Midnight Run

“This fry,” Emma said, scrutinising the greasy little thing between her fingers, “this fry is the best thing that’ll happen to me today.”

Jem leaned over as though she too was analysing the food, before hastily biting the tip off, much to Emma’s dismay. She sat back and chewed with a triumphant grin. "Mmm, same here."

“I hate you.”

Jem wiped her mouth, amusement clear on her face. “Yeah yeah.”

I shook my head and took another bite of my pasta, which was not particularly hot, or particularly nice. Around me life unfolded: at the gaming machines, young boys hurriedly shoved coin after coin into the slot, eyes glued to the screen decorated with bright animation to entice them. Down the end of the diner, a mother cradled her child – cooing it, promising it. My eyes entangled themselves in her hair, in the way it rested on her shoulder so beautifully, until-

“Earth to Ava!”

Snapping out of my daydream, I was promptly brought back down to Earth by Emma, who was screwing her little button nose at me. She rolled her eyes and repeated the essentials of the conversation I’d apparently missed. There was a party that weekend. It was a friend she knew from another high school. We were going.

I never bothered to try and argue against such plans: I knew I wouldn’t win and, anyway, it beat sitting in the house all night. (I think. I hadn’t really got the chance to try that out.)

“You guys need to help me get with someone,” said Jem, a degree of urgency in her voice. “I need to make out. It’s a life or death situation, really. What’s the name of the guy that’s holding it, again?”

Emma shot her a warning glance. “He is called Vic, and he has a wonderful girlfriend who he loves very much.”

Jem stuck her tongue out childishly, mumbling something under her breath before taking another of Emma’s fries. We remained in that booth for a while longer – Jem ordering a milkshake, Emma another plate of fries. That was how we spent a lot of our time back then. We sat, we talked, we enjoyed each other’s company. All of it occurring in the very same booth.

Exiting the diner, the chime announcing our departure, we entered the cool evening air. The sun had burnt out, leaving a soft pink dusting over the clouds, and the blue sky grew darker as it stretched down to the horizon. Jem was first to speak.

“You guys need a ride?”

Emma swiftly accepted the offer, somewhat immobilised by the amount she had ended up consuming, but I wasn’t so quick to follow suit; I didn’t really want to go home yet.

Don’t get me wrong, home life wasn’t terrible – my parents loved me, they supported me – but it didn’t feel right. It felt… blank. Conversations were lacking, like they were too afraid to speak to me in case something slipped out. They were trying so hard to act like everything was normal that they had ended up completely alienating me. It wasn’t all their doing, though. I could have started conversations too.

I let the girls go and decided I’d walk around town for a bit, maybe go in a store and get myself something for later. I crossed the streets and began to stroll down the quiet walkway, echoes of activity by my feet – candy wrappers, bus tickets, soda cans. The street lights, with a faint hum, came on, and soon the sky had darkened entirely. I welcomed the familiarity of shadows.

There was something so soothing to me about night time. I had found comfort in it ever since I was a kid: I used to always turn my night light out the minute I was put to bed, and I’d lay spread over my sheets, staring out at the moon. I memorised it’s pattern, I noted it’s cycle, I admired it.

I glanced up at the sky – the moon was full that night. As my eyes began to follow it’s curve, something came to my attention… footsteps. Loud, heavy, near footsteps. Not daring to stop, I pretended as though I was unaware of their existence and carried on,eyeing the next available turn. However it was too far away, and these steps were too close; I had to find another plan. It was then that I noticed an upcoming shop window cluttered with posters. I took the opportunity at hand and stopped, pretending to find great interest in one about a second hand car for sale. Did I have my license? Nearly. Did I want to buy a car? Eventually. Was I paying attention to this advert? Not in the slightest.

Silence fell. In my peripheral vision, about 20 metres back up the street, a figure stood beneath a street light, fiddling with their shoelace. I could barely make them out, but I made the assumption that it was a man based on their build – and, as I considered it longer, the weight of their steps.

I cleared my throat and began walking once again, this time my pace considerably faster. I told myself to slow, not to show any sign of worry, but my legs were fighting against me, and the throbbing of my heart was unignorably strong.

Finally, like a beacon, the strong light pouring out of an open convenience store caught my eye. I crossed the road and, trying my best not to run, approached it. The footsteps followed close behind.

Once inside the store I picked up a basket. Act casual, Ava. Fuck, act casual. Gulping, I threw a packet of jelly babies in and started making my way down the aisle, praying that I’d come across another customer – or even better, a member of staff – soon.

Stopping at the canned beans, I picked one up and looked over it, but my hands were shaking violently. I heard someone enter the store, and I had to put the can back for fear of dropping it.

Where were the employees?

Why was nobody there?

Suddenly, a voice came from right beside me, making me nearly choke on thin air. “Someone is following you,” the stranger said.

I began to panic: was this the guy? Was he trying to fool me? Was he going to play nice, maybe offer me a lift home, and then kill me in some creepy parking lot out of town? I glanced at the stranger, mustering up all the bravery I could, and felt an inexplicably strong sense of relief as I noticed that they were sporting an obnoxiously bright purple polo short. He's an employee.

“Just follow me, ma’am,” he began loudly, “the chips are a few aisles down.”

I followed the stranger – not behind him, but beside him. As he led me through the store, I took a moment to glance at him, eager to remember my knight in… well, my night in an obnoxiously bright purple polo shirt. In his defense, though, he pulled it off reasonably well.

We weaved through the aisles, presumably towards the direction of the chips, until the sound of the door being slammed shut rattled us both. I exhaled in relief, letting my body relax as I glanced downward. It was then that I noticed something else strange.

“Uh… why,” I gestured towards the backpack in his grip, “why are you carrying a backpack?”

As he followed my stare, panic began to rise inside me once again. Had I escaped one potential killer, only to meet another? I knew I was being rash, but I was still on edge, and so logic was long gone.

“I don’t actually work here,” he said, tossing the bag over his shoulder. When he noticed my look of alarm he rushed to add, “I work at the music shop a couple blocks down. I was left to close up.”

I swallowed my embarrassment and nodded, thanking the stranger. I took that moment to really look at him: he had dark, soft eyes, and brown hair that swooped to one side. I guessed he was roughly my age, if not a little older.

“Well, um, thanks for that.” I turned and looked down the aisle. “I should be getting off. Thanks again.”

The stranger nodded back, now more shy in the absence of danger. I didn’t want to prolong the awkward goodbye, so I hurried off at that, dumping the basket before I headed for the door. I reached out and placed my palms on the glass pane, ready to push, ready to go home, but I couldn’t.

What if he’s out there?

The darkness, once my friend, had turned against me, and a lump grew in my throat. I was stuck. I spun around and scanned the store, my eyes soon finding the stranger: he was standing by the bottles of soda, examining the label of one. A moment passed before he placed it down and proceeded towards the checkout.

I kept myself busy while waiting for him to finish. I thought about what I might say, but it was never a situation I’d imagined myself in, so I really had no idea how to act, nevermind what to actually say. I racked my brain for words, but nothing fit: I was doomed to either sound like I too was a crazy killer, or painfully, hopelessly, all-of-a-sudden infatuated with him.

“You alright?” A voice questioned, cutting into my frantic thoughts. “You need a ride?”

I gulped, at least he’s offering. “Yeah, actually. I’m sorry – that would be great, yeah. Thank you.”

The stranger chuckled, telling me that it was quite understandable I was feeling on edge. We exited the shop and he led me towards a somewhat beaten up black truck. He apologised, saying it wasn’t much, but I didn’t mind. As long as it got me home I really couldn’t have cared less.

I clambered up and into the truck, collapsing down into a surprisingly comfortable passenger seat. I put my seatbelt on as he tossed his bag in the bag, taking the chance to nosy a little. His dashboard was busy with flyers and sheets of paper, some of which looked like music. A small CD case protruded out of the door’s side compartment, and a few gum wrappers lay discarded on the ground. None on his side, though, only the passenger side.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, starting up the engine. “My best friend, uh, he really likes gum.”

“No shit,” I smiled, nudging one of the silver wrappers with my shoe.

With an unwilling chug, the car came to life, engine growling as we pulled out of the parking space. I looked out the window as we left the store behind and headed on to the main road. The stranger turned his radio on, but left it fairly quiet. I rested my head back and watched as the world flew by, pretending to myself that I was on my bike.

I gave the guy directions and soon enough we were on my street. Still feeling a little shaken up, I decided not to make it obvious exactly where I lived, so told a little lie and had him stop a few doors down. When the engine cut out, the radio quickly followed suit.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate it.”

The guy opened his mouth, but a moment past before he actually said anything. “I never got your name.”

“Ava,” I answered shortly.

He began to say something else but, figuring I’d never see him again, I didn’t pay much attention and simply offered a smile before shutting the door.

Notes

thoughts?

thank you for reading! x