rearview mirror was nowhere to be seen.

Shanice parked quickly, hands trembling as she wrestled the keys from the ignition.

“Both of you upstairs. Now.”

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Kali asked, voice filled with worry.

“Nothing,” Shanice lied, her throat tight. “Just hurry.”

She hustled the children up the steps, her palm pressed against Kali’s back while her fingers clamped around Tyriq Jr.’s sticky hand.

The elevator waited at the end of the hall, but she wouldn’t dare wait around for it like a fool.

With a burst of frantic strength, she swung both children onto her hips and hauled them up the stairwell, climbing two steps at a time until they reached the third floor.

At her door, her nerves betrayed her. The key scraped against the metal plate once, then again, her trembling hands refusing to obey.

On the third try, the tip finally slid into the lock.

She leaned forward in shaky relief, then froze when she saw a package sitting on the welcome mat.

It was small, wrapped in plain brown paper, and folded with care as if it had been handled lovingly, but it didn’t belong on her doorstep.

Trying desperately not to faint, Shanice unlocked her door and shoved her children inside before kicking the box in with the edge of her foot.

Eyes bouncing everywhere, she quickly shut the door behind her, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place doing nothing to ease the pounding in her chest.

“Mommy, what is that?” Kali asked as she crouched and reached for the package.

“Stop! Don’t touch that!” Shanice belted, gently shoving her daughter far away from the box. “Go to your room! Now.”

“O-okay,” Kali whispered before grabbing hold of her brother’s hand and retreating down the hallway.

Shanice waited with bated breath until she heard her children’s door open and shut. Her hands shook as she crouched, fingers clumsy against the paper. She tore at the folds, the sound of ripping louder than her heartbeat in her ears.

The moment the lid parted, a strangled gasp ripped from her throat. Her stomach lurched, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, fighting the urge to scream and vomit.

Inside the box lay a severed finger, shriveled and gray at the tip, the nail rimmed in dried blood. A folded note rested on top, inked in heavy black strokes.

You’re next.

Shanice’s vision blurred, and the box slipped from her hands, thudding against the floor.

Fear had her in a chokehold, squeezing her lungs until every breath came shallow.

It pressed against her chest with the weight of stone, slowing her heart to a tortured drum.

Her thoughts scattered like startled birds, wings beating against the inside of her skull, but no escape opened for them.

She stood suspended in that grip, every muscle taut, every nerve screaming, as if fear itself had dragged her into its cage and swallowed the key.

But then an image of Kali and Tyriq Jr. slammed into her mind.

Their laughter, their small hands clinging to hers, their voices calling for her in the dark.

What would happen to them if she were gone?

What if whoever left this box had a more sinister motive?

What if they wanted her children, too?

Her thoughts seized, tangled in panic, but thoughts of her children cut through and dragged her back. She shoved herself off the wall and stumbled for her phone, snatching it from the counter with shaking hands. Her thumb jabbed Vega’s number, and when the line clicked open, her voice broke.

“Detective Vega speaking.”

“D-detective, I need help!” Shanice stammered, her entire body trembling so hard her teeth began to chatter.

“Who is this?”

“Sha—Shanice,” she forced out. “You need to come. Right now. Another package was left at my door.”

“Don’t touch it. Do you understand me, Shanice?” Vega spat with urgency as he scooted his chair away from his desk and stood, reaching for his coat.

“I already did,” she whispered, pressing her free hand against her forehead.