I’ll see you later,idiot.
I stopped at the grocery store on my way home.The grocery store. It took me five minutes to get out of the car and another two minutes just to walk through the door. I avoided eye contact with the spot where I’d been held at gunpoint and went through my mental list of items I needed for tonight’s dinner. I was making lasagna, his favorite.
Noodles
Ground beef
Tomato sauce
Ricotta cheese, mozzarella cheese, parmesan cheese
Garlic and onion
Eggs
And Italian seasoning
I repeated these items over and over, mentally checking items off my list as I went down each aisle.
I noticed the checkout lane where it all happened had been blocked off. I chose a line as far away as possible. Putting my items on the conveyor belt, I looked up and made eye contact with Joe, the cashier from that night, and my chest grew tight immediately. I sucked in a sharp breath and forced a smile. It wasn’t his fault. He was a victim too.
“I’ve been waiting to see you again,” he whispered, not making eye contact as he scanned my items. I held my card near the card reader and waited for him to finish scanning so I could pay and get out of there.
“I’m sorry,” he said. We made eye contact when he handed me my bags.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, putting the bags in my cart, and I used every ounce of restraint to walk slowly out of the store without raising alarm to the other shoppers.
Stuck in memories from that night, I made the drive home without paying much attention to the traffic or my surroundings, completely and utterly lost in a trance.
I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, the soft hum of the radio filling the car as I pulled into the condo complex. As I turned into the lot, a strange shiver of anxiety crawled up my spine.
I slowed my car, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
A dark sedan followed me through the entrance, its tinted windows hiding the driver.
My grip on the wheel tightened. It wasn’t unusual for another car to pull in behind me. I lived in a small complex, but something about this one felt off.It wasn’t a neighbor’s car. It wasn’t even a visitor. I knew all the cars in the lot, and this wasn’t one of them. I tried to shake off the anxiety and fear that coiled in my stomach, thinking maybe it was stemming from my visit to the grocery store, but I couldn’t shake this.
The car was unfamiliar.
I pulled into my usual parking spot near the stairs leading to my condo, but the sedan didn’t pass me to find its own space.It stopped. Right in the middle of the lot. Engine still running.
My pulse pickedup.
Maybe I was being paranoid. It could be a delivery driver checking an address or someone waiting for a friend. A lot of people used Uber here.
Or maybe…it wasn’t.
I swallowed hard and turned off my car, forcing myself to move casually. I grabbed a few grocery bags from the passenger seat, keys wedged between my fingers—something my mother had drilled into me years ago. The moment I stepped out, I dared another glance.
The car was still there.
Still running.
And now, the driver’s side door was opening.
A man stepped out.
Tall. Dark jacket. Face shadowed beneath a cap.
