I ran back to the Virtue, hopped in, screeched out of the spot, and sped toward the exit I figured was the one Angie would most likely have used. I was looking for her car or Trevor’s, or both.
I got as far as the exit without seeing either of them. My palms were slipping on the plastic steering wheel, and I could feel sweat forming on my forehead. I was up to the light and had to make a decision whether to head left or right, and as I pondered an impossible decision, someone honked at me from behind to get moving.
“Fuck off!” I shouted, even though there was no chance whoever it was would be able to hear me. And then, a couple of hundred yards up the road to the right, I caught a glimpse of a car with only one taillight.
I turned the wheel hard right, hit the accelerator, listened to the motor whine a little harder. I was hoping a major thrust of power would kick in at some point, if not now, maybe by the weekend. Maybe Paul was right. Maybe there was nothing under the hood but gerbils.
Now that I’d spotted what I was sure was Angie’s car, I looked for Trevor’s, and sure enough, there it was, about five car lengths behind Angie. Now that I had both of them in sight, I could catch my breath, let my heart rate get back to something approaching normal.
Trevor and I followed her, discreetly, all the way to the ramp to the highway that led west out of the city. Angie eased over onto the ramp (no signal, what was I going to do?) and picked up speed as she merged with the traffic.
Where the hell was she going?
You could take the expressway to get from one part of the city to another, of course. It was a great way to bypass dozens of lights. But it became clear after a few miles, no doubt to Trevor as well as to me, that she was headed outside of the city limits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were headed out to Oakwood.
Why would Angie be headed to Oakwood? Of course, she still had a few friends out there, but not that many. And of course, maybe she wasn’t going to Oakwood. There were plenty of other suburban enclaves between the city and our old neighborhood.
I was only a few car lengths behind Trevor. It was night, and there was enough traffic that riding directly behind him wasn’t going to raise his suspicions any. Every once in a while another head would pop into view, then disappear. The dog, Morpheus. For a while, he rested his front paws on the top of the rear seat and looked out the rear window. The world’s biggest bobbing-head dog.
While he was looking back toward me, it appeared that Trevor was occupied with something. He kept glancing down between the seats, like he was searching for something in the console. His head kept turning, looking down, then back up again to watch the highway. If he kept this up, he was going to have an accident.
Once we were about five minutes out from the city, Trevor’s right blinker came on and he was gone at the next exit. I guess he’d had enough, grown tired of the chase. For all he knew, Angie was headed for the coast, and even stalkers had to pack it in at some point.
I was faced with a choice. Follow Trevor. Follow Angie. Follow no one, and go home.
Now that Trevor had given up following Angie, at least for this evening, there wasn’t anything else for me to do. It made sense for me to get off at the next exit, turn around, and head back home as well.
Except I couldn’t help but wonder where Angie was going.
A few minutes later, Angie turned off at Oakwood.
I took the same exit, hanging far enough back that I wouldn’t end up pulling alongside her at the light at the end of the ramp. She made a left, in the direction of our old neighborhood, and I turned left as well so that I could catch the ramp that would put me back onto the highway and into the city.
I’d like to tell you that I don’t know what made me drive past the ramp and stay on Angie’s tail. But I do.
I wanted to know where she was going. I wanted to know who she was seeing. I’d crossed some line myself here, from following her to make sure she was okay, to following her to find out what she was up to. Because, at some level, I was scared about the choices she might be making, and that if they were choices I didn’t approve of, scared by how little influence I might have to stop them.
She guided the Camry into our old neighborhood. And then Angie was turning down our old street. I hung way back, not wanting to get caught in the act by her a second time. It was starting to look, and this didn’t make any sense to me at all, as though she was going to turn into the driveway of our old house.
But then she drove past it, slowed, and turned into the driveway two doors down.
She was parking the car at Trixie’s house.
Angie was making a stop at the home of the friendly neighborhood dominatrix. During office hours.
Angie got out of the car, locked it, knocked on Trixie’s door, and a moment later, was admitted and disappeared.
16