Page 9 of Shatter

My car sits under it, a silver 2012 Corolla with a dent in the rear bumper and a hundred and sixty thousand miles on it, the most forgettable car I could find on Facebook Marketplace.

I paid for it in cash in a Publix parking lot.

The man who sold it to me didn't ask for anything but the money.

I stop walking.

The dead light hangs above the car, black against the orange haze of the sky.

Sweat breaks out along my hairline, cold even in the heat, and my fingers tighten around my keys until the jagged edges bite into my knuckles.

It's a light, and lights burn out.

Dale's been complaining about the landlord for months.

I start walking again, faster now, keys out, my pulse thudding so loud behind my ears I can barely hear my own shoes on the asphalt.

Nothing moves.

A dark sedan is parked at the far end near the gravel, facing the road.

It wasn't there at six, either.

People park here all the time, though, to walk to the bars on Tennessee street.

I'm ten feet from my car when a man peels away from the driver's side, where he's been crouched in the dark.

"Hello, Annika." He steps into the flicker from the far pole, hands loose at his sides, like he has all night.

Nobody has said my name out loud in nine months.

Every hair on my arms lifts, and my knees go loose and watery, and for one sick second, I'm sure I'm going to piss myself right here in the parking lot.

Low and polite, the vowels round and careful.

Vancouver.

My legs are turning me toward the diner before I've finished hearing it.

I don't make it two steps.

A hand fists in the knot of my hair and yanks. I slam backward into his chest so hard my feet leave the ground.

"Don't." He breathes the word against my ear. "I've been driving for four days. Don't make me chase you."

I know him.

Colin.

Colin Dufresne, who opened car doors for Desmond and stood at the back of every room he walked into, with his hands folded in front of him and his eyes on the exits.

He used to call me Miss Carrow.

He used to say good evening.

Colin spins me around and drives me into the side of my car. My hip cracks against the door handle hard enough to steal my breath.

"Where is it?" His fingers dig into my shoulders, pinning me against the door.