Between Devil and Satan (H.S)

II. Suspicion

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This chapter is dedicated to the Iranian people who are fighting for a fair life.

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"Who are you?" I shouted, my hands almost falling from the wheel. I instantly buckled my seatbelt, afraid of me causing an accident in such circumstances.

"A-aron T-Thomas." He mumbled, standing a little bit to move simply on the seat next to me. He was wearing the same black sweatshirt that I was given by the officer.

He acted as if I were supposed to understand his presence. Even though I wanted to park the car near the sidewalk to get explanations from him, I continued driving right to the South of Huntsville, where I would be safer.

A strange silence filled the small car. He did not utter a word, neither did I. Although, I could feel his gaze on me, fixing me while I was driving. In all honesty, his presence itself did not disturb if he were not destabilizing me with his stare. Driving was a very hard thing for me. I did not even have the right to. But my father and brother secretly taught me the basics.

"Aren't you Collin Knight?" the man asked. His voice was low, so low that he seemed cold.

I usually did not dare to glance elsewhere when I was driving, but my interest offered me a reason to. The man was looking in front of him, finally disconnecting his gaze from mine.

He did recognize me, which annoyed me since I never heard about some Aaron Thomas before, breaking the symmetry between us. Most people in town knew me, me being Lucien Knight's daughter. It could be a good or bad thing since my father had been at head of the Wing for nine years. He had always denounced the government's abuses and his every word stayed in people's mind.

"What if I am Collin Knight?" I cocked my eyebrow, waiting for him to reply.
The situation was odd. I had just escaped a high security prison, as if I quitted a hotel room in the morning. There was a complete stranger in the car, a stranger who was able to recognize me despite the darkness. Anyway, things were not normal in here. I was driving to my house without the man asking me anything about the itinerary, how we both escaped prison. Is he even an escapee like me?

"I'm just curious." He said less coldly, and for the first time, the tension started to clear, just a little bit. "So you militate against the Hamilton government?"

"Yes," I said. "That's why I was behind bars." I fast spat as response.

Sometimes, it drove me mad how many times I had been in jail for an article I wrote in one of the last independent newspapers of Huntsville. But never in my life did my journey in jail have lasted more than a month. I wondered how it worked in other countries. What would happen to reporters if they criticized their governments? What if they expressed themselves? I guess most of the countries I knew about would not let their reporters die in jails...

"And you, where do you come from?" Why were you in the car? Were you in the man section?"

"One question at a time." He flatly said. "They let me go, too. That's all."
His lack talkativeness frustrated me. However, we were clearly protecting ourselves. You could never trust anyone in here, not even your so-called friends. Anything or anyone could make them turn their back on you. It was completely understandable how we both kept silent about us. There was no place for trust, but that did not stop me from wishing to know more about the man.
The silence was heavy, and at some point, if I weren't focused on driving, it would have driven me mad. So many questions were slowly racking my brain, to a point that there wasn't a single feeling of relief or happiness inside me, as I got free. So many unexplainable scenes happened tonight.