He grabbed the backpack, not even bothering with the zipper, as I picked up three loose paint cans. We ran around the cornertoward Riley’s car, which he’d parked two blocks away. No streetlamps shined on this area. Just one building had a few sad strings of Christmas lights above its entrance. I doubted a cop would be able to spot us if we crouched along the wall for a minute, but Riley seemed determined to get away. Tugging me toward the car, he whipped his head back and forth as though assessing the walls for threats. He practically threw me in the passenger side before rushing around the hood to drive.
Behind us, the police cruiser whizzed by.
“Dang, Riley, slow down. It’s cool,” I assured him as I caught my breath. “Cop drove by. Probably not looking for us.”
But Riley stared through the windshield, gripping the steering wheel.
“Nah, nah,” he said, gulping the air. “I don’t trust it. He’s trying to trick us. They always do that. I bet he’s just working his way back around.”
I could see the erratic beating of his pulse in his neck as he started the ignition with shaky hands. His left leg bounced against the car mat in a hurried rhythm. He scrubbed a hand over his face and squeezed his eyes shut before opening them, looking dazed.
He pulled into the deserted road, headlights off.
“Dude, you’ve been watching too many cop shows.” With effort, I stayed calm. Reaching across the dash, I flipped the switch to turn the headlights on, grateful Riley didn’t try to stop me. Ice had gathered on the windshield, so I also started the defrost, realizing with a groan that I’d left my gloves back on the little grassy area.
The car lurched as Riley took a corner too fast. I used an elbow to brace myself. He kept switching lanes unnecessarily. We hadn’t been drinking, so I imagined the adrenaline pumping through his veins was making him frantic. Why couldn’t he chillout and see that the threat had passed? He made several turns until we were in one of Seattle’s residential neighborhoods.
In the complete opposite direction of the way back to my house.
“Where are you going, man?”
“I want to make sure that cop’s not following.”
“Riley, you need to come down from whatever high you’re on. We’re fine. No one’s after us.” I blew into my hands again. I was going to miss those gloves. “Maybe you should pull over and take a break. Calm the fuck down.”
He still appeared to be on the verge of bursting an aneurysm. If anything proved we were not destined for the criminal life, this was it. Riley was shitting his pants at a cop car simply driving by while we’d admittedly been committing a crime, but not exactly a felony.
His breathing grew even more labored and uneven. It wasn’t right, the way he couldn’t get himself under control. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
I’d heard of this happening to people but never seen it up close. I vaguely recalled the mental health unit from sophomore year.
“Hey, Riley. You need to pull over. I’m pretty sure you’re having a panic attack.”
“Nah, dude. I’m good,” he said, blinking repeatedly.
He turned again, and we were in the neighborhood’s small business district. We passed a grocery store, a few restaurants, a drugstore, a dry cleaner, a coffee shop. Everything was dark except at the end of the street, where they’d converted one of the parking areas into a temporary Christmas tree lot. It still had all its lights on, offering a quick flash of illumination as we drove by.
Even though it was brief, the stab of light into the car’s interior seemed to stun Riley, who threw up both arms against the momentary brightness.
Letting go of the wheel.
“Jesus Christ!” I leaned over and attempted to steer, screaming at Riley to hit the brakes.
But he pressed his foot on the gas pedal, and the car swerved violently. Thank god it was stupid o’clock in the morning because we were beyond conspicuous now. I shoved the wheel left to keep us from hitting a parked car. Then I pulled it back the other way to stop us from going onto the sidewalk.
Both our bodies slammed into the center console.
“Dammit, Riley! You need to stop! Stop!”
He nodded, finally seeming to hear me. Bringing his hands back to the wheel, he slowed the car.
We were going about ten miles an hour when a bicycle appeared out of nowhere.A fucking bike!At this time in the morning.It was crossing the intersection ahead of us, and I prayed Riley would see or that he’d actually stop for the stop sign.
But he didn’t. I yanked the wheel as the cyclist was about to cross in front of us, maneuvering the car sideways to skirt around the back wheels. The whole thing only lasted a second, but it happened as though in slow motion. I thought we avoided hitting the bicycle, if by inches, but then I looked in the mirror and saw the cyclist go down. Hard.
“We hit that bike!”
I looked back, and it didn’t appear as though the bicycle had gone far. It hadn’t flown across the road or anything. More like tipped over. Still, the person on the ground didn’t seem to be moving.
