CHAPTER 17 MINA
“Honey, dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Who are you talking to?”
My mother’s presence at my door is like a bucket of ice water doused over my head. I feel my voice tremble as I scramble for a suitable explanation.
“Oh, just someone from work,” I say as I crack my door to face her, my phone clutched to my chest.
“Oh, Katie? Tell her I say hi!”
“No, not Katie.”
“Well, hello, mystery someone.” Shit . She’s trying to talk to Alex. How can I warn him? His voice echoes uncertainly up through my speaker.
“Hi.”
“Oh, it’s a man,” my mother coos. “How nice. You work with Mina?”
“Yes!” I quickly interject before Alex can reply. “We work together. He’s very nice.”
“Nice, eh?” She casts me a sly glance before returning her attention to my phone. “So, do you work in the surgery program as well, mystery man?”
“Oh, no ma’am, I—”
I cut Alex off again, quickly. “No, he’s not a surgeon. His work is mostly on patient floors, mainly the ICU and emergency admits.”
Mother looks at me, slightly disturbed, and mouths the words, “Is he a nurse ?” She clucks slightly disapprovingly, then murmurs, “Well, you could do worse.”
“Without Alex, the hospital wouldn’t function properly, and the patients wouldn’t get the care they deserve.”
“Oh, so he has a name!”
Thank god that’s the tidbit she latched onto, and also, shit .
“Yes, I’m Alex, nice to meet you, informally.”
I don’t interrupt him that time.
“Well, Alex, I hate to tear Mina away from what I’m sure is a very important conversation, but it’s time for dinner here, and we like to dine as a family. She will talk to you later.”
“Not a problem, I understand.”
“I’ll be right there, Mom. I can say goodbye on my own.” I shoo my mother out of the room, feeling like a teenager. “I’ll be there in a second.”
“Alright, alright, I’m going.”
I close the door behind her and whirl back to face my phone, exhaling deeply.
Alex’s voice comes through the phone, sounding extremely confused. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“My family wasn’t supposed to know about you.”
“Oh, am I some dirty little secret?”
“No, I just didn’t want them finding out like this. I still hadn’t figured out how to tell them I’m…”
“Dating?” he offers.
His reply leaves me breathless. “Is that what we’re doing here?”
“I’d like it to be, if you’re open to it.”
I run my fingers through my hair and sigh again. “I am, it’s just…”
“I get it, I get it. Overbearing family, crazy work hours, how will you fit a whole boyfriend in there?”
“That, and other things.”
“Other things?”
“Look, this is a conversation we obviously need to have, but I’ve got to go. Plus, we should probably talk in person.”
“This doesn’t sound good.”
“No, I know how it sounds,” I plead. “But please. Let’s talk about this later?”
“We will.”
“Ok, I’ll talk to you after dinner.”
I hang up with Alex and steady myself against my doorframe before heading into what will surely be the lion’s den, with my mother primed and ready to pounce. What do I tell her?
I sink back on my bed and sigh. Dinner could have gone worse, but it definitely could have gone better. Mom pressed for information about Alex, and I was forced to lie.
Was I forced though, or did I choose it? It doesn’t really matter, I realize. At the end of the day, I lied. Papa didn’t seem to have much to say, letting Mom dominate the questioning. She asked about his family, his work, his appearance, his life goals. She left no stone unturned, and I made sure she found the treasures she was seeking, even if it was all just fool’s gold. The only truths I told were about his personality and looks. Everything else was just a charade.
My phone dings, and I already know who it is without looking. It’s Alex.
I don’t know what to tell him. There’s so much I need to say, but I don’t want to say it at the same time. This is a conversation for later. My reply is brief.
I press send and my heart aches, imagining the look on his face as I seem to brush off our conversation. I can’t think about that right now.
I flick on the TV and settle into my bed, hoping drowsiness overtakes me soon.
Work was long, and I’m tired. It’s starting to rain lightly, and I peer through the dim twilight for my ride. A car pulls up, the ride-sharing logo visible in the window. A scruffy middle-aged man rolls down the window.
“Mina?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I glance at my phone for the make and model of car, and in the darkness, everything seems correct. I climb into the backseat.
“How are you?”
“Good. Tired.”
“I bet!” The stranger chuckles as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot. “Must work some strange hours in there.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter, resting my head against the window. The rain is coming down harder now, and I close my eyes, listening to it spatter against the glass.
I’ve taken the trip from the hospital to my house enough times that when the car turns left unexpectedly, my eyes snap open. “Where are we going?”
“Oh, the GPS is indicating a slow-down on the original route. It’s taking me around it. Must be an accident. Wouldn’t surprise me in all this rain.”
“Oh, alright.” The answer makes sense, but I feel a growing sense of dread as he continues for a few blocks, then turns left again. We’re getting farther and farther from my house.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I see that it’s an alert from the rideshare app, letting me know I’m severely off course and asking if I’m in danger. A knot settles in the pit of my stomach and my hands begin to tremble.
I glance at the driver profile and an icy feeling pricks at my neck as I make a horrifying discovery. The driver is supposed to be a woman, about my age, not whoever this man is. I glance at the front seat and my blood runs cold. There’s a gun on the seat, partly covered by a jacket. On the sleeve of the jacket is what appears to be blood spatter.
I was so tired when I got into the car I didn’t do my due diligence, but I’m on high alert now. I return my attention to my phone and press ‘yes’ on the rideshare app alert. The stranger’s voice makes me jump.
“So, what do you do at the hospital?”
“I’m a doctor,” I manage to croak out. I decide to be bold. “Why are we still heading away from my house?”
“Detour,” he replies gruffly.
Enough is enough. If I call him on his bluff, maybe he’ll let me go. “I’m uncomfortable and would like you to pull over and let me out.”
He turns to glance at me and laughs. “That’s not happening.”
“Let me out, right now,” I insist, my voice shaking as badly as my hands.
He reaches over and grabs the gun from the front seat. “I said, not happening,” he spits out, accentuating every word.
I know emergency services is likely on the way based on the alert I received on my phone, but what if they’re too late? What if they can’t find me? The rain is coming down in torrential waves now, making it nearly impossible to see my surroundings in the dark. I don’t know where I am.
“Give me your phone,” he hisses. “Don’t need you calling anyone for help.”
The last thing I want to do is give this man my one lifeline, but he’s got a gun. If I don’t give him what he wants, I don’t know what he’s willing to do. I hand over my phone reluctantly, and he tosses it onto the seat beside him.
A wave of adrenaline washes over me as I remember a self-defense class I took my freshman year of college. I unbuckle my seatbelt and lunge forward, grabbing his hair with both hands and pulling as hard as I can.
“You bitch! Let go!”
“You wouldn’t let me go,” I grunt, not loosening my hold on his thin hair.
I pull as hard as I can, whipping his head to the left and right to try and disorient him. He flails at me, and the gun connects with the side of my head, sending a bolt of pain through my body, but I don’t let go.
The car jerks as he swerves, then loses control, spinning out on the slick road. My fingers are still clamped in a vice grip on his head as the car careens sideways down the empty road, hydroplaning on the water. I release his head just as we slam to a stop against a light post. His head snaps forward, then sideways, connecting first with the steering wheel and then the side window as the airbags deploy.
I see my phone on the floor of the car and glance at the driver. He’s either unconscious or dead, his head bloody from the impact of the crash. I throw my body forward and snatch my phone up. Who do I call? The police are probably already coming, but I should call them anyway , the logical side of me argues. The rest of me is screaming one word, one singular thought. Alex.
I open my phone, grimacing at the cracked screen. Dammit. I send Alex a quick SOS message and drop a pin for my location. My next move is to call 911.
“Help, I’ve been kidnapped, and I managed to fight him off. He crashed the car, I don’t know if he’s dead or just unconscious,” I gush as soon as the line connects.
I climb out of the wreck and back away from the car, not caring that the rain is pelting my skin. I’m free.
“Alright honey, calm down. Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look around, are there street signs? An intersection?”
Of course. You know that, Mina. You aren’t a child. I look around and see a hardware store, and a side street with a sign. “Yes, I’m at the end of Miller Street, by the Breakers Hardware Store. I don’t know the name of the main street I’m on though. Just that Miller is intersecting here.
“Ok, that’s enough, we can find you from there. What happened?”
“I got into my rideshare and he took me the wrong way, and when I asked him to let me out he wouldn’t.”
“Is he armed?”
“Yes, he has a gun.” A creaking sound behind me sets my teeth on edge and I whirl around. “Oh god, he’s awake. He’s climbing out of the car!”
I turn and take off into the night, the rain stinging my eyes. “I’m running,” I tell the operator.”
“Get back here, bitch!” the man howls, and a gunshot rings out.
“He’s shooting at me!”
The headlights of a car whipping around the corner blind me, and I scramble out of the way just in time. The car screeches to a halt and the window rolls down.
“Get in.”
My heart stops for a moment, and then relief washes over me. It’s Alex.