The Masked Killer - A.T Ben Saad || English

Chapter 9: Matthew

As I slide into the driver's seat and shut the car door, my heart pounds in my throat. I'm outside, on the unsafe terrain. I just hope I won't regret this. With a determined expression, Noah gets into the passenger seat and closes the door. With each door slam, I'm afraid we'll be heard. Noah sets the navigation to the nearest police station. We have to go to Fairfield. I break the silence by starting the engine. I'm trembling from head to toe, adrenaline coursing through my body. I hope to get this done as quickly as possible. I press the gas pedal and drive off the driveway.

---

We've been driving for a while now. The entire journey has been silent. The only sound is the cars whizzing by on the highway. The silence is finally broken by the beeping of an empty gas tank. I sigh.

"We need to—" I say softly. Noah nods. I take the first exit to a gas station as quickly as possible. My hands are sweaty, and the steering wheel feels grimy in my grip. As I park the car, I glance quickly at Noah. How can he be so relaxed right now?

"Just go," he says. I nod, open the door, and step out. The wind is cold and icy, cutting through my gray Ralph Lauren hoodie. I quickly pull up my hood, hoping the murderer won't recognize me. The gas pump handle is as cold as the wind itself, and I bite my lip at the first touch. I quickly pull my sweater over my palm and grab the pump. I watch the meter slowly rise as I begin to fill up. Too slowly, if you ask me. When the counter hits sixty, I release the trigger and hang the pump back up. Then, I rush inside. It's drizzling, and my sweater feels damp against my skin as I step out from under the awning. The sliding doors open before me, and I walk in. Cheerful music is playing—exactly what I don't need right now. I've just lost my best friend, and someone is after us, wanting us dead. For safety, I grab some bandages and pills from the first aid section. We'll need those. I head to the counter and put the items down. I look around wildly, searching for anyone who might be staring at me.

"Everything okay?" the cashier asks. I look at him, puzzled.

"Hm? Uh, yes," I say quickly, altough I'm not okay, and it hurts me that I can't tell annyone.

"Okay..." he replies, suspiciously. He scans the items I want to buy. The beeping irritates me to no end. I don't want to attract attention.

"Oh, I also filled up," I add quickly. He nods.

"How many liters?" he asks, looking at me dryly.

"Sixty," I reply curtly. He sighs.

"Okay," he says, irritated. "Card or cash?" he asks. 'Shut up already!' is all I can think. I don't want to make too much noise. The murderer might recognize my voice. I deepen my voice.

"Cash." I answer. The cashier raises an eyebrow. I quickly grab my wallet. Of course, at times like this, nothing seems to cooperate. With trembling hands, I pull out two twenties. I place them on the counter and walk away.

"Wait! You forgot your change!" I hear him shout. My heart almost beats out of its chest when I feel everyone's eyes burning into the back of my head. Why is he so loud?! I adjust my hood just in case. When I get back into the car, I see Noah texting someone.

"Who is that?" I ask. Noah looks up from his phone.

"Oh—uh—Henry. I was just asking how things were going there," he says quickly. I fasten my seatbelt.

"Is Lola okay?" I ask. There's a brief silence. He looks at me with his blue-grey eyes.

"Hey, are you interested in her or something? You're always hovering around her like a bee to honey," he asks angrily. I swallow, feeling guilty when I think about how my body reacts when I'm near her. My heart pounds out of my chest at the thought of her, those brown, shimmering locks, and those sparkling eyes.

"No, I'm not interested in her." I stammer, unable to meet his gaze.

"Why is it so hard to believe you?" he asks. He sighs and runs a hand trough his center parting, brown hair.

"I don't know." I sigh. It's quiet.

The truth is; I know damn well why he finds it hard to believe my words. Because I can't even believe myself when I repeat those six words in my head when she's around.

"Sorry, can't I just ask how she's doing? She's the only girl in the house now. We all need to keep an eye on her," I say, trying to make him feel better. Noah sighs.

"You're right," he says. "Sorry, buddy, this situation is driving me crazy. I don't trust anyone anymore." He puts a hand on my shoulder. I nod.

"It's okay," I say. "I get it."

"Thanks, bro," he says, giving me a pat on the shoulder. Then he settles back into his seat. The leather creaks.

"Okay, let's end this shit!" he says with a determined look on his face.

"Yeah, let's put an end to that bastard!" I press the gas and drive away from the gas station.
---
We've been driving for a while on the seemingly endless highway.

"Turn left," Noah's phone blares through the car. I turn the wheel and press the brake, but the car keeps going at the same speed.

I suddenly feel dizzy. It feels like my lungs are filled with bricks. Cars honk and swerve around us. The chaos surrounding us seems endless. My head is pounding, and my vision is blurry. I try to get my breathing under control, but each breath is a struggle.

"What the fuck!" I shout in panic. Why isn't this working?

"Get on the shoulder!" I hear Noah shout, but it's too late. I crash headlong into a large truck. The car flips. My legs crack. A sharp pain shoots through my legs and back, but it quickly fades due to the adrenaline. The last thing I see are flying shards of glass and large splatters of blood.