Hunted

“I didn’t mean to kill her.  I didn’t mean to kill her.  I didn’t mean to kill her,” I kept repeating the line to myself as I drove home.  I made sure not to speed as I didn’t want to get pulled over.  I knew if I got pulled over, I would tell all of my secrets.  Every single terrible thing I had ever done in my life.  Tonight was by far the worst experience I had ever had and I knew it was all my fault. 

Why had the woman come running out of the woods?  Had she come running out of the woods or was I just imagining it?  Had she been standing in the middle of the highway the entire time, waiting for someone to help her?  Instead of helping, I was pretty sure I had killed her.  Even though I had not heard a noise or felt a bump with my car.  But she had been there.  Right? 

The farther I drove down the deserted highway, the less sure I became about what had really happened.  There hadn’t been anyone there.  I didn’t hit a woman with my car.  Nothing was wrong.  I was all right. 

The farther I drove down the deserted highway, the less sure I became about what had really happened. There hadn’t been anyone there. I didn’t hit a woman with my car. Nothing was wrong. I was all right. But the next day, nothing explained the dent in my car or the piece of clothing wrapped around my side mirror. The news didn’t report anything about a missing woman or a body found on the side of the highway so I began to think it was all an elaborate hoax. But two weeks later, when a single bloody running shoe was left on my front step, I knew I was being hunted.