It’s official.
I’m being pursued.
The road twists again, and I hold back a shriek as another oncoming car whooshes by, its headlights blinding me for a crucial second. The side of my car scrapes against the guardrail, sparks flying as metal screeches against metal. Gasping, I take my foot off the gas and veer away from the rail, getting the car closer to the middle of the winding road.
The pursuing headlights gain on me, and as the road curves again, I see two cars behind me, each one large and dark. Two SUVs. My pulse is now a thunderous roar in my ears, my hands so sweaty they slide around on the wheel. Fighting my panic, I press the gas pedal again, but the cars behind me accelerate faster, and as the road curves right, one flanks me on my side while the other one pulls in front of me.
Despair grips me with an icy fist.
It’s over.
They got me.
Shaking, I take my foot off the gas.
My one chance at escape, and I blew it.
The SUV in front of me reduces speed as well, and the one on my side moves behind me. They know I have no choice but to comply.
It’s officially over.
I’ve lost.
The SUV in front of me slows further, forcing me to brake. My speedometer shows forty kilometers an hour, then thirty-five… then thirty. I’m practically crawling now, and I realize they’re making me stop.
They’re going to get me out of this car and drag me back to Kent’s house, where I will stay locked up until Peter comes for me.
The future stretches out in front of me, as dark and dangerous as this winding road. Without hope for escape, without choices, I will be Peter’s property, and so will our child. I will never see my friends and family again, never help women deliver their babies. As my parents grow older, I won’t be there for them, and they’ll never know their grandchildren.
All I will have is Peter, and the scariest thing of all is that this doesn’t seem unappealing.
I can see it so clearly: the way he’ll care for me, the tenderness in his eyes when he’ll hold our baby. He’ll love me with an intensity that will scorch my soul, and eventually, my own twisted love will grow from its ashes. And after a while, it will all seem normal, from my lack of freedom to the violence of his profession.
We’ll be a family, the way he wants, and as I watch the speedometer drop below fifteen, I know I can’t let it happen.
I can’t give in to the sickest part of me, the one that wants that twisted future.
Another bend in the road, more headlights coming our way. My frantic heartbeat steadies, a strange calm settling over me as I reach over and buckle my seatbelt. I’ll have less than a second to act, so I have to make it count.
Easing my foot off the brake, I clutch the wheel as hard as I can, and as the oncoming car whooshes by, its headlights blinding me and my pursuers alike, I yank the wheel all the way to the right, pulling out into the opposite lane as I floor the gas.
The car rips forward, zooming past the SUV blocking me in the front. I can practically hear my pursuers swear as I leave them in the dust again, my sleek Mercedes gaining speed with the throaty roar of a V8 engine. The speedometer jumps to 100… 110… 120… 130…
Sparks fly, metal scraping against metal as I sideswipe the guardrail again, but this time, I don’t slow down. I keep my foot steady, correcting just enough to maintain control.
It’s a video game, I tell myself. Just a racing video game where I’m driving on the wrong side of the road.
Having recovered from the shock of my sudden maneuver, my pursuers are on my tail again, but I have no intention of making it easy for them. Each time they get close, I veer into the middle of the road, preventing them from going around me. And I maintain my breakneck speed, keeping my foot on the gas even through the steepest turns. Pretending it’s a video game helps—I was always good at those as a kid.
One more minute on the road.
Two.
Three.
I can do it.
I can make it.
In the distance, I see lights, and my pulse jumps anew.
It’s the gas station. It has to be.
My plan is simple: screech to a stop in front of whatever store is there, jump out, and run in, screaming at the top of my lungs for a phone. With any luck, Kent’s people will be too worried about the authorities to grab me in public, but even if they’re not, someone—a gas station attendant, other drivers—will see what’s happening and call the police.