the precision of a hunter. Only unlike a hunter, I had no idea what I was looking for and no weaponry.
I took a few steps past the shiny cab of a tractor-trailer and looked just beyond the edge of an enormous semi-trailer. With every step I took I attempted to be stealthier. I couldn’t see or hear any signs of trouble—let alone anyone needing help. Still, the eerie feeling remained with me and stuck in my gullet, making my stomach churn. However, my curiosity was still dominating my sense of self-preservation, and I was still sure that if someone was in danger, it certainly wasn’t me. I clutched my phone as though it were a beloved friend, only now noticing my sweaty palms. I laughed again and wiped them on my shorts. It was obvious I was just tired, and my imagination was overloaded from worry.
I walked through the same way I came, regretting having left my coffee behind. I made the resolution that I would cut back on the mystery novels, swearing off Hitchcock and Stephen King for a while. Still, I felt relieved I had been wrong about someone needing help or being hurt. I walked through the lot, wondering what other genres might be over-stimulating my brain, when I saw an abrupt flash of bright light.
“Hello?”
I figured it was just a set of headlights, another family looking for a parking spot—maybe it was Dad looking for me. I kept trying to reassure myself by glancing down at my phone. Sure enough, I had one new message. But while I was checking its contents, I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere as I started to realize the semi-trailers that surrounded me were unfamiliar. The nervousness I felt increased and a new tightness began in my chest, suddenly making it dreadfully difficult to breathe. I almost wanted to laugh; how clichéd was it that I had gotten lost in such a short amount of time? Figuring it would lead to the parking lot I came from, I followed the direction of the headlights and turned the corner.
It wasn’t headlights, however. For the longest time I really, truly wished it had just been headlights. Instead, the light was coming from a flashlight at the end of a tractor-trailer. It was hard to see who was holding it, but the holder kept shining it on several figures who were removing large crates from the back of the truck.
“Hurry it the hell up!” A man’s voice whispered.
Another man’s voice said something in a language I didn’t understand.
In just a few short moments, the men worked together to load the crates into two SUVs and another small truck. With an almost perverse fascination, I watched the gracefulness of the figures as they labored. It was a stage play featuring dark silhouettes that didn’t seem to know they were dancing. I nearly forgot my fear in the confident speed with which they worked, until the figure holding the flashlight left the light on two of the men lifting a particularly large crate together for enough seconds for me to see the handgun on one of their belt buckles. My heart leapt into my throat so aggressively it felt as though it were trying to escape my body completely. I could no longer hear anything but the sound of it beating it my ears.
I didn’t know anything about the criminal underworld, but common sense told me that guns were bad and shady doings in the night were extra bad. An instant kind of terror overcame me that made me gasp out loud without realizing it and I had to cover my mouth. The urge to flee was instant. This place wasn’t for people like me. I began to back away as quietly as I could.
But then arms grabbed me and a hand went over my mouth. The arms pulled me right off the ground, their strength capable of keeping my own at my sides even though I thrashed and struggled. The arms couldn’t keep my legs though, and I used this advantage with everything I had, kicking at everything and anything.
Ultimately however, it didn’t do any good. My last logical defense was to throw my head back. Only unlike what you see in the movies, head butting someone is extremely painful. And when I felt my head contact with that object, it was actually so painful I thought: This is it. I’ve been shot and I’m going to die. I’m dying. I began to