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Page 33.
Chapter 26.
 As Lexa left Arthur's penthouse, new tears welled up in her eyes. The elevator ride was long and slow, giving her time to reflect upon the disintegration of her life.
The elevator door opened upon a dismal underground garage. Scared, but almost uncaring for her life, she walked to her car. She drove the fifteen minutes to her mother's house with a growing feeling of panic.
What could she do to redeem herself in Arthur's eyes? They had been best friends these many years. They had been lovers, friends, they were engaged, and even now as the windshield wipers beat a frantic tattoo before her tearful eyes, she knew that she would never marry him. That was a devastating feeling. How that truth stared her in the eyes! What now? How to deal with Grandfather? How to put it off, or did she want to put it off, or would it even be possible to put it off given the fact that Arthur thought she had had a wild romance with Xavier Stinson?
Lexa found a parking space along the curb a few houses away. She had to fumble to find her purse, and then dropped the keys twice before slipping the car door shut.
As she ran to her house, she barely noticed the dirty gray van parked a house away. She knew all the cars on the street; this was a new one. In her state of upset, she did not dwell on it. At the front door, she remembered, darn it, Mother would have bolted the old door. Feeling tired and bedraggled, resenting the extra call for energy, Lexa stuck her purse under her arm. She removed her shoes so as not to waken Mother, and padded over the cool, wet concrete walkway, around the house, to the rear door which had a deadbolt lock.
As she rounded the corner, still thinking of Arthur, she hesitated. She slowed down, thinking she had heard a sound. A footstep, maybe; a twig breaking around the side of the house? She stopped, fear suddenly throwing her mind into hyper pitch. Mother would not be expecting her home. Mother would have the place locked and bolted. No way would Mother be outside at night, not even to take out the trash. Anyway not at 2 a.m. Heart beating fast, she took a half step forward, expecting it would be nothing, a dog maybe.
In that silent instant, she beheld the sight of a big man in a raincoat (DOES NOT BELONG! her mind screamed) standing by the side of the house, his face momentarily turned away.
She froze.
He had big hands and something (A CHAIN) dangled between them. He stood staring at the dimly lit kitchen window, as if contemplating.
Then he turned his head.
She whirled and started to run, her feet thudding softly on the concrete, making splats of water.
Fear drove her and she ran as fast as she could, cutting across the soft squishy grass. She dropped her shoes, her purse, her keys, and ran,
ran,
ran,
the horror in her head drowning any sounds of pursuit.
She shed her coat, and had only jeans and a thin shirt.
She was soaked and hot-sweaty.
She ran along the familiar sidewalks of her childhood, remembering only that a block away was the gas station where she used to pump up her bicycle tires when she was a child.
No longer fun child street.
Behind her she heard the slap of hard shoes.
She dared not look.
The shoes behind her made a hard, heavy man-sound, fast, for he seemed a young man with powerful legs.
Ahead, as she ran, rocked a misty apparition of light in several colors. Her lungs hurt and she prayed that she would not stumble, for to stumble was death.
The old elm. Jump!
She went over the bump where its roots had buckled the sidewalk.
The lights of the gas station were closer now. No lights, no cars. CLOSED???
Behind her there was a slapping, slithering sound, a dull OOF as her pursuer tripped over the black sidewalk and landed on his stomach. She glanced back, saw his manic eyes. The balding, raised forehead.
She raced on, into the darkened plaza. The pumps were off. The lights inside were off. CLOSED.
Behind her she heard again the slap slap of hard soles on wet pavement.
She ran into the street and OH JESUS YES a pair of headlights, a candy bar of dead lights across the top... She threw herself against the window as the police car stopped.
A window rolled down. A cap badge flashed. JESUS LADY...
"A man," she gasped, pointing behind her.
>>>The gas station was deserted. No pursuer.<<<
The policeman, a young skinny black with nice cheekbones, opened the door. "Lady, was someone chasing you?"
"Yes!" she wheezed. "A man. With a chain."
"Get in," the policeman said opening the back door. She crawled in behind the steel screen and doors slammed. The car gunned forward, tossing her backward. The older white cop, partner, cracked open the shotgun holder. The driver asked "This way?" and as she nodded, he turned up Elm Street where her house was and while he drove he shone his spotlight along the houses and talked on the radio.
Lexa gripped her fingers around the wire mesh. She was gasping, but managed to punch out words: "My mother. Alone. Number 519. Standing by window. Chain. Had chain in his hands."
"Got a description, lady?" asked the white cop cradling the shotgun.
Lexa tried to talk, but her mouth fluttered and her throat seemed to catch. "White," was all that came out.
The driver said "Oh shit, here we go."
Horrified, Lexa threw herself back and shielded her eyes.
She had a vision of the dirty gray van (((NO LIGHTS))) hurtling directly toward the police car (((HEAD-ON))).
She heard squealing tires, felt a sickening lurch as the police car spun around on wet asphalt.
She opened her eyes, thinking CAN THIS BE HAPPENING?
The van side-swiped the police car with a crash of glass and crumpling metal. Stunned, her lap showered with broken glass, Lexa tumbled in freefall as the police car skidded to the side and ran up a grassy lawn.
The van roared away, the grit thrown up by its churning wheels splattering through the broken windows of the police car and stinging her cheek. Numbly, amid smoke, she crawled up from the floor. The two policemen looked groggy from impact. She felt something on her neck, and looked at her hand: Blood.
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