What the fuck?
Chapter five
EVE
Thesnowandmynow flickering headlights make it impossible for me to make out whoever is out there, but whoever is out there is tall.
“E—e—ve?”My friends call out.
“Shh!”
Blanche’s chicken toy squeaks when I grip it like I’m wielding a sword, bracing for the fight of my life.I donotput the chicken down.
My emergency tote is on the floor behind the passenger seat—band-aids, an extra leash for the girls, hand sanitizer, my half-finished crochet Santa pickle (Dickle), two romance novels and the vibrator in its little velvet pouch that absolutely refuses to close all the way.
I reach back, hoping for… I don’t know… a whistle?A flashlight?A life decision reset button.
My fingers brushthepouch instead.
The vibrator’s slick pink head slides halfway out like it’s trying to make a grand entrance.
No.Nope.Not today.
I try to shove it back in with one hand, which only makes it tilt forward like it's making eye contact.
I freeze.
I pretend that did not happen.
I pretend I have control over anything in my life.
And I keep the chicken.
I’ve always wondered if my last thought would be some profound line to inspire generations.Instead, what flashes through my mind?Someone’s going to find my vibrator.
The police report will list“one female victim, three very much alive dogs, and one overused Pleasure3000 that suggests serious trust issues.”
At least I have clean underwear on (mom would besoproud).
Bigfoot knocks on my window like a well-behaved Bigfoot who’s read the serial killer etiquette handbook.
“You okay in there?”The deep voice has my stupid heartbeat speeding up with a roar.Because that voice tickles my brain.
“Huh-huh.”My fingers clench around Blanche’s rubber chicken until it squeaks again.“I have the cops on the line.”
“Say hi to Officer Martinez for me.”It’s not his casual tone that sends an icicle down my spine.It’s that the dots are connecting despite my brain’s singingLa-la-la-la-This-Can’t-Be-Real.
Crap.Shit.Fuck.To the thousands.
I grab my beanie, tugging it down on my curls and ease the window down another inch, enough to peek out without confirming what I already sense in my stem cells.
“I’m a vet, but I’m first aid certified.”And now he’s angling his flashlight toward me.
I jerk back, but the beam catches my face and I slam my palm on the window control.Up.Now.The window shudders, sticks, then drops dramatically like Dorothy when she sees a squirrel.Of course.
“Need help with that?”He rasps out.
Not a serial killer.
