(Click here to read Part 1.)(Click here to read the original Evil Summer.)My town car was waiting outside the studio. For the first time, I debated whether to sit up front with my driver. The back seat suddenly seemed looming and filled with... doom.
I started my driver as I got in and he pulled his cap down and his jacket collar up.
"Home tonight?" He asked, the same way he asks every night.
I hesitated. I had three proverbial doors in front of me: go home, go to the bar, or face this problem head on.
"No, actually, take me to the Fourth Street stop."
I fumbled for my Blackberry and texted Courtney. No response. Again. Where was she? I was feeling nervous. Had Randy already arrived? Where was Patrick in all of this? He's the one we'd hadn't heard from in the longest. The questions of that night and this night muddled together and I anxiously rubbed my thumb over the Reese's-scented phone cover.
My driver pulled over and I prepared to exit the car.
"Goodnight!" he said, the same way he says every night.
I opened the car door and lifted my right foot out. I was going to get on the subway and ride all night if that's what I needed to do. He wouldn't find me. He couldn't find me. My former ideas of dealing with this on my own, using my God-given skills, were fleeting. I was going underground.
As my left foot followed my right to the pavement, I felt cold metal on my neck.
"Where do you think you're going?"
It wasn't the voice of my driver. It was Randy.
And he was too slow. I pulled up and away. He slid across the seat to chase me out and as he exited the car and started chasing me, I spun around and sprayed him with the Kit-Kat cologne. It wasn't pepper spray; it was better. I had used it on many an adoring fan who got a little too close.
I speed dialed Courtney again and screamed into her voicemail and then, against my better judgment started calling the rest of the gang.
The spray wasn't working on Randy/My Driver and he was advancing.
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