The city of Tucson took on a surreal atmosphere in the wee hours of the morning. I loved this side of Tucson because it was like being transported to another world when I got off work at 2:30 AM. I hated the 5 PM rush hour traffic drive to work. But the streets took on an other-worldly feeling when my shift ended, and I loved it.

It was quietly serene and beautiful, with the soft amber glow of the city’s lights and no traffic, just a smattering of other night workers like me. I enjoyed having the streets to myself but remembered that even though it wasn’t busy; the police were usually out in force. 

One night, a sheriff’s car paced me, and I was relieved that I hadn’t been speeding. I followed the rules of the road because as much as I enjoyed having the highway to myself. Getting a ticket was less fun.

I stopped at a red light at the intersection of Country Club and Corona and was surprised at how close another car was behind me. The idiot also had his brights on because the headlights flooded the front seat, blinding me. I flipped the rearview mirror to dim and glared at the driver through the glass.

The airport was behind us, and I thought maybe the driver was just in a hurry to get home, but still. Thankfully, the light changed to green. I accelerated and drove through the intersection onto Country Club. My car lurched when I reached the four-stop near Cattletown. 

What The Hell? The Asshole hit me.

I drove through the stop and moved over to Cattletown’s parking lot. Cattletown was precisely that: a series of buildings representing an 1800s western town. If you were a steak lover, then Cattletown was for you. I planned to stop, check the damage, and exchange information with the jerk-weed that hit me. 

I slowed and edged to the right, but the asshole rammed my Kia with more force, and I fishtailed erratically. My heartbeat pounded like drums in my ear as I fought to regain control. 

I glance in the mirror to see the truck bear on me again. My foot pressed down hard on the accelerator, and the Kia lurched forward as I tried to get some distance between us. I scattered dust and rocks, racing down the road until the tires finally gained traction. 

What the hell is going on? Why is this guy trying to hit me? What did I ever do to him to deserve this? What am I going to do? 

The questions blew through my mind like a winter storm. I never had someone try to kill me before, so I was out of my element. It was straight out of the movies because this didn’t happen in real life. I raced ahead of the Tacoma and trashed one idea after another.

The quiet streets just seconds before were my relaxing haven from work turned into my morning terror. One downside of driving at this time of night was nothing was open, so no immediate help.

 What the fuck was I going to do? This chase couldn’t last forever. I couldn’t go home. The last thing I wanted was for this guy to know where I lived. I needed to get away and off the road, get to a phone, and call the cops, but I quickly dismissed the thought. It filled me with more dread, thinking I could lead this guy to my refuge away from the world.

No, going home was not an option, nor could I lead this jerk to anyone I cared about. The ‘unknown’ was killing me. I didn’t have any concept of how the criminal mind worked. Plus, I had no idea how the guy behind me would react once he followed me home. 

Wait. I had my phone in the car, and I could call 9-1-1. Relief flooded my body, and I kept one eye on the road and the other on the weird guy behind me. I tapped out the emergency number, but before I hit enter, the truck turned off. 

Even though the threat had passed, I pulled over and laid my head on the steering wheel. I breathed in and out until the trembling stopped, and slowly, calmness returned. I quickly scanned the surrounding area, started the engine, and merged back onto the road. 

Everything remained quiet, and I could finally enjoy the drive, but I won’t lie. I was constantly checking the rearview, looking for that truck. 

Nothing.

The last of my fears drained away as I tried to rationalize what happened. I came to my exit off I-10 and merged onto Ruthrauff Road while mentally making a grocery list. At the intersection, I was turned on La Cholla.

BAM! 

My poor Kisa swerved, and I fought to gain control as I looked in the review.

Shit! He’s back!

He hit me from behind with enough force to push me through the intersection. I smashed my foot on the accelerator and went into forward momentum, adding additional speed, and tore onto La Cholla. No matter how fast I went, I tried to push for more speed because that truck wouldn’t let up.

I wanted to dial for help but was afraid to take my eyes off the creep hot on my tail. Even more concerned I would lose control and crash, so I hoped a cop would show up. My luck didn’t hold, and as I sorted through things I could do, the jarred screech of metal on metal sliced through the night. My eyes closed on instinct. The steering wheel swerved left, then right, and back again. The next thing I knew, the airbags deployed and knocked the breath out of me. I blinked hard and shook my head. I plowed into a saguaro. My hood took more damage than the cactus.

Dazed, the sound of an engine broke through the cotton that was my brain. My head suddenly felt heavy, and I had to fight to turn it so I could see where the noise came from. The truck was there – its headlights blinded me.

A warm liquid flowed into my eyes. 

Blood.

A flicker of rage sparked in my chest. I didn’t know this guy’s problem, but I had enough. So, I reached for the glove box and pulled out a Glock-19. Then I loaded it while trying to keep an eye on the monster outside my car.

I was ambivalent about guns. I don’t like them, but I knew sometimes they were necessary. In this case, it was essential, and my baby holds 15 rounds, more than enough to take out Mr. Spooky truck. I moved gingerly and pointed the loaded Glock out the window straight at the windshield of the Tacoma.

It didn’t like that and kept leaping forward like it wanted to run me over, but the weapon’s threat kept it at bay. I smiled, and that hurt, but for the first time, I felt I was in control. 

“Now what, asshole?”

I hoped I wasn’t seriously hurt because all I knew was I was bleeding, and my eyes were getting blurry. Sirens shattered the morning, breaking the stalemate. Good, because I was feeling lightheaded, and my sight was dark. It wouldn’t be much longer before I would sink into blackness.

I looked back at the truck; it was gone, and then a police car sped in, and I welcomed the darkness.

***

It was three weeks before the hospital released me; my left arm was in a cast, and I had a concussion. The police showed up on the third day to take my statement. 

“You’re Kira Thomas, correct?”

I nod in agreement.

“My name is Sergeant Benjamin Stone. I’m the lead detective handling your case. I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. You’re one lucky lady. You could’ve died in that crash.”

“I would feel luckier if you told me you caught the guy who tried to kill me,” I answered.

Hard gray eyes gazed at me intently. It was unnerving, like the detective was trying to discern all my secrets.

“You were driven off the road?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe any details for me?”

“A dark Toyota Tacoma ran me off the road and into that cactus.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No. The driver had the brights on, and they were so strong I couldn’t see past the lights.”

He nodded slightly. “What about the license plate? Were you able to see the plate?”

I hesitated and thought back over the past events, and I wondered if I did. Excited, I remembered I saw the plate. “Yes! It said AZLOVER.” 

I watched as Stone wrote the information down, and then he looked up. “I’m going to run the plates and be right back.”

It seemed like it took forever before he returned. His expression didn’t reveal anything, so I didn’t know what that meant. 

Without a preamble, “Are you positive about the license plate?” 

Now I felt nervous. “Yes, I am positive. Why? What did you find out?”

Stone ignored me and continued.

“You said it was a dark truck. If you had to guess the color, what would be the closest one?”

“If I had to guess, Midnight Blue. Why, what’s going on?” Again. Stone ignored me. I started to get pissed.

After an eternity, he asked me. “Do you know a Ken Donovan?”

“No, and I want to know what the hell is happening. I told you this guy ran me off the road, but you are treating me like I did it to myself. I have the right to know.”

Stone snapped his notebook shut, gave a heavy sigh, and then, raising his head, he locked eyes with her.

“A midnight blue Toyota Tacoma truck with the license plate of AZLOVER was registered to one Kenneth Donovan.”

“Okay, you know who it is, so what’s the issue?” 

“The issue is Ken Donovan is dead. He died in an automobile accident two weeks ago.”

I felt like someone had dumped a buck of ice water on me, and the icy tendrils flowed down my back. 

Stone continued. “I was first on the scene because the accident was a hit-and-run. Donovan died en route to the hospital, but before he died, he identified the car as a Mars Orange Kia Soul. When I called the impound where your car is stored, I asked them to search its body.” His voice trailed away.

I was scared to ask the question. “And?”

“So, the issue is you drive a Mars Orange Kia Soul, and they found midnight blue paint on the rear bumper. Do you want to tell me where you were two weeks ago?”

Silence.

Like barn swallows, my thoughts swarmed in and out of my brain in circles, but they didn’t light anywhere. I wet my lips and then tried to voice the question. “Do you believe it was a ghost?” The words crackle like dry leaves.

More silence.

Then.

“My official report will read that based on evidence of paint found on your vehicle and tire tracks. Someone forced your vehicle off the road, causing the accident.” Then he looked at me with knowing eyes.

“I will deny reference to anything else, and if I were you? I would find another way to work or better another job.”

“Why?”

“Because Ken Donovan died on Corona and Country Club road, and it appears he’s out for revenge on the person who killed him.”

I struggled to breathe as Stone’s words sank in, and I realized he knew what happened two weeks ago. When I left work, I was more tired than usual and took a turn too fast—the brief flash of a man’s face in the Midnight Blue Toyota Windshield. Moments before, he veered away from hitting me and crashed into a parked car.