The Witches on BellaRow Street

9. Uh, What's Going On?

Pure magic comes from within.
*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ

"I SAW WHAT YOU DID IN THE ALLEY!"

My throat constricts like a twenty-foot anaconda, strangling a human body that's desperate for air as I read the final words on the note. I'm struggling to breathe. I'm out of focus. I'm confused. Dizzy. I'm still at Zion's complex. My emotions are running wild, but I can't move.

Think, Yanni.

Breathe. My chest rises, inhaling a decent amount of my Morning Fresh car freshener, dangling from the rearview mirror. Its sweet floral fragrance deludes my senses.

Think.

My first reaction is to look at every possible angle, including the backseat. I don't think anything is back there, but if it is, then I'll taser it to death.

Without further delay, I twist my neck like one of those dolls in a horror movie, exploring every inch of my backseat, even in the corners where I usually drop my french fries. And nada.

Next, I peek out my window, searching for anything out of the ordinary. I'm trying not to panic, but someone must be watching, lurking, or observing what I might do next. However, what I need to do is grab that piece of paper and get the hell out of here.

But first, I have to weigh my options.

I can either roll down the window, reach over the passenger seat, and grab the note. Or I can get out, run over to the passenger side, grab it, then run back to my car. What should I do?

After a considerable amount of debating, stalling, and wasting time, I decided to go with option one.

My hands tremble as I roll down my window, lean over the passenger seat, and reach for that damn note as if my life depends on it. Every part of my body is stretching, extending, and elongating itself so I can grab the paper. And to add insult to injury, I'm not even wearing a seatbelt.

In one flawless move, the tape holding the note, finally loosens, giving me the edge and hopefully the upper hand to rip it off my window. I would've been impressed with the asshole who used duck tape instead of regular clear tape, had I not been afraid.

Wait a minute. I take that back.

As soon as I realize the adhesive holding the paper isn't sticky like I thought, a gust of wind zips by, flapping my note in the air. It's so loose that the paper rises, flickers, and then flies off my window like an eagle in the sky. This can't be life!

I have no other choice but to go with option two. I must hop out of my car, run, and grab it before it drifts away forever. And it's no time to be a chicken shit--it's now or never.

You got this.

No, you dont. Call Zion.

No! Yanni, get out the car!

Yes, get out and hope no one snatches me while I stroll five feet away from the driver's seat. My stomach bubbles, twists, and turns as I open the door, check my surroundings and then sprint to the other side of my car. To my surprise, the note, which I assumed would be five blocks away, is actually under my tire.

It's eerily quiet out here, but my mind centers around remaining calm, and focusing on that one bird chirping its little heart away. Before I bend down, I feel something crawl up my hand, forcing me to sweep it off. Or maybe I think something is crawling on me. I'm not sure. Historically speaking, Witches were known for losing their minds in times of stress.