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– almost leering, like he was sizing her up – and her first thought was that he’d been wearing a mask, which was terrifying enough, but way less scary than the sudden realization that she’d actually seen his
face
. It was bruised on both sides; one eye was swollen shut, the other one bright red and bloody. She was pretty sure that even more blood was dripping down his forehead, and it had been all she could do not to start screaming. But for whatever reason, not a sound escaped her.
For the love of God
, she remembered thinking as soon as he’d passed,
please keep going. Whatever you do, please don’t stop.
    But obviously God hadn’t been listening. Why would God intervene to keep her from ending up dead in a ditch out in the middle of nowhere? He wouldn’t. Instead, He’d decided to have the guy pull over, and now a man with a mangled face was gliding toward her like something out of a low-budget horror film. Or prison, from which he’d just escaped, because the guy was positively ripped, and wasn’t that what prisoners did? Lift weights all the time? His haircut was severe, almost military style – the signature of one of the gangs in prison she’d heard about? The ratty black concert T-shirt didn’t help, nor did the torn-up jeans, and the way he was holding his jacket freaked her out. In this storm, why wasn’t he wearing it? Maybe he was using it to hide…
    A
knife.
    Or, God forbid, a
gun
…
    A squeak escaped her throat and her mind began racing through options as she tried to figure out what to do. Toss the tire at him? She couldn’t even get the thing out of the trunk. Scream for help? There was no one nearby, not a single car had passed in the last ten minutes, and she’d left her cell phone God knows where or she wouldn’t have been trying to change the tire in the first place. Run? Maybe, but the liquid ease with which he moved suggested he’d easily catch her. The only thing she could do was get back into the car and lock the doors, but he was already
right there
, and there was no way to get past him…
    “Need a hand?”
    It was the sound of his voice that jolted her out of her trance. Letting go of the tire, she began backing away, focusing only on creating distance between the two of them. Lightning flashed again and she noticed a blankness in his expression, almost like something elemental was missing in his personality, the piece that signaled that it wasn’t okay to rape and kill women.
    “What do you want with me?” she finally choked out.
    “I don’t want anything,” he answered.
    “Then what are you doing here?”
    “I thought you might need some help changing your tire.”
    “I’m fine,” she said. “I can handle it myself.”
    He looked from her to the flat tire, then back to her again. “Okay. Good night,” he said. Wheeling around, he started back toward his car, his figure suddenly receding. His reaction was so unexpected that for a second she felt paralyzed. He was leaving? Why was he leaving? She was glad about that – actually, she was
thrilled
about that – and yet, and yet…
    “I’m having trouble getting the tire out of the trunk!” she said, hearing the panic in her own voice.
    He turned on his heel as he reached his car. “Seems like it.” He reached for his door and pulled it open, ready to climb in —
    “Wait!” she suddenly cried.
    He squinted at her through the downpour. “Why?” he called back.
    Why?
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. But then again, she’d told him she didn’t need any help. And she didn’t, except that she did, but it wasn’t as though she could call anyone, and with her thoughts racing and jumbled, the next words spilled out involuntarily.
    “Do you have a phone?” she shouted.
    He closed some of the gap between, stopping when he could be heard without shouting, but not getting too close. Thank God. “Yes,” he answered.
    She shifted from one foot to the other, thinking
Now what?
“I lost my