No Escape
She stopped at the traffic lights. Put the gear into neutral. The door of her Renault opened and a man sat beside her. ‘What...?’ she began. She’d meant to flick the locking device on, but had forgotten in the rush to get to work. ‘Get out!’
‘Shut it! Just drive.’ He spoke between steel trap teeth.
‘But I...’
‘Just drive I say!’ The bullet words made her fear the worst.
The lights changed. Shit! Hating herself she obediently pushed the gear into first and moved off.
‘First left at the next roundabout,’ his tone knifed through her.
‘But where...?’
‘Just drive!’ His words were strangulated.
She drove. Her thoughts raced. He looked dishevelled, as if he hadn’t slept. Perhaps if she was pleasant, concerned, it might pacify him.
‘Look if I can help...’
He laughed at that. ‘Turn right, we’re going to the coast you and me. Gonna have a nice day at the seaside.’
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ Her mind went into overdrive. ‘What would work think? She was supposed to be pitching for the ‘Douglas-Myers’ account this morning. They were all depending on her, part of the team. No-one knew where she was. How the hell could she contact anyone?’
‘Turn left and follow the road.’
‘I..’
‘Do it.’
She drove up onto the cliff top. It was a cloudless day. This stretch of the coast was deserted. The cormorants sat in black judgement and raucous seagulls wheeled overhead. There wasn’t another living soul within miles. ‘Oh God! What was he going to do?’
‘Park here.’
The car came to a halt and she reached for the door forgetting the seat belt.
He laughed. ‘You can’t get away,’ he said. ‘I’ve planned it all. There’s no escape.’
‘What had he planned? A myriad of images raced through her mind. Why hadn’t she flicked that damn lock? She just wanted to be back in her safe office doing what she always did at 9.30 every morning.
‘Get out,’ he said, ‘and don’t try to run away.’
They were out of the car facing each other: she looking frantically for a way out, he in control.
‘It’s time,’ he said.
‘So is this it?’ she thought breathing in the last of her freedom in the salt scent of the silver net sea.
‘This is it,’ he said and got down on one knee and proposed.
(c) Lorna Windham 2008