Unbelievable

Unbelievable.

Sibella squinted at the angry slant of sun slicing through her windshield. She reached for her sunglasses and blew out an exasperated breath.

Even the sun is out to get me.

First, she was trapped at a train crossing. Then the construction on Fourth Street. Now, this moron, going slow as molasses in a no-passing zone. And the road headed straight into the morning sun’s spotlight.

I don’t freaking believe this.

Sibella felt her anger almost gratefully – it was much more comfortable than the fear -- and directed all of it at the driver of the crawling black car.

Get out of my way! She yelled inside herself.

If she was late today, he would kill her.

GET OUT OF MY WAY! The words were soldiers, marching from her mind.

She’d wanted it so much that at first she didn’t comprehend what had happened. The black car had simply indicated a right turn and shifted slowly onto the shoulder, as if to allow an ambulance to pass.

Sibella was beyond the scene in seconds, still in shock.

It was just a coincidence. The guy just needed to pull over for something.

Comforted in part by this notion, she forced a deep breath. Her foot pushed steadily on the accelerator, as if attempting to put physical distance between herself and the strangeness.

At least now I’ll make it on time...barely.

But just before making her last turn onto his street, Sibella heard a pop and felt a jolt. Too late, she saw the glass along the lane and immediately knew she had a flat tire….maybe even more than one.

This time she spoke aloud. “I don’t believe this!”

She pulled the Nova over to the side, grabbed the suitcase, and jumped out. She all-out ran, leaning into the effort with everything she had.

I’ve got to absolutely fly to make it.

This time there was no possibility of coincidence. It is not coincidence to lift from the ground and whoosh weightless through the air, passing birds in an arrow-straight flight to one’s destination.

Sibella had no time to think about it, and had no idea how she was doing it. But she was flying, and she landed abruptly in front of the building. She burst through the front door with the suitcase at precisely 8am.

“You’re late.”

Had he said seven-thirty?

Did I just literally fly here?

Had he said seven forty-five?

“I have the money,” she answered, her mind spinning.

“You’re late.” He stepped from the shadows, pointing the gun at her nose.

Sibella knew he was going to shoot, knew it and absorbed the terrible thought all in a moment. Suddenly the amazement of her flight was wiped away with an incredible fear.

If only I were back in the car!

The Nova felt so familiar to her slight frame, its motor like a purring tiger she had ridden for years. Sibella, somehow, was back in the car. The tires were fine, and one astounded glance in the back seat confirmed she still had the suitcase of money as well. Her mind once again tried to wrap itself around what was happening.

But I better get the hell out of here, and fast. Who knew what he would do to get that money back?

She turned onto the freeway entrance and squinted at the sun’s white glare, aimed right at her. It was a straight road and she needed to travel it for many miles to get out of the country. She reached for her sunglasses and blew out an exasperated breath.

Unbelievable.