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No name, no defining features, it feels like we’re back to square one.
Still, I guess at the very least we are on the right track.
We thank Gray and leave, heading back to campus. Once we arrive, we go our separate ways, and I go to my room to gather my things to head home. I want to make it before the kids go to bed. I miss them like crazy.
Unlocking my door, I step inside and gather my things, then I head straight back to my car. I’m gone for no more than half an hour, but something has changed. I know it the second I get closer and see the slip of paper under my windshield wiper. My heart skips a beat as I rush over, pulling it out to reveal a note. Opening, I read the messily scrawled words inside.
You will never be her. She deserved to live. You deserve to die.
What the hell?
My heart skips a beat as I frantically look around, hoping to see something, but the place is empty. Nobody is here. I’m the only one in the parking lot. The letter doesn’t make sense to me. I didn’t kill Alyssa, and even if I did, why would I want to be her? It’s almost as if they think I took her from them because of jealousy.
It just doesn’t make sense.
I’m missing something, I know it.
Heart racing, I get into my car and start it.
Then, I pull out, desperate to get home.
The campus road leads straight out of town and being a quiet day, I get out as quickly as I can. I’m distracted, which is probably why I don’t notice that my brakes feel a little sluggish. It’s only when I go to slow down at a stop sign that I realize my car isn’t slowing the way it should. My heart leaps into my throat as I slam my foot on the brake, over and over, but the car isn’t slowing down.
I’m getting closer to pulling out onto a busy highway and if I don’t stop, I’ll probably die.
A fear unlike anything I’ve ever felt rips through me as I continue to try and slow down, but nothing is working. Making a split-second decision, my babies faces flashing through my mind, I turn the car toward the side of the road at the same time I pull on the handbrake. A frantic yelp escapes my mouth as the car screeches, the tires locking as it spins out of control.
There is nothing I can do but hang on.
My car plummets off the side of the road and slams into a tree, sending me hurtling forward. My head bounces off the steering wheel, and I cry out as pain explodes in my head just as the airbag is released and pushes me back. Head spinning, it takes me a moment to realize what has just happened. My brakes stopped working. They stopped working, and I had an accident.
Blood trickles down my forehead as I try to gather myself, pushing the airbag out of the way and shoving the door open. My head spins a little, and I’m not certain it’s a good idea for me to move, but I have to get out of this car. By the time I have the door open, a man has rushed down and is desperately shoving the airbag away to help me out.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“I ... I don’t know,” I croak, my feet hitting the ground as I try to stand, only to tumble into the man’s arms.
“Whoa, stay still. You could be injured. I’m calling for help. Please don’t move.”
He helps me sit on a small fallen log on the side of the road and then he calls for help. A few other people have stopped, but I’m not paying attention. I’m trying to figure out what the hell just happened. One minute I was driving, the next my brakes weren’t working. How do brakes just stop working? It doesn’t make any sense.
“They’re on their way,” the man tells me. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I murmur. “My brakes stopped working ...”
Frowning, the man offers to take a look for me. He tells me he was a mechanic when he was younger and goes over to the car which is smooshed against the tree. He can’t get under the hood, for obvious reasons, but he does manage to maneuver around to check. When he returns, his brow is furrowed. “Someone cut your brake line.”
My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. Did I just hear correctly? He said someone cut my brake line. I don’t understand.
“I ...What?” I whisper.
“The line is cut. You could have been killed.”
Staring down at my trembling hands, I think about the note on my car. Someone cut the line because someone wanted me to crash this car and die. This isn’t just stalking anymore, this is serious. Someone is actually trying to hurt me. Someone wants revenge for a situation that I had nothing to do with, and it doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t seem to fix it.
“The brakes were working for a bit ...” I whisper, looking up at the man.
“The liquid would have slowly come out with each push on your brake, and eventually, they just stop working.”
