Dead Wrong by J. M. Griffin

Author:J. M. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lachesis Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Warmth from the fireplace permeated the room as I opened my eyes. The empty wineglass lay clutched to my breast. Grey light poured through the windows and a wild wind continued to hurl itself against the house. I glanced at my watch. I would be late for class if I didn’t get moving. No time to shower, just enough time for a quick wash.

The car roared down the road. I passed everyone who got in the way. Cars pulled into the slowest lane when I moved close behind them, a heavy foot on the gas pedal. Route 95 teamed with traffic as I entered the morning rush. It took serious maneuvering to get across the lanes of the Interstate 195 heading east, but I managed it. Horns honked and middle fingers flipped me off when I crowded into spaces between cars to get where I needed to go.

Onward, across the George Washington Bridge, I raced. I was as exhilarated as always when speeding. The traffic never slowed. I weaved in and out of the lanes to make as much headway as possible. The clock ticked and the students waited. That was when I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the same car that had kept pace with me from the onramp of Rte. 6, about fifteen miles back.

I glanced at the vehicles around me. Tractor-trailers loaded with goods, cement trucks with their barrels in mix mode, and cars of every kind rumbled along in the lanes. I slowed a bit and the car behind me slowed. I repeated the action and dropped down to fifty miles per hour. The other vehicle did the same.

In Rhode Island, when a person drops their speed to what might be considered slow, there’s a lot of horn blowing accompanied by rude gestures and yelling from other drivers. The offended parties then zoom past in a fit of rage, gesturing again and yelling some more. This car did none of that, but maintained its place.

Sweat gathered in my armpits and rolled down my body. I’d had an accident on the way to the university a couple months before and nearly ended up dead. The vehicle that caused the accident had belonged to a man I’d managed to send to the Adult Correctional Facility. He probably roomed with a big dude named Bubba.

My nerves tightened and my foot slammed the gas pedal as I made for a break in the traffic.

Near the exit to the university, I slid across three lanes and onto the off ramp. My glance darted to the mirror again, only to see the vehicle still in pursuit. I slowed to take the curve and caught the license plate number.

I rummaged around for the cell phone in the bottom of my handbag. My thumb hit the speed dial button for Marcus and I listened while the phone rang.

“Trooper Richmond.”

The rich tone reached my ear. I started to speak, only to hear the call cut in and out.

“Marcus, take this number down.

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