Chapter 57
You don’t talk much during the two-hour drive back home. When Carson pulls over in front of your building, you are overcome with relief. It suddenly hits you that you escaped death tonight. If things had unfolded differently, who knows what would have happened? The night barely feels real.
“Well, here we are,” Carson announces.
“Thank you for driving me,” you say, “and for getting me out of there in one piece.”
“Of course,” he says.
You sit there together in the car for about sixty seconds, staring at each other. Despite everything, you almost wish he would kiss you. After all you’ve been through tonight, you have a connection to this man. Also, he’s hot.
“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he promises. “Make sure you’re okay.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
His words give you a warm feeling in your stomach.
He’s going to check on you. That sounds promising.
Except how will he check on you? He doesn’t have your phone number.
You open your mouth to offer him your digits, but before you can, he gets out of the car and races down the street, disappearing down the alley next to your building.
What a strange man. What a strange, strange, sexy man.
He left the keys in the ignition, so you pull them out to return them to Blair.
You get out of the car, wincing at the damage from the claw marks.
Unfortunately, you didn’t get the money you needed tonight, but almost dying puts things in perspective.
One way or another, you’ll figure things out.
There’s always that website where you can learn about fans and A/C units.
You shiver in the frigid night air. The mist in the sky has cleared, and the full moon shines brightly overhead, illuminating your path to the door. You feel safe right now. You might have been in danger earlier tonight, but that danger is over.
And then, just as you are entering the building, the howl of what sounds like a wolf cuts through the air. You shiver, remembering the carnage back at the dinner party, and then slip inside, locking the door behind you. It’s probably a stray dog, but better safe than sorry.
When you get upstairs, you unlock the door to your apartment, wanting only to collapse into your bed and sleep for the next twelve hours. But when you get inside, before you even turn on the lights, you suddenly sense that you’re not alone.
“Hello?” you call out.
You flick on the light switch and gasp when you see the stranger standing in the middle of your living room. It takes you a moment to recognize the bushy beard and unkempt hair.
It’s the hitchhiker. And his lips are pulled back into a maniacal grin.
“Hello, Sloan.”
Before you can react, his hands are around your neck, squeezing. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. You’re dying. He’s killing you, and you have no idea why. All you know is that your story is coming to an end.
Turn to the Epilogue (page 144)