A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

being amateur sleuths and let the police handle this. We’re in over
our heads,” she says, sounding scared. Bea is the strong one, my
fearless leader. I’ve never known Bea to be scared.
“I know we are,” I say, feeling guilty for what I’ve done, for worrying
Bea like this. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have brought
Meredith up. That was stupid of me,” I say, though I’m glad I did it. I
got the answer I was looking for. I came out of the appointment with
exactly what I was hoping to get: a gut reaction telling me that yes,
this is a man who could hurt another human being.
The rear windshield starts to clear. As it does, the street behind
me becomes minimally visible, enough to see a pair of headlights
riding my tail from behind.
At first I think nothing of it. I wish only that the other driver would
slow down. The roads are wet. They’re slick. I can feel the
slipperiness and the unpredictability of the street in my hands as I
cling tightly to the steering wheel, going below the speed limit. The
rain comes down so quickly that the wipers can’t keep up. It makes it
difficult, if not nearly impossible, to see. I focus my attention on the
taillights of the car in front of me and try to keep in a straight line. But
I can’t see the markings on the street to know for certain if I’m
between the white lines, or if I’ve glided over them, into oncoming
traffic. As we pass the cars that move in the opposite direction of us,
I hold my breath, hoping and praying that there’s enough space
between us because I don’t honestly know. I keep at a safe distance
from the driver before me. It’s safer that way, in case he or she
needs to slam on the brakes, and because the spray of rainwater
from their tires only exacerbates my visibility problem.
I only wish the driver behind me would do the same. He’s close to
rear-ending me. The rain brings out the worst in drivers.
I step on the gas, hoping to widen the distance between us, but it
doesn’t help because this other driver only speeds up as I do, still
riding my tail. I can’t get a good look at the car. The rain is thick. It’s
impossible to see through, other than where cars or traffic signals
emit light.
“What’s wrong?” Bea asks, sensing my growing agitation.
“This idiot driver is riding my tail,” I say.