It feels closer to midnight than only eight o’clock—deserted and cold and empty—and I shiver beneath the street lamps and swaying trees. A car passes. I cross the street to the other side when a car approaches from behind, the headlights lingering on me, distorting my shadow in front of me. It slows, its motor idling over the sound of squeaky brakes. I turn, wondering why the car doesn’t pass, but its headlights keep me from getting a decent view of the car. Hoping it’s only someone turning into a driveway, I keep walking, glad Cale’s house is only a few houses away. At the corner I cut across a lawn, turning up Bellevue Avenue. The car continues to follow me. I hug my arms against my body and slow my pace, hoping to bore the car into leaving. No such luck. It keeps plodding along until it pulls up right beside me. I stop and turn, throwing my hands out in front of me. “What?” I yell. The darkness masks the occupants inside, offering nothing more distinguishing than moving shapes and vague shadows.
