Hit & Run

Passed Down Pages was my favorite bookstore in the city. Each and every novel was preowned, sold to the store, and placed on the shelves at ridiculously low prices. I would go in every other Friday after I got paid, right before class, and browse the romance section in search of trashy novels about billionaire CEOs and their secretaries, daydreaming about one day meeting a billionaire of my own.

Unfortunately, you don’t meet billionaires in used bookshops.

I was skimming the back of one of those novels when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. The bookshop had a cozy little reading corner with a brown leather couch and two red armchairs, all placed next to an electric fireplace that usually never worked. This day, however, the faux flames flickered over the waxy-looking wood, and a young man in a black sweatshirt sat in one of the blood-red armchairs to its side. 

He had a book in his lap, but he wasn’t reading it, instead staring at me with his sunken, bloodshot eyes and an uncanny smile. Something about him was familiar. Perhaps I had seen him in the store before? 

I tried to just look away, plucking another mildly interesting title from the shelf and skimming its back cover, but I could still feel the man’s eyes on me, as if he was boring a hole into the side of my head with his gaze. My stomach filled with dread, my knuckles going white as I clutched the book in my hands. I told myself I would just come back the next day to find my next read, placing the book back on the shelf.

His eyes were on me until I finally stepped out of the doors. I could still see the strange look on his face as I continued down the sidewalk: his too-wide smile gave me chills as it flashed in my mind, my unease not settling until I set foot in the Daily Brew.

It was my favorite coffee shop, an industrial looking little hole-in-the-wall with prices just under their chain-store competitors. I stopped by nearly every day before my lecture and ordered the same thing: a large hot caramel latte. I took my ticket, 813, and stood up against the exposed brick wall, scrolling mindlessly on my news feed as I tried to forget the strange man from the bookshop.

I skimmed through the headlines: Governor’s Crack Down on Crime, 7 Signs You’re Being Stalked, Hit and Run on 34th Street.

“Order 813!”

My head snapped up to see my order on the counter. I shoved my phone into my pocket, taking the piping hot beverage from my barista’s ice-cold hands, my heart stopping as I met their familiar bloodshot eyes and uncanny smile: the man from the bookshop.

He’d never worked here before.

My blood ran cold. I snatched the cup from his hands and bolted for the front door, but instead of being greeted by the cool air outside, I found myself in my lecture hall. Professor Thompson was writing on the board in the front of the class as other students filtered in past me. I looked behind me, the Daily Brew was gone and replaced with my university’s halls. 

I went to my seat, my legs too shaky to continue to stand, and sat my coffee down on the table, picking up my pen. When had I grabbed my notebook? I began to jot down the notes on the board, trying to ignore the rapid beating of my heart. I reached for the coffee, bringing it to my lips. The taste was warm and metallic, the thick, creamy liquid making my stomach turn, knowing the salty beverage was not my morning coffee. When I pulled the cup from my mouth, I saw the lid was stained red.

As I started to grow sick, I heard someone sitting down behind me. I could feel their eyes boring into the back of my skull. I shut my eyes, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare. 

My heart pounded in my ears. A cold hand gripped my shoulder. Against my better judgment, I looked.

There he was: black sweatshirt, bloodshot eyes, uncanny smile. I shrieked, falling back in my chair.

Then, I was behind the wheel. It was a foggy night. Even with my headlights on, I could hardly see a foot in front of me, the low lights merely reflecting off the thick mist covering the road. When had I started driving? Where was I?

I saw a flash of green, a sign glinting in the light of my low beams. My head turned to read it: 34th Street.

As I turned my attention back to the road, I noticed him. I slammed on my brakes, the screech echoing into the silence of the night as my car stopped just before the crosswalk. He just stood there, staring at me with those damned unblinking, bloodshot eyes. It all began to come back to me, where I had seen that terrible face before, as he slowly crawled onto the hood of my car.

I couldn’t break eye contact as he inched nearer, couldn’t move even as my brain begged me to. I was completely frozen in my place, every part of me aching as the chill in the air settled into my bones. 

“No!” I screamed. “You’re dead!”

The corpse didn’t care about my cries. He reached through the windshield, his frigid hands stinging my neck. I gasped for air as he squeezed and tried to scream, though no sound would escape me. I clawed at those cold, dead hands, tearing the skin from his arms, tears streaming down my cheeks until I physically couldn’t anymore. The world went dark.

POLICE REPORT

DATE: October 04, 2024

REPORTING OFFICER: Daniel Powell

INCIDENT

Nineteen-year-old Holly Lovett was found dead in her home this morning at 8:53 AM, discovered in her bed by her mother, Jennifer Lovett. Bruising on her neck indicated the cause of death was strangulation. The coroner’s office has confirmed the time of death as 4:30 AM on the morning of her discovery. 

Upon inspection of the property, there seemed to be no sign of breaking and entering, nor any sign of a struggle from Holly. Both her mother and father, Jennifer Lovett and Benjamin Lovett are under investigation for the murder.

During our inspection, flecks of blood could be found on the front bumper of Holly’s car. Upon DNA analysis, the blood has been determined to be that of twenty-two-year-old, David Grant, who was killed in a hit-and-run incident on 34th Street two weeks ago. After a brief interview with Jennifer and Benjamin Lovett, we found that Holly arrived home late on the night of the incident. Both parents claim she has been acting ‘peculiar’ since. We have decided to close David Grant’s case at this time.