Getting Home

Getting Home Part 1

Red light.

Why do I always get stuck at red lights? It never failed, no matter what—after midnight, driving home from my friend's house on empty deserted roads of black with no-one else around. Can you guess who hits every single one of those red lights? I bet you can.

This girl.

I sighed, my car slowly creeping up to stop at the line of the empty intersection. Nobody in any direction out into the night for miles, of course. I was tempted— was I tempted. But with my luck? A cop hiding right in some alley somewhere, as soon as I dared.

I'm not a law-breaker anyways.

My car was old, a 1998 Honda Civic. But at least the radio was new—I could finally listen to music off my iPhone. My latest song obsession by Rory's Last Kiss came on, which meant I was, like, halfway down the playlist, maybe? As I was contemplating how boring the song actually was, and looking into my rear-view mirror to brush away some hair that had fallen into my face, there was a sudden loud burst of static from the speakers that made me jump and my ears hurt.

"Ow!" I yelped. I just bought the stupid radio too—I told you. It's always my luck.

The traffic lights went dark.

Everything went black, except for the soft glow of my dashboard that lit the interior of the car an eerie, murky green, like the lights under the algae-filled water of a neglected pool. The smell of acrid, burnt chlorine suddenly filled the car, and I nervously glanced out into the night. Power outage, fine. New radio going bad? Whatever. My dad always taught me to listen to my intuition—not just blindly follow it, but to hear what it had to say. And mine was saying good girl or not, I am not sitting in this dark intersection.

 Strands of my hair slowly began to rise, floating around my shoulders as an electrical charge filled the air, making my skin prickle.

Time to go.

I went to put my foot on my gas.

The passenger window suddenly exploded, blowing little soft pieces of tempered-glass into my hair and all over me. I flinched away quick enough I was able to cover my face, and suddenly there was something there, in the passenger seat—well, not exactly the seat, but the floor.

It was a guy.

I couldn't make out much—he was scrunched up in the footwell, under the dash and in the dark. His legs were askew as his feet lay up on the headrest of the passenger seat.

"Oh my god," I said, unaware I was even speaking. "What the hell are you—"

He mumbled something.

"What?" I said in complete shock.

"Go..." he whispered.

"Can you get the hell out of my—"

His hand suddenly shot out from the passenger seat floor and clamped onto my wrist; strong. It was like an electric jolt – I've never felt anything like that before. And hot. Like burning. I gasped sharply and tried to pull my arm away, but it was like trying to pull the sword from the stone—not happening. I defaulted back to what my Dad had always told me to if something like this were to happen.

"Listen, mister. My name is Ava Mather. My wallet and my phone are right there in the console. No trouble, no foul. Take the car and go."

His body suddenly recoiled with what seemed like pain—his grip tightened so hard the bones in my wrist ground together. After a moment he spoke, this time his voice a little more audible, but still very weak.

"Go... must... go..."

His grip finally loosened, and his hand slipped off my wrist.

The traffic lights began to flash rapidly, like strobe lights, turning the intersection into a hellish kaleidoscope of nightmare fuel. There was another burst of static, and the radio went dead. The headlights on the Civic began to dim, and the car began to sputter.

I barely noticed it. "Look mister, I don't—"

There was a sudden huge THUD! Something hit the ground behind us—I don't know what it was, but it was hard enough to bounce the car and throw me against my seatbelt. All the lights on the street exploded simultaneously, ending the Nightclub from Hell lightshow and throwing everything into blackness.

"GO!" he screamed.

I floored it.

For one heart-stopping, terrifying moment, it felt like the Civic wasn't going to go—the headlights had dimmed almost all the way out. It jerked, kicked, stumbled—then suddenly snapped awake, the tires giving a tiny chirp as the car eagerly leapt forward, the tiny engine zipping like an angry little bee.