The lights were closer now. It seemed like a big vehicle, an SUV perhaps, judging from the way the lights poured into the small car she was traveling in. It was bright enough now that she could see the terror, anger, and stanch resolve on the face of her neighbor, the car’s driver. Her neighbor, a small homely woman with whom she had exchanged obligatory pleasantries for years, was the one who occasionally drove her to work on too cold nights like these when her 1982 model car refused to start.
“Should I be worried?” she asked quietly.
“Don’t talk right now. I need to concentrate,” snapped her neighbor, unusually brusquely.
“I’d just like to know why we’re getting off the highway. I still need to go to work… if that’s okay?” she trailed off, as she endured a look of exasperated condescension from the driver.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this, but now that you’re here I need you to shut up. If you make this harder for me I will get rid of you. How did they find me?” she muttered, as an afterthought.