A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

I glance into the rearview mirror. That same car is still riding our
tail. The driver made the same last-minute, ninety-degree turn as
me. I become hyperaware. This driver is following us. He doesn’t
want to lose sight of Bea and me. It’s the reason he follows so
closely: because he doesn’t want to allow enough room for another
car to slip in and separate us. I feel it in my gut. I try so hard to get a
look at the driver, but his car and his face are fuzzy and indistinct
because of the rain. If it wasn’t for headlights tailing me, I might not
know someone was there.
I say to Bea, “I think that car’s following us.”
“What car?” she asks.
“The one behind us. Riding my tail.”
Bea turns in her seat to look out the rear window. “Who is it?” she
asks. “Can you tell?”
“This damn rain,” I say. “I can’t get a good look.”
Bea and I left the medical building together. We were in the
elevator alone. No one was with us. Dr. Feingold could have
conceivably taken the stairs and followed us out that way. Bea and I
were so distracted in the parking lot that we nearly ran to the car,
arguing, desperate to get out of the pelting rain. We didn’t pay
attention to who else was in the parking lot with us. Dr. Feingold
could have been ten feet behind and we wouldn’t have known.
“Maybe it’s that car you cut off leaving the doctor’s office,” she says.
“He was pissed. People get road rage.”
“That driver passed me,” I remind her. “He’s gone.”
We’re still miles from our house. I’m panicking, not wanting to lead
this person directly to where Bea and I live, though if it is Dr.
Feingold, that doesn’t matter because I’ve already given him my
address. How stupid I’ve been.
I keep driving because I can’t think of anything else to do. If this
person’s intent is to scare and intimidate us, then they’ve succeeded.
I practically lose the ability to drive because I’m so nervous. I drive
slowly, hands locked on the ten and two position.
“Just try and ignore him,” Bea says, but that’s easier said than
done. She leans forward in her seat to turn the radio on, a nice
distraction. We don’t speak. Before I know it, I’m closing in on our
home. I’m just a few miles from it, and still not sure what to do. I can’t