Hannah Jayne - Under Attack

I went down to the underground garage and slipped behind the wheel of my new-to-me ’91 Honda Accord. I’d always considered myself more of a rough-and-tumble SUV kind of girl, but since I’d written “My CRV was peeled open like a tin can by a power-crazed wannabe mystic” on my auto policy form—well, eyebrows at my insurance company were raised. After that, I figured a fairly nondescript sedan was a good way to go for a replacement car.

I sunk into my seat and practiced a little bit of deep breathing, determined not to cry. Or scream, or punch the steering wheel, or yell profanities to a man whom I’d never known and who would never hear them. Instead, I turned on the radio and pulled out of the garage into the inky black night, humming along to some throbbing new Lady Gaga beat.

The gentle flow of post-rush-hour traffic went to an immediate, brake-squealing stop-and-go when the sky opened up and started to dump quarter-sized raindrops onto the cement. I groaned and pulled around a soccer mom in an SUV the size of my apartment, angling onto the 280 Freeway exit. I had no idea where I was going, but according to the blurry green freeway sign, I was on my way south to San Jose.

I flipped on my headlights and thought about my father, thought about his careful script in the yellowing pages of the old notebook.

Nina was right; there could be things in that journal that answered my questions about him. If I knew enough about him to have questions.

As a little girl I imagined him tall and slim with a dashing career that kept him out of my life—perhaps a mild-mannered college professor by day, a continent-hopping James Bond type by night. He was supposed to want to be with me, to want to know his only daughter, but circumstances kept him at bay.

Now I knew what those circumstances were—greed. Power. My father wanted to find the Vessel of Souls. A Vessel that controlled the balance of good and evil in the world.

I wasn’t any use to him... .

The thought entered my head on its own and I felt a lump forming in my throat. I clenched my teeth and felt the leaden weight in my foot as I pressed the gas pedal harder, my little car zipping past the minivans and eco-conscious carpoolers.

He could have found me anytime... .

My eyes stung and I took my hands off the wheel, pressing them over my ears. Why was I doing this to myself? The car pulled a little to the left and I jerked it back, then stared at the road in front of me. Somewhere along my drive I had turned onto a deserted strip of highway. The fat raindrops had now turned into a sad, constant drizzle that thundered on the hood of my car. I wiped the tears that poured down my cheeks. I sniffed, then squinted as a pair of halogen headlights beamed in my rearview mirror. I frowned. We were the only two cars on the road, yet Mr. Bright Lights apparently felt honor bound to drive directly behind me.

“If you’re in such a hurry, go around!” I mumbled to the car’s reflection. “It’s not like there aren’t three other lanes to choose from.”

In response, the headlights drew closer, filling the interior of my car with a glaring blue-white light. I snapped on my blinker and coasted into the slow lane. As Mr. Bright Lights pulled even with me, I shot him a dirty look, but the interior of his black SUV was dark. All I could make out was a figure hunched in the driver’s seat.

“Jerk,” I muttered, my tears drying in my cheeks.

Mr. Bright Lights sped up again, showering a spray of water onto my windshield. I kicked my wipers onto high; with the first whoosh of water I saw the blurry glare of Mr. Bright Lights’s taillights, directly in front of me.

“Holy shit!” I screamed, slamming on my brakes and yanking the wheel. My heart hammered as my tires spun and slid helplessly on the wet road. I felt my seat belt tighten and cut across my chest as the dark scenery outside swirled into a blurry, circling mess. I felt the prickling heat of sweat on my upper lip and down my back, and I let out a gurgling, wailing cry until my car glided to a gentle stop, just inches from the highway retaining wall. With shaking hands I killed the engine and bit back the feeling of hot adrenaline as it roared through my body.

There was no sound except the drumming of rain on metal and the thundering beat of my heart. I peeled my aching hands from the steering wheel and gulped lungfuls of air, waiting impatiently for the imminent post-traumatic-experience heart attack. When it didn’t come I clicked off my seat belt and pressed my forehead against the cool window glass, my gaze sweeping over the desolate highway. Mr. Bright Lights was long gone.

I looked at the cement wall a hairbreadth from my car and realized that I could have been gone, too. Gone—dead.

The tears started to pool again and I rested my head on my steering wheel, crying until my heartbeat had resumed its normal, steady beat, until I was numb to the horror of a complete stranger in an SUV trying to kill me on a deserted stretch of San Francisco highway.

I started my car and exited the freeway, turning around and heading home. My arms felt as though I had just completed a marathon workout session; it felt like it took hours to drive the eleven miles back to my apartment. I don’t think I took a breath until my car was parked in my designated spot and my feet were back on solid ground.

“My God, what happened to you? You look horrible!” Nina shrieked when I pushed open the apartment door.

I watched Alex give her an annoyed look, gently flicking her shoulder. “I mean, are you feeling better?” she corrected with a forced smile.

I dumped my sweatshirt on the floor and flopped onto the couch, Nina and Alex surrounding me, looking concerned but confused.

“Look, Lawson,” Alex started, taking his hand in mine. “This thing about your dad ... well, we don’t know for sure that he was hunting the Vessel. Or why.”

I pulled my hand away from his. “It’s not that—at least not right now.” I looked from Alex’s cobalt eyes to Nina’s coal-black ones. “Someone just tried to kill me!”

Nina frowned, halfway through tucking a fuzzy pink blanket over my shoulders. “Again?”

I ignored her. “On 280. I was driving ... thinking ... and this guy slammed on his brakes right in front of me! I spun out and almost hit the wall. I was this close,” I held my thumb and forefinger a miniscule distance apart. “And then he just drove away. I guess he thought he accomplished his mission.” I felt my lower lip pop out crybaby style.

Nina looked slightly skeptical. “His mission being to kill you?”

I nodded, feeling the familiar lump in my throat. My eyes searched Alex’s. “Why does everyone want to kill me?”

“No one wants to kill you,” Alex said, rubbing my arm.

“Right,” Nina agreed, rubbing my other arm. “You know that most people have no idea how to drive. He probably didn’t even notice you were on the road.”

I shook away from both their patronizing arm rubs. “I was the only person on the road!” I snapped. “He knew I was there. He saw me. He looked directly at me—he glared at me.”

Alex sat back. “He glared at you? You saw him? What did he look like?”

I bit my lip. “Well, it was dark, so I couldn’t really see his expression that clearly. Or him. But I could feel he was glaring at me.”

“Through his car window.”

“Yes,” I said solemnly.

“In the dark.”

I nodded again.

Nina snorted, her effort to quell her laughter failing miserably. “I’m sorry!” she said.

I watched Alex’s bent head as he looked down; I watched the gentle vibration of his shoulders as he laughed silently. “Thank you both for your heartfelt concern.” I kicked the blanket off me and stood up, hands on hips. “Please remember it when you’re scraping me off two-eighty.”