“No. My mom always called me her little chatterbox. Once I started, I didn’t know how to stop.”
“Why did you stop?”
This isn’t something I want to talk about over the phone but if it keeps her mind occupied while she waits for me and the police then fine.
“There are two reasons I turned into a quiet kid when you met me. One reason was because of Hart. I hated how other kids treated him when he wouldn’t talk. I thought if we were both quiet then maybe the kids at school wouldn’t tease him so much. Or if they did, they would have to deal with both of us.”
“That’s really sweet of you.”
“I told you I was a nice guy. I might not always make the right decisions, but I make them with good intentions.”
“I never said you weren’t nice. I know you’re a good guy. I’ve never questioned that. I’ve questioned if you were a good guy for me.”
“One day you won’t have to question that anymore.”
“I think you’re right,” she says, and my heart lights up with hope.
“You do?”
“You said there were two reasons you stopped talking all the time. What was the other one?” she asks, returning to our earlier conversation.
“When I was twelve I moved to Alabama and I met this girl. She loved stories as much as I loved having her talk to me. I figured out early on if I stayed quiet long enough, she would fill the silence with her stories.”
“Koa…that’s…Koa,” she says my name a second time in a deep whisper. It would be sexy if there wasn’t a hint of fear in her tone.
“What is it?” I practically shout.
“The lights. The lights on the car. They just came on.”
“I’m almost there. Hold tight for ten minutes. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah. I can do that.” The tremor in her voice is destroying me. I’m coming up on the exit. I’ll be there soon but it’s not good enough. I need to be there now.
“Did he get out of the car?”
“He? How do you know it’s a man?” she asks, half hysterical. “Koa, how do you know? It’s him, isn’t it? He did this to my car.”
“The police are on their way. Please—”
“Koa, he’s driving over here.”
Fuck. I push the gas harder. Why does this place have to be out in the middleof nowhere?
“What’s happening? Keep talking to me. As long as you’re talking you’re okay.”As long as she’s talking she’s okay. Maybe if I keep repeating it over and over I’ll believe it.
“He’s opening the door and getting out of his car.”
“Listen to me, Syd. I know you don’t like me telling you what to do, but I need you to do this for me. You ignore him. Don’t react to whatever he says or does. You don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him think he’s getting to you.”
“What if he breaks the window or something and he can get to me?”
Then he’s a dead man.
There’s a loud thud followed by a scream from Sydney.
“You listen to my voice. Not his,” I say as he curses at her through the car window.
Her agreement is lost among tears and sharp inhales of fear.
