When in Rome(3)

“Your engine is smoking.” He shines the flashlight on the dense cloud of smoke billowing out from under the hood of my car. That can’t be good.

“Oh…yeah,” I say as casually as possible. “It does that sometimes.”

“Your car engine often smokes?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Mm-hmm,” I say louder and perkier than before.

“Right.” He’s clearly not buying my story. “Look, I think you need to get out. It’s not safe to stay in a smoking vehicle.”

Ha! He’d like that, wouldn’t he? Well, there is no way in hell I’m getting out of this car. Even if he has a nice-sounding voice.

“No, thanks.”

“I’m not going to murder you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I gasp and look out at the darkly silhouetted man. “Why would you say that? Now I really think you’re going to murder me.”

“Thought so,” he says, sounding irritated. “What do I need to do to prove I’m not a murderer?”

My forehead creases as I think about it. “Nothing. There’s no way you can prove it.”

He grunts softly and walks to the front of my car, standing in front of the lights. I can see him now, and wow. Hillbilly Joe sure looks a lot like Wilderness Ken. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt. His sandy blond hair is cropped shorter on the sides but has a bit of play on the top. A scruffy short beard covers his strong jaw, and let me tell you, it pairs nicely with the wide shoulders, lean body, and biceps that jump enticingly when he knocks on the hood of my car. The entire effect is…rugged in a way that makes me wish my air-conditioning was working.

“Can you pop the hood so I can make sure nothing is on fire?”

Uh-uh. Sorry, but no. Sexy or not, there’s no way I’m opening that hood. What if he…well, honestly, I know nothing about cars and have no idea what he could do to make this situation worse, but I’m sure he can do something.

“Thanks, but I don’t need your help! I’ll wait until morning and call a tow truck,” I yell loud enough for him to hear me.

He crosses his arms. “How are you going to call a tow truck? We don’t get cell service out here.”

Well, shoot. He’s got me there.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. You can go back to wherever you came from now.” Probably a nearby bush where he’ll be waiting to pounce on me the second I’m out of my safe vehicle. And yes, I realize I’m being a little over-the-top paranoid, but when you’re used to stalkers trying to climb the gated fence outside your house, pose as a plumber to get past your security guard, and/or send you locks of their hair asking you to place it under your pillow at night, you tend to develop a sense of paranoia toward strangers. Which is why I should have NEVER left my house alone. I need to accept the fact that I’m not just me anymore and never will be again.

Wilderness Ken doesn’t walk away. He returns to my window and leans down again, one hand firmly planted above my door, showing me just how ample his wingspan is. “A smoking engine is not good. You need to get out. I promise I’m not going to hurt you, but you will be hurt if this car goes up in flames. I promise I’m a trustworthy person.”

“That’s what all the murderers say…before they murder someone.”

“Met a lot of murderers in your time?”

One point for Wilderness Ken.

I smile and try to sound as kind as possible. “Sorry but…can you just go away? Really, I don’t mean to be rude, but…you’re sort of making me nervous.”

“If I go away, will you get out?”

I laugh a stunted laugh. “Definitely not now! Where did you come from anyway?”

The man nods toward the other side of my car and doesn’t sound at all impressed when he says, “You’re in my front yard.”

Oh.

I turn, and sure enough, I’m pulled over in a front yard. His front yard apparently. I can’t help but smile at the cute house. Small. White. Black shutters. Two lights beside the front door, and a hanging swing on the front porch. Large expansive land around it. It looks homey.

“I think I already know the answer,” he says, “but do you want to come in and call someone? I have a landline.”

I laugh so loud at his suggestion that he winces. Oh dear, that was rude. I clear my throat. “Sorry. No. Thank you…But no,” I say it solemnly this time.

“Fine. Suit yourself. If you need anything and decide I’m not a killer, I’ll just be in there.” He gestures toward the house and rises to his full height again. I watch as he crosses his long front yard and his shadow disappears into the house.

After he shuts his front door, I sigh with relief and sink into my seat, trying not to worry about the smoke still streaming from my car’s engine, or how freaking hot it is in here, or that I’m hungry, or that I really need to pee, or how disappointed Susan will be with me once she realizes I’m not showing up to that interview in the morning.

I’m not okay. Everything is definitely not okay.





Chapter 2


    Noah


She’s still out there. It’s been twenty minutes, and she’s yet to so much as crack her door. And, yes, I am watching her creepily from my window acting like the psychopath she thinks I am. I’m not, for the record—though I’m not sure my opinion really counts in this situation. I am a little worried she’s gonna die tonight, however. It’s 80 degrees outside and she’s not allowing any ventilation through her car. That woman is going to smother herself out there.