Free Run With Me by L. A. Shorter Page B

in
pursuit.
    The road straightens out quickly
and my lights illuminate the vehicle ahead. It's a red Vauxhall
Corsa. It's Kitty Munroe.
    She's driving fast, driving
wildly. But her car can only go so quick, and for mine it's a stroll.
I know the cops won't have seen her – they're too far back – but
they'll be gaining fast. I follow behind, but try to maintain my
distance. I don't want to spook her or force her into doing something
stupid. If she thinks that I'm the man who killed her aunt and uncle
– the only man she thinks is chasing her – then she's liable to
drive erratically and have an accident.
    I reach into a compartment in
front of the passenger seat and pull out a set of glasses. But these
aren't just any glasses: they're night vision glasses, and cost me a
lot of money. I put them on and the world in front of me changes, a
greenish hue appearing where there was once black. I slow down now
and pull back slightly, signaling to Kitty that I'm not in pursuit.
Then I turn off my lights and disappear from her sight, blending into
the dark road.
    She can't see me, but I can see
her as clear as day. The outlines of the road, of the bushes lining
it and the fields stretching beyond, come into view. I can see her
car still driving wildly ahead and I slowly pick up speed, closing
the gap so that I don't lose her. When we come to a crossroads, she
turns to the left, and I follow. Behind, the police sirens are less
clear over the hum of my engine, but I can still hear them faintly.
Another turning, and she goes right this time, desperate to shake off
the cops that follow.
    This goes on for about 10
minutes as she takes any and every turning she can. Eventually, the
sound of sirens fades and she starts to slow down. I do the same,
maintaining my distance, even though I know I'm a ghost, a shadow who
follows her unseen.
    I keep tracing her movements as
she continues up a long country road. Every time we come close to a
town or settlement, she turns away, keeping herself away from
populated areas.
    Smart , I think to myself
as I quietly cruise behind her.
    Soon she comes to an area of
woodland and slows further. I can almost sense her fear, feel her
heart pounding in her chest, as she begins to slow under the canvas
of leaves and swaying branches overhead. I drive slowly and quietly,
cruising along like a mouse so I remain unheard. Then she turns
gently up through a break in the woods and drives into the
undergrowth. I hear a loud crack as she rolls over a branch on the
ground before disappearing from view. I move up towards the opening
and stop. Now I listen intently for movement and can still hear her
tires cracking over fallen twigs and leaves as she carefully
navigates her way deeper into the wood. Then, suddenly, I hear the
light whir of her engine fall silent and the lights in the darkness
go out. She's stopped.
    I immediately shut off my engine
too and very gently open the door of my car. I step forward towards
the opening and peer into the night, my night vision glasses
illuminating the world ahead of me. Roughly 100 feet away I can see
Kitty's car under a low hanging oak. It looks so out of place in the
undergrowth; so lonely and desperate.
    I creep forward now, carefully
watching the ground underfoot to avoid twigs and other crackling
foliage. As I do I briefly remove my glasses and the world is plunged
into total darkness. As I put them back on I realize that there's no
way she can see me, not here. I keep moving, watching my step and
inching closer to the car.
    Suddenly, a light comes on
inside the car. I stop in my tracks, only about 20 feet from the
vehicle, and see Kitty's face appear. She looks drained and
exhausted, her eyes downcast and red.
    I stand still for a few moments
as I watch her. But all she does is stare forward, lightly shaking
her head and occasionally rubbing her eyes. I can see her cheeks
glisten as tears gently roll down them, quickly brushed away by her
fingers. But all she does is keep