"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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The rush of relief didn't last long. Outside the apartment block, I realized I had no idea where I was, and I was miles away from anyone or anything familiar. I barely yet knew my way around campus, let alone the surrounding blocks of private housing. Hanna and I had jumped on some kind of shuttle bus near our dorm to get here, but I had no idea how to find one that would take me back, or even if they were still running this late.
I fumbled for my phone, swearing aloud when I noticed the battery bar had crept down to red. At seven percent, I thought I might have enough juice to call an Uber—but when I checked the app, there were no cars available anyway. And I didn't have any cash for a real cab.
Walking was my only option.
I texted Hanna to let her know I was leaving, punched the address into Google Maps, and tried to memorize as much of the route as possible.
At first, I did an okay job of finding my way. But then my phone signal turned patchy, and the blue dot marking my location started leaping around all over the place. I kept having to go back on myself, turning corners and taking tentative steps until the map jumped and I realized I was heading in the wrong direction. I was still fifteen minutes away when the battery died completely. As I stood on a street corner, shivering in the breeze and staring at the black screen, I could no longer hold back the tears.
Stop crying, Morgan, I told myself furiously. Could you make yourself look any more of a target right now? But as quickly as I wiped the tears from my cheeks, more spilled over. My mascara was running too; I could see the evidence on my black-smeared fingers.
I started walking again, sniffing hard in an effort to pull myself together. I was supposed to be a college student, independent now; the least I could do was pretend. So I held my head high, walking with false purpose, as if I was sure of both myself and where I needed to be.
And it worked, for a while. At least until I heard the car behind me.
This wasn't a notoriously unsafe area; in fact, the leafy suburban setting and small-town feel was part of the reason Davidson had appealed to me in the first place. That and the fact it was only an hour's drive from home. Obviously I had to be careful, but I could take comfort in the lack of daily robberies and assaults like in some other student cities.
Still, that car definitely wasn't a good sign.
I was scared to look back, like this would cement my selection as a target—though the continuous rumble of the engine and slow rolling of the tires gave away that this car was not about to pass me by. All I could do was keep walking. Head high, toes blistering, and praying that I would somehow make it out of this unscathed.
