Nightingale

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

                                                                                     The Interview

I stood at the back of my car in the parking garage searching for my keys. "They really ought to do something about the lighting out here," I muttered to myself and dug relentlessly in the purse resting on the trunk. I was so distracted by my own aggravation I hadn't even noticed the sleek black sedan creeping my way with the headlights off. "Dammit!" I complained.

Then I saw it, the black car lurking outside my house the night before. The windows were tinted so dark I couldn't see who was inside. It silently rolled to a stop a few yards away and sat there. I strained my eyes in the dimly lit garage trying desperately to make out the model or get a glimpse of the driver. It was no use. I could hear crickets screaming over the low hum of the engine. I could smell the exhaust. I froze. This was it. My assassin was only a few yards away.

I scanned the garage looking for somewhere to run, somewhere to hide, or someone I could call to help me. The garage was sparsely filled with the cars of the skeleton crew working nights. Shift change had already come and gone. No one would hear me scream. The engine roared to life, and the screech of the tires echoed deafeningly throughout the garage. I tried to run, but I couldn't make my feet move. Knowing it would obliterate me in a matter of seconds, I watched helplessly as it sprang straight for me, like a black panther leaping for its prey. Frozen with panic, I stared wide-eyed into the dark glass. The driver seemed to reconsider at the very last second and turned hard to the left, but it was too late. I squeezed my eyes shut and crouched instinctively as the side panel struck me with full force and sent me sliding across the pavement. My assailant sat still for a few seconds, and then I heard the tires screech again as the car maneuvered around me and sped out of the garage. I rested my cheek against the cold concrete and struggled desperately to breathe...

"Hello? Sam, are you there? If you're there, pick up." Claudia's voice on the answering machine awoke me from my nightmarish hell. I fought off the nausea and reached for the cordless phone on the night stand.

"Hello?" Panic stricken and breathless, I sat up.

"Did I interrupt something?" she asked, voice full of humor.

My head pounded relentlessly, and I moaned when I glanced at the still damp clothing scattered across the floor. Not so vague memories of the night before flooded my mind. I massaged my temple. "Yes, you did," I barked, "a nightmare."

"Oh, sorry." She sounded disappointed. "What was it about?" she asked with little interest.

"I dreamt I had this traitorous friend that left me drunk in a bar with an old flame I want nothing to do with," I spit out sarcastically. "I was planning her untimely death when you woke me up!"

"Glad it isn't me," she laughed uncomfortably. "Really, Sam, you didn't seem that bad off. Besides, you let me go. You acted like you wanted him to take you home."

"After sucking down a triple shot frozen daiquiri and three beers in an hour and a half, I would've let Charles Manson take me home!" I grouched bitterly, rubbing my head. "Do you not recall the fact it only took a double shot, no beer included, for me to dance on the bar during our previous outing?"

"Yeah, I forgot you don't handle liquor well," she said sheepishly. "So...still a respectable member of society or do I need to sew a scarlet A on your lab coat?"

"No scarlet letters this time. With no thanks to you, I might add," I humphed.

"No harm done then," she said cheerily.